Early July, 1990.
Tokyo, Marunouchi.
Saionji Industries Headquarters, Underground Level 4, Core Strategic Room.
Satsuki was sunk deep into a wide leather swivel chair.
On the rosewood coffee table, next to the usual bone china teacup, sat a white medical tray. In the tray were two strong fever-reducing tablets and an electronic thermometer reading 38.5°C.
Ten minutes ago, Takeda, the Saionji Family's chief private physician, had just left the room.
Before leaving, the old doctor who had watched her grow up broke etiquette to issue a stern medical warning — a week of extreme mental overexertion had pushed her young body to the edge. If she didn't stop work immediately for at least seventy-two hours of rest, she risked acute myocarditis and irreversible neurasthenia.
Satsuki knew her body had hit its limit.
Cold sweat soaked her back. Her high-count cashmere sweater clung clammy to her skin. A faint tinnitus like steel needles on glass buzzed in her ears. The edges of her vision ghosted for half a second at a time.
But she couldn't collapse now…
She reached out with pale fingers, took the tablets from the tray, and put them in her mouth. She picked up the warm black tea, tilted her head back, and forced the pills down.
Bitterness spread through her mouth.
She stayed leaned back, head up, and glanced at the three top-secret dossiers centered on the desk.
One: satellite imagery just transmitted by SIS from the Middle East network, showing Iraqi armor massing at the Kuwaiti border. One: a low-level secret memo from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs on the Japan-US Security Treaty and the Pacifist Constitution. The last: original evidence files taken from inside Sumitomo Bank and Fuji Bank, documenting illegal balance-sheet manipulation by senior executives.
For the past week, except to eat and sleep, she'd locked herself in here whenever possible.
One reason only — the Gulf War was about to start.
Her arrival had changed a lot in this world. Stock indices and zaibatsu fates had shifted from their original paths. But the huge inertia of global geopolitics still ground forward on its own laws. Major events born from core national interest conflicts wouldn't stop just because Tokyo's financial market deviated slightly.
Per the top-secret briefing SIS sent back, Iraqi armored units in the Middle Eastern desert had begun massing toward the southern border.
The eight-year Iran-Iraq War had bled Baghdad's treasury dry, and Kuwait's oil overproduction plus massive debt pressure was pushing this military power into a corner. To seize oil fields to fill the deficit and divert domestic survival pressure, armed annexation across the border was now high-probability in strategic models.
Once the Middle East map was redrawn by force, one-fifth of the world's oil reserves would be under direct threat. Since the 'petrodollar' settlement system underpinned American hegemony, Washington would very likely assemble a multinational force for armed intervention and demand military funding and troop support from allies.
And there was the problem.
Japan was also an ally heavily dependent on Middle Eastern crude and would inevitably be on Washington's list for military funding and troops. Yet bound by the Pacifist Constitution, the Japanese Cabinet could not send a single soldier overseas. In the original history, Japan only provided economic support for this war.
Politicians in Washington certainly knew this constitution. After all, they were the ones who put these shackles on Japan years ago.
But when the time came, they would collectively develop convenient amnesia.
Amid Japan-US trade friction, the American public was already hostile toward Japanese zaibatsu buying overseas assets aggressively. Once the war started and American soldiers bled in the desert while Japan only hid in the rear writing checks, Washington politicians would ride the wave to appease voters. They would incite domestic anger and firmly brand Tokyo a 'free rider.'
This performative anger from politicians was essentially calculated extortion. It was enough to force the defenseless Japanese Cabinet into a diplomatic corner.
If, before the first shot, she registered a 'civilian engineering and logistics rescue company' in an offshore island group and mixed Security Department elites in as 'commercial security employees' for deployment…
Then the Saionji Family could take this plan, packaged as 'purely commercial logistical support,' and negotiate with Washington.
Washington politicians and the Pentagon weren't idiots. They would see through the Saionji Family's small game. But at that moment, they would need to show the American public more than anyone that 'allies are sharing casualties.' A civilian logistics unit registered in a third country, secretly fully funded by a Japanese zaibatsu, could handle engineering, transport, and casualty rescue outside combat zones for the US military.
For American politicians desperate to cut US soldier casualties while needing a political show, this would be an irresistible gift. Faced with massive practical interests and votes, they would collectively choose to 'play dumb,' actively ignore the armed intent behind this offshore company, and treat it as a mercenary group serving American interests.
If the plan succeeded, while the Saionji Family achieved an armed breakthrough, they could also use this political capital to push a clean-record family member straight into the core of Nagatacho power.
Of course, that was later. What mattered now was getting Security Department personnel into the Middle Eastern periphery as legal employees before the Pentagon fully locked down war-zone news.
At the same time, the energy shock from the war would be the final hammer to shatter Japan's economic foundation. For this island nation dependent on Middle Eastern crude imports, once crude futures spiked several-fold, manufacturing costs and imported inflation would instantly spiral out of control.
That massive amount of U.S. dollars currently hidden overseas as short-term Treasuries had to complete its position shift.
And fast. Before CIA satellite photos hit the President's desk in the White House, and before sharp-nosed Wall Street hedge funds priced geopolitical risk into quant models. Using maximum leverage, they had to take the lead building a hidden long position in crude oil on international futures.
The transnational intelligence time gap was extremely short. Once gunpowder hit trading floors, premiums for crude call options would explode.
The domestic hunting ground was equally urgent. The evidence of illegal balance-sheet manipulation stolen from Fuji and Sumitomo had a very short shelf life. The continuous market decline had left major city banks' books riddled with holes, and those high-and-mighty bank presidents were scrambling to balance books before semi-annual audits.
She had to act before they held closed-door board meetings to destroy the traces. Using this original evidence, blackmail those presidents desperate to cover bad debts, forcing them to secretly spin off debt rights of underlying semiconductor companies to overseas trusts under the Saionji name.
The political springboard construction, the crude oil futures window, and the specific bank audit dates — three nooses spanning global politics, business, and military were compressed into the next few months.
If any transnational capital link delayed, or any interest prediction was off by even a single day, this massive web across the globe would snap.
Satsuki leaned against the leather backrest.
She had calculated everything these past days, pushing everything she could think of to the limit.
Yet she hadn't expected the only weak link in this plan would be her own body.
Was it still too much strain?
Satsuki pressed her knuckles hard against her throbbing temples. This underage body, carrying transnational deduction with zero error margin, ultimately had an insurmountable limit.
But the chess game was at its most fatal phase.
She picked up the black tea, tilted her head, and drained the bitter liquid, forcing down the dizziness.
Now was not the time to close her eyes.
Click.
The heavy blast doors slid open silently to both sides.
Managing Director Endo, carrying a black briefcase, walked in quickly. He stopped by the long table and pushed a thick briefing to the center of the desk with both hands.
"Young… Lady?"
Endo looked at Satsuki's pale face and the jarring white medical tray with the empty foil from the fever medicine. The report he'd prepared caught in his throat.
"Perhaps you should rest a while? The upcoming meeting can be postponed…"
"Speak," Satsuki said, leaning against the backrest and cutting Endo off.
Endo looked at Satsuki with concern, but adjusted his breathing quickly.
"The follow-up report on Daiei Group and that Wall Street distressed asset fund is compiled."
"Department Store has stepped completely into a minefield." Endo looked at the data in the briefing. "President Isao Nakauchi tried to use Kansai yakuza influence to suppress Kanto locals, having the Kansai Yamaguchi-gumi leader personally intervene, but negotiations broke down. Recently, large-scale bloody conflicts occurred between the two yakuza sides. Department Store's construction crews can't even get through the gates, can't open for business at all."
"Furthermore, Kansai Yamaguchi-gumi used the bloody conflict as an excuse to turn on Department Store. They claim that because they intervened for Department Store, this serious fight happened. Now Kansai side isn't just withholding the previous negotiation funds — they're bringing so-called 'severely injured men,' demanding Isao Nakauchi pay astronomical 'medical fees' and 'settlement fees' totaling billions of yen."
Endo flipped a page.
"As for Mr. Smith from Wall Street… he hired a top legal team to apply for mandatory eviction, rejected on the spot by the judge citing the Land and House Lease Act favoring actual occupants. Mandatory pre-trial mediation has been initiated by law."
"Currently, Wall Street's funds are stuck waiting in court. However, this Mr. Smith doesn't seem to plan to waste time in court. He intends to use physical means like cutting water and electricity to force the yakuza to compromise. And…"
At this, Endo paused, expression turning strange.
"Just an hour ago, his representing attorney brought a three-million-dollar cashier's check to Minister Dojima's S.A. Security Department. They want to pay high price to hire our tactical teams to lock down those shop perimeters twenty-four hours, cutting supplies for the yakuza members inside."
Satsuki listened quietly.
She raised her left hand, curled her index finger, and pressed her knuckle against her aching temple. Using this casual support, she stabilized the slight shift in her balance.
"Since the Wall Street guest is actively bringing money to our door, tell Dojima to accept the commission."
Satsuki lowered her left hand and spoke normally.
"Send the men. As long as those yakuza don't step out of the shop doors, do not interfere in any way."
"The priority for these two can be lowered slightly. The judicial quagmire of the courts and the low-level yakuza mess are enough to drag their cash flows to death over the next three years. Just let them ferment in there."
"Understood," Managing Director Endo nodded slightly.
After reporting on the mess with Department Store and Wall Street, Endo didn't retreat immediately.
His gaze fell on Satsuki's face, pale to translucent, and then at the medical tray with the empty fever medicine foil.
"Young Lady."
Endo's tone held deep concern and hesitation.
"Can your body… really hold up?"
He leaned forward slightly, voice kept very low.
"You are the psychological pillar of the entire Saionji Family. If you meet with main family members in this state of low-grade fever and extreme weakness, I fear if word leaks, it will cause unnecessary speculation and instability internally…"
"Prestige is built on always making the right decisions; it has nothing to do with whether I have a fever."
Satsuki leaned back in her leather chair and cut Endo off directly.
"If my prestige were built on physical strength, I should be at the gym getting covered in muscle, not sitting in a secret room every day plotting schemes."
"Besides, the geopolitical shifts in August and the financial audits of local banks won't stop and wait for my fever medicine to take effect."
She picked up the bone china teacup, feeling the residual warmth, expression unchanged.
"Continue with the schedule."
"…Yes."
Endo took a deep breath and could only force down his worry.
Beep—
At that moment, the internal communicator at the edge of the console buzzed faintly.
Endo turned to press the answer button. After listening to a brief report from outer security, he turned back to Satsuki.
"Young Lady, the person you secretly arranged for has arrived at the outer gate."
"Let him in."
Click.
The door opened, and cold light from the corridor shone in.
That light seemed blurry, yet exceptionally clear.
Regardless, this massive plan forcibly binding Middle Eastern geopolitics, macro-finance, and local semiconductors had officially entered its irreversible execution countdown.