Hearing the words "no discussing business."
Sitting on the sofas on either side, Kuroda, Tanimoto, Otsuka, and the others all slowed their breathing at the exact same instant.
Their pupils contracted slightly. The bodies that had been resting against the backrests leaned forward in unison. Lower back muscles tensed, shifting their weight to the edge of the cushions.
Inside the small circle of "The Club," every piece of life-saving information from the Saionji Family over the past few years — the kind that bypassed regulation and decided corporate fates — had been delivered through this exact kind of casual "small talk."
This code, unique to the circle, was one they'd all mastered long ago.
President Kuroda immediately broke into a knowing smile.
"Mr. Shuichi is right," Kuroda said, picking up the whisky in front of him and playing along. "Tonight we only drink and catch up. No one mentions those messy business matters outside."
"Indeed. It's rare to find a quiet place like this. We should relax," Managing Director Tanimoto echoed.
These old foxes of the business world pricked up their ears. Every ounce of attention locked on Shuichi, terrified of missing a single syllable.
Shuichi set his bone china teacup down.
Leaning against the leather backrest, he spoke like he was sharing a piece of gossip he'd heard on the street yesterday.
"I dropped by Kasumigaseki a few days ago."
His gaze settled on the flower arrangement on the coffee table.
"The bureaucrats aren't having an easy time. A few old friends at the Ministry of Finance and MITI are huddled together, worrying about the wave of SME bankruptcies triggered by this market correction."
Managing Director Tanimoto adjusted his glasses. Large city banks felt corporate bankruptcy data before anyone else.
Shuichi's eyes swept the room and came to rest on Tanimoto's face.
"The Ministry of Finance is thinking about dusting off the financial world's old playbook. They plan to restart that 'Convoy System' model."
Shuichi's voice dropped slightly.
"The bureaucrats figure that since the big city banks and healthy regional banks are still cash-rich, they should fulfill their 'social responsibility.' The Ministry of Finance is preparing administrative guidance that would force quality banks with surplus funds to forcibly absorb the credit unions and small regional banks that are already rotten with bad debt."
This is the infamous "Convoy System." The Ministry of Finance's logic: lash the entire Japanese banking industry into one fleet, then make the fast, strong ships tow the small, leaking ones so the whole convoy "leaves no one behind."
Tanimoto's expression changed instantly.
Forcibly absorbing near-bankrupt credit unions meant Fuji Bank would have to pour the healthy cash flow it had carefully preserved into bottomless pits dug by reckless lending.
Shuichi gave them no time to breathe. His gaze shifted to President Kuroda of Dai Toa Trading and President Otsuka of Otsuka Heavy Industries.
"It's not just the Ministry of Finance."
Shuichi sighed, his tone tinged with helplessness at bureaucratic habit.
"MITI is also considering extremely strict administrative guidance."
"They believe that as large trading houses and heavy-industry firms at the top of the supply chain, you should maintain the stability of the entire industry. MITI is preparing to require all of you to backstop downstream suppliers drowning in debt — demanding full debt guarantees or even direct capital injections."
Kuroda's breathing grew heavy. Otsuka's grip tightened on the solid gold lighter in his hand.
Backstopping those leverage-addicted maniacs downstream?
That was like tying a lit fuse around your own waist.
"Bureaucratic inertia doesn't change, even after decades," Shuichi said, looking at their grim faces.
"They're always used to solving economic problems with administrative orders. They've set their eyes on the cash you all preserved before the storm. They want to use your blood to fill a hole that can never be filled."
The air in Chōshōken fell to freezing.
The silver-thread charcoal in the brazier popped softly, the tiny sound unnaturally loud in the dead silence.
Cold sweat beaded on the tycoons' foreheads. Moments ago they'd been congratulating themselves on their liquidity. Now that same cash looked like fresh meat dangling in front of Kasumigaseki's wolves.
"If the Ministry of Finance really issues that guidance… what if we join forces and work the halls of Nagatacho?" Kuroda said. "Dai Toa still has connections inside the party. We could sponsor some political funding, have legislators intervene and suppress the Ministry's move."
"It won't work," Otsuka said, setting the solid gold lighter down on the coffee table with a dull thud. "The Recruit Scandal hasn't blown over. Right now, Diet politicians go weak in the knees at the words 'political donation.' With the general election coming, they'd rather throw us to the public to score points. No one will stick their neck out for the zaibatsu and block a rescue plan at this moment."
Kuroda went silent, gritting his teeth and leaning back against the leather.
Tanimoto reached up to tug at his tie, his eyes flicking rapidly behind his glasses.
"Then we go through financial channels," he said. "Fuji Bank can work with all of you to use complex cross-bridge loans and quickly disperse the large cash positions on our books to anonymous shell companies in the provinces before the month-end audit. As long as the head office balance sheet shows depleted liquidity, the Ministry of Finance can't seize air."
"That kind of accounting game won't fool the Ministry's Inspection Bureau," Kuroda shook his head, killing the idea. "As long as the money stays in the domestic banking system and the unit is yen, those inspectors can pierce several layers of shells with basic authority. Once they confirm we're deliberately moving assets to evade administrative allocation, the charges get worse. We could face license revocation."
Dead silence returned to the lounge.
The political route was blocked. Financial trickery wouldn't beat the Ministry's audit radar. Cash left in Japan had become a blood-scented slab of meat that couldn't be hidden.
Everyone ran escape routes in their heads and hit dead ends every time.
Tanimoto swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. He turned to Saionji Shuichi, who sat calmly in the main seat, blowing on the foam of his tea.
"Then… Mr. Shuichi," Tanimoto said, eyes full of expectation. If Shuichi brought it up, he had a countermeasure. "How should we respond to this kind of mandatory administrative allocation?"
Shuichi smiled slightly.
"The Saionji Family has always been timid. We have no interest in playing the market-rescue hero."
He leaned back.
"To avoid being targeted by bureaucrats and saddled with these absurd rescue orders, we've already issued a strict internal directive."
"Before Kasumigaseki's official documents come down, Saionji Industries will cut off all payment-term extensions to outside firms. We're doing immediate cash collection from every partner and downstream supplier with delinquency risk. Not one yen of payment will be delayed."
Kuroda frowned.
"But Mr. Shuichi, even if we pull all the cash back onto our books, the moment the Ministry's auditors check the bank statements, they'll see that huge cash position. They'll issue the guidance anyway."
Shuichi looked at Kuroda and nodded.
"Kuroda-kun is right. Cash left on domestic books is too conspicuous."
He lowered his voice.
"So every yen we recover will not stay on domestic books."
"They'll be remitted abroad immediately. Within forty-eight hours, every cent will be converted into U.S. Treasury bills and other overseas safe-haven assets."
"As long as all funds are moved offshore, and the domestic balance sheet truly shows 'depleted liquidity'…"
"Even if the Kasumigaseki bureaucrats want to issue guidance forcing us to merge with those disasters…"
He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
"They can't force us to sell U.S. Treasuries on Wall Street to rescue the Japanese market, can they? That runs into cross-border foreign exchange controls. They don't have the guts to touch the Americans' bottom line."
Understanding dawned around the room. Heads nodded.
Shuichi's logic hit capital's most basic instinct: seek profit, avoid harm.
Letting cash sit in domestic accounts was leaving meat on the cutting board. Sooner or later the Ministry of Finance and MITI would carve it off in the name of "the greater good."
Only by using the most decisive means — recall all receivables, then immediately transfer everything offshore into foreign government bonds protected by international law — could they truly secure private property.
Tanimoto took off his gold-rimmed glasses, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and discreetly wiped the sweat from his brow.
When the glasses went back on, his gentle eyes had turned cold.
"Mr. Shuichi's 'small talk' is truly enlightening."
"It seems first thing tomorrow morning, I must visit Credit myself. I'll have Risk Management run some 'routine stress tests' on all corporate clients."
"Collecting on delinquent accounts early is within the rules. And as for the freed-up positions… the Foreign Exchange Department happens to have some quotas for low-risk overseas government bonds. Allocating them on the way would set my mind at ease."
Kuroda, across from him, voiced his agreement.
"Managing Director Tanimoto is right," Kuroda said, swirling the ice in his glass with a soft clink. "First thing tomorrow, Dai Toa Trading should also 'standardize' its payment terms. While we're at it, we'll clean up some unhealthy downstream partners. Our European branch was just complaining about low liquidity on their books. Perfect timing to send this recovered surplus cash over for routine wealth management."
President Otsuka grabbed the lighter off the coffee table and slid it into his suit pocket.
"The accounts-receivable cycle in heavy industry has been a headache for too long," Otsuka sighed, as if discussing a minor annoyance. "Tomorrow I'll have Finance reconcile everything. Any customers behind on payments — we'll suspend supply for now. Call it a short break for the workers at the downstream plants."
The tension bled out of the room. Smiles returned.
This tea party remained, officially, a relaxing "small talk."
Shuichi sat in the main seat.
He watched these "old friends" — now fully aligned — and his faint smile never wavered.
He slowly raised the bone china teacup in his hand.
"Tonight's tea really does taste excellent."