Tokyo, Marunouchi.
Saionji Industries Headquarters, underground core strategy room.
A massive LCD screen took up the entire wall.
In the center, the green K-line chart of the Nikkei 225 index was in a dizzying, cliff-like plunge.
The Ministry of Finance's announcement of "Total Volume Control" had hit the market like a massive block of ice dropped into boiling water. It instantly detonated full-scale panic across the stock market.
Just five minutes earlier, the 30,000-point level—a psychological defense line for the Japanese market—had been torn through like tissue paper under the frenzied stampede of panic selling and margin calls.
The numbers kept ticking down. Each refresh meant hundreds of billions of yen in paper wealth evaporating on this early spring afternoon.
Saionji Satsuki sat quietly in the leather swivel chair at the head of the table.
Today she wore a moon-white silk pussy-bow blouse with a dark gray tweed skirt that draped perfectly. A pure black velvet shawl lay draped over the back of her chair. Her fair wrists were crossed, resting on her knees. Her posture looked relaxed.
The encrypted transoceanic phone on the edge of the console flashed a rapid red light.
Satsuki reached out and pressed the speakerphone button with her index finger.
"Boss."
Frank's voice came through the speaker. The transoceanic submarine cable carried a faint electrical hum in the background.
Unlike his usual calm professionalism, Frank was breathing hard. He sounded over-excited, almost panting.
"Your Ministry of Finance has real guts," Frank said, swallowing audibly. His voice trembled. "The market makers on Wall Street have completely lost it. The physical selling in the spot market just broke the option market's pricing models."
Dense keyboard clatter came through the line.
"As the broad market broke 30,000, the market fear index, the VIX, shot past 30. In the Cayman Islands trust account, those long-term deep out-of-the-money put options we planted... their implied volatility just blew through the roof in the last ten minutes."
Frank's voice rose. You could hear the fanaticism coming through the speaker, filling the strategy room.
"The unrealized profit on the books... it's over thirty-five billion U.S. dollars."
Thirty-five billion U.S. dollars.
Converted to yen, it was a terrifying figure—enough to buy the annual GDP of several mid-sized nations.
The strategy room went dead silent.
Managing Director Endo, standing beside the console, gripped his financial documents so hard his knuckles whitened. He was stunned.
How... how much? Was this even possible?
Satsuki leaned back against the deep red leather chair.
She listened to Frank's trembling, over-excited breathing on the line. A faint, undisguised smile of pleasure spread across her face.
She narrowed her eyes slightly. Every green K-line plunging on the screen now looked like graceful, dancing musical notes. Hearing a nation's wealth shatter in an avalanche sent a shiver of pleasure up her spine.
That weightless feeling, with her heart pounding violently, was more intoxicating than any expensive red wine.
"Frank," Satsuki said softly, her tone laced with lazy pleasure. "Do you like this feeling?"
The line went quiet for two seconds. Only Frank's sharp intake of breath came through the speaker.
"...Yes, Boss." Frank's voice shook. He answered without hesitation. "This is more addictive than f***ing drugs."
Satsuki's smile deepened.
She tapped the smooth mahogany table twice with her fingertip.
Tap, tap.
"If you like it, then let's go make even more money."
She sat up straight. The laziness left her voice, replaced by something clear and cutting.
"Frank, for this campaign, everyone on the Wall Street team deserves major credit. I promise you here: after we close out, the bonus pool will be big enough for every member of your team to buy a top-tier luxury home in Manhattan's Upper East Side, in cash."
A suppressed roar came through the line.
"As for you, Frank."
Satsuki drew a slow circle on the mahogany with her fingertip. Her tone turned gentle.
"Once the funds are secured, you'll get an extra special bonus—one hundred million U.S. dollars—deposited into your private offshore trust."
The roar on the line cut off instantly.
Two seconds of dead silence. Then came heavy panting, hoarse and distorted with adrenaline. You could almost hear Frank's teeth chattering.
One hundred million U.S. dollars. On Wall Street right now, that was an astronomical sum—enough to make any top trader lose his mind.
"Boss... I... my life is yours..."
Frank's voice trembled. He could barely form words.
"This is what you deserve," Satsuki said.
Then her tone shifted.
"But now is not the time to celebrate."
Her eyes were fixed on the endless downward curve on the screen.
"The panic selling on Wall Street has become a physical stampede. Activate the 'Ghost' algorithm's liquidation module. Chop up the massive liquidation orders. Hide them in the gaps between the sell orders as big institutions flee in panic. Start the first round of liquidation—restrained and covert."
"Convert part of the unrealized profit into solid U.S. Treasury Bills immediately. We need hard U.S. dollar cash on hand to be safe, and we need ammunition stockpiled for the dip-buying phase."
She leaned back in her chair and gave the final order.
"As for the remaining main short positions, keep them submerged. Let them sink to the deep seabed along with the ruins of this city."
"Understood! Executing immediately!"
Frank's voice was cold and hard again.
The call disconnected.
Satsuki picked up the bone china teacup on the side table and took a light sip of warm black tea.
She turned her head to the live news feed on the other side of the screen.
The Ministry of Finance's press conference on "Total Volume Control" was underway.
"Then, next," Satsuki murmured, "it's time for our ally in Nagatacho to begin his performance of struggle."
Tokyo, Chiyoda Ward, Nagatacho.
House of Representatives First Members' Office Building, Room 508.
Inside the spacious Secretary-General's office, the air was thick with the scent of Cuban cigars.
Osawa Ichiro was sunk into a deep red leather sofa. His legs were crossed. His right hand held a thick, half-burned cigar.
On the marble coffee table in front of him, several preliminary lists for next month's cabinet reshuffle were spread out.
Knock, knock.
Two rapid, arrhythmic knocks interrupted his thoughts.
Chief Secretary Hirano pushed open the heavy, soundproof oak door and scrambled inside.
Hirano's face was paper-white, like a corpse pulled from a morgue. Sweat poured down his chin. His breathing was fragmented.
"Teacher Osawa!" Hirano's voice was shrill. He didn't even close the door. "Something terrible has happened!"
Osawa Ichiro frowned. The fingers holding his cigar paused.
"What's the panic? Close the door," Osawa snapped, habitually.
Hirano turned and slammed the oak door shut, then stumbled to the marble coffee table. He braced both hands on the surface.
"The Ministry of Finance... the Banking Bureau just issued the official 'Total Volume Control' document! All banks nationwide have been ordered to freeze loan rollovers for real estate!"
Hirano swallowed hard.
"The faction's private line is ringing off the hook. Those core financiers from the Kanto Real Estate Alliance... they were wiped out this afternoon! Their companies' main accounts were forcibly cut off by major banks, with legal teams present. All assets have been seized by the courts!"
Osawa Ichiro froze.
The dark red ember on his cigar tip hung in the air for two seconds.
The gray ash finally gave way and dropped onto his expensive suit trousers, burning a small smudge.
But he didn't move to brush it off. He stayed sunk in the deep red leather sofa, staring coldly at Hirano, who was trembling as he gripped the coffee table. Osawa's look was the kind you'd give a panicked mouse at your feet.
Osawa put the cigar back to his mouth. His cheeks hollowed as he took a hard drag.
The Ministry of Finance issued an administrative directive? Cut off the funding for the real estate financiers?
Those bureaucrats at the Ministry of Finance—did they really think they could smash the ruling party Secretary-General's rice bowl without the Prime Minister's explicit sign-off?
"Absurd."
Osawa yanked his silk tie loose.
Several documents lay on the table. He ignored the emergency briefings about the bank seizures and grabbed the "Preliminary List for Cabinet Reshuffle" instead—the one that represented real power.
He rose from the sofa. His massive frame radiated pressure as he strode to the desk on the other side of the room.
"This bunch of low-level bureaucrats in Kasumigaseki is getting bold," Osawa said, shaking the list in the air. The paper rustled crisply. His mouth turned down. A fierce arrogance lit his eyes.
"They want to use their approval power to pressure me? Use the life and death of my financiers to test my bottom line?"
He grabbed the red dedicated phone on the desk. His thick fingers punched in the number for the Minister of Finance's private office.
But instead of a connection, he got a cold, continuous busy signal.
Bang!
Osawa slammed the receiver down. The force cracked the red plastic shell, and fragments scattered across the wool carpet.
His eyes were bloodshot with rage.
"Hirano! Draft a cabinet inquiry immediately!"
"Tomorrow morning at eight, I want the Director of the Banking Bureau and the Minister of Finance standing in front of my desk!"
He slapped the cabinet list against Hirano's chest.
"Go! Go tell those bureaucrats who only read reports!"
"As long as I, Osawa Ichiro, am sitting here, so-called 'macroeconomic laws' will give way to power in Nagatacho! One piece of administrative guidance won't smash my base!"
Hirano clutched the crumpled list, bowed repeatedly with a pale face, and stumbled out.
The heavy, soundproof oak door closed.
Osawa slumped back into the chair behind his desk.
"These ungrateful wretches... they're all working against me, aren't they..."
The cracked red phone sat on the desk. The receiver hadn't been hung up properly and dangled in mid-air, emitting a monotonous, mechanical beep—beep— busy signal over the faint electrical hum.