Reborn in Tokyo: From Heiress to Global Tycoon

Chapter 2 Fairy Tales and Apocalypse

The study in the Saionji family home was a room filled with the style of the early Showa era. A deep red Persian carpet swallowed the sound of footsteps, a dim chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and walnut bookshelves lined the walls, reaching all the way to the ceiling. The air was filled with the smell of old paper, leather, and a faint musty odor.

Shuichi Saionji sat behind the large mahogany desk.

He held a half-burnt "Seven Stars" cigarette between his fingers, the ash already piled up quite a bit, but he didn't shake it off.

What lay spread out on the table were not rare ancient books, but several densely printed financial statements and a letter of intent for financing involving 5 billion yen, drafted by Sumitomo Bank.

The dim yellow light from the table lamp shone on Shuichi's face, etching the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes like a dried-up riverbed.

"Fifty billion..."

Shuichi muttered to himself.

In the stillness of the night, the sound of rain pounding against the window seemed particularly mournful. Each impact felt like a hammering on his taut nerves.

As the current head of the Saionji family, Shuichi's life is not as glamorous as it appears to the outside world. Only he knows that this once illustrious ducal family is now like a wooden ship with a fresh coat of paint on the outside but riddled with termites on the inside. Although it still retains a seat in the House of Nobles and maintains its dignity by relying on its ancestors' political legacy, its economic straits are becoming increasingly difficult to conceal.

To maintain the family's enormous expenses, preserve those unproductive villas and courtyards, and support a large number of ostentatious old servants, the family's cash flow had long been stretched thin.

The Saionji family now relies mainly on its machinery parts factory in Osaka and its textile factory in Nagoya to maintain cash flow. Thanks to the frenzied spending power of Americans, their export business has indeed been booming in the last two years.

"As long as you sign it..." Shuichi's gaze fell on the blank signature field.

Kenshiro's words echoed in his ears: "That's US dollars, brother!"

By expanding production and doubling capacity, profits will also double. At the current exchange rate, simply signing this contract will increase the Saionji family's assets by 30% next year. This will not only silence those who want to split up the family, but also allow him to stand tall among his colleagues in the House of Nobles.

but……

During the daytime funeral, his daughter's terrified eyes and her innocent remark about the "dam" were like a thorn that could not be removed, stuck in his heart.

"The Americans are going to be angry."

Shuichi stubbed out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray with a slam that nearly crushed it. He stood up and walked to the huge French windows. Outside was a dark courtyard, illuminated only by the occasional flash of lightning that lit up the pine trees swaying in the wind and rain.

Those pine trees are like Japan right now. They look lush and verdant, but this rain is just too heavy.

"Thump, thump".

A very slight knock on the door interrupted Shuichi's thoughts.

He paused for a moment, then glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost midnight.

"Come in."

The heavy wooden door was pushed open a crack, and a small figure squeezed in with difficulty.

Satsuki was wearing a light pink cotton nightgown, her hair slightly disheveled and draped over her shoulders. In her hand, she carried a silver tray that was rather large for her size. On the tray was a cup of hot milk and a plate of pound cake that was not cut neatly and had some crumbs on the outside.

"Father..." Satsuki's voice was soft and sweet, with a slight nasal tone from just waking up, "I saw that the light in the study was still on."

Shuichi's tightly furrowed brows instantly relaxed. He strode over, took the heavy tray from his daughter's hands, and said in a tone that was full of reproach yet couldn't hide his doting: "Why aren't you asleep yet? This kind of thing can be done by the maid on night duty."

"I want to make something for Father to eat." Satsuki lowered her head, her fingers twisting nervously together. "This is a cake that Aunt Sato taught me to bake this afternoon. Although... although it's not cut very nicely, it should taste alright."

She looked up, her eyes filled with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation: "Mom used to say that when Dad works too late, eating something sweet will improve his mood."

The mention of his deceased wife caused Shuichi's heart to clench. He looked at the unevenly sliced ​​cake on the plate, his eyes welling up with tears.

"Thank you, Satsuki." Shuichi placed the tray on the coffee table and pulled his daughter to sit down on the leather sofa. "Daddy was just getting hungry."

He picked up a piece of cake and took a bite. It was actually a bit dry and had too much sugar, but he thought it was the best thing he had ever eaten in his life.

Satsuki sat obediently beside him, holding the cup of hot milk in both hands and handing it to her father, watching him eat it.

From an angle that Shuichi couldn't see, Satsuki lowered her eyes slightly.

Of course, she didn't make this cake. How could she waste her precious time in front of the oven? She had the kitchen prepare it, then deliberately cut it with a knife and sprinkled some flour on top to create the illusion of it being made in person.

For Satsuki, who was used to observing her opponent's micro-expressions at the negotiating table in her previous life, Shuichi's current state was like an open book.

Anxiety, exhaustion, emotion, guilt.

This mixed emotional state is when psychological defenses are weakest. In other words, it's the perfect time to implant "ideological viruses."

"Is Father reading a difficult book?" Satsuki pointed to the documents on the desk.

"Yes, it's an adult's job." Shuichi took a sip of milk, feeling his stomach warm up a bit. "It's about things related to the factory."

"Are you going to make lots and lots of things to sell to Americans?" Satsuki asked knowingly.

Shuichi sighed, "Yes. Everyone says this is a good opportunity."

Satsuki didn't reply. She took a crumpled magazine out of her pajama pocket.

That was the previous issue of Time magazine, with a black-and-white photograph on the cover of a serious-looking elderly American man—Federal Reserve Chairman Paul Volcker.

"What is this?" Shuichi asked curiously.

"Uncle William gave it to me. He said it was for me to practice my English reading." Satsuki spread the magazine out on her lap and turned to a page with a folded corner. It was an in-depth analysis of the US's high interest rate policy and trade deficit, full of obscure economic jargon.

For a 12-year-old Japanese girl, this was like a foreign language.

But Satsuki's finger stopped precisely on a paragraph about "the overvaluation of the US dollar".

"Father, there's a word here I don't recognize." She pointed to the word, tilted her head, and asked, "'Artificial'...what does that mean?"

Xiu Yi leaned closer to take a look: "This word means 'man-made' or 'fake'."

"Fake..." Satsuki nodded thoughtfully, then traced the words with her finger, reciting them haltingly as if reading a fairy tale (actually, she was improvising):

The article says... the current US dollar is like an... 'Artificial Dam.' It holds the water very, very high in order to prevent... uh, to prevent the monster of inflation from running away.

She paused, looked up at her father, her eyes sparkling: "But Father, what will happen if the dam is too full?"

Xiu paused for a moment, then subconsciously replied, "Then we have to open the floodgates to release the floodwaters, otherwise the dam will collapse."

"Where will the water go when the floodwaters are released?"

Satsuki stretched out her fair little hand, drew a parabola in the air, and finally landed heavily on the coffee table—pointing directly in the direction of the loan contract.

"Whoosh—" she imitated the sound of flowing water, "Won't all the little houses downstream be washed away?"

Shuichi's pupils suddenly contracted.

Dam. Water level. Flood discharge. Downstream.

This professional report, written entirely in English, did not form a concrete concept in Shuichi's mind, but the extremely simple metaphor of his daughter was like a hammer, shattering his wishful thinking.

The US dollar is like a dammed lake hanging overhead.

The Japanese export companies are the villagers living at the bottom of the dam.

To curb inflation in the United States, Volcker raised dollar interest rates to astronomical levels, attracting global capital flows to the US and causing the dollar exchange rate to remain abnormally high. This made Japanese goods extremely cheap, leading to rampant dumping.

But this "good life" is based on the premise that "the dam does not collapse".

If one day Americans feel they no longer need to hold back the water, or if the dams can no longer hold up, what will they do?

They will open the floodgates.

The US dollar plummeted. The Japanese yen surged.

Shuichi suddenly stood up, the movement so forceful that he knocked over the milk glass on the table. The milky white liquid spilled onto the red carpet, a shocking sight.

He didn't bother wiping it off and quickly walked to the huge world map hanging on the wall.

His gaze swept back and forth across the Pacific Ocean.

"I see... I see!"

Shuichi's voice trembled. He finally connected Satsuki's words at the funeral during the day, "The Americans are angry," with the current "dam theory."

If the yen appreciates from the current exchange rate of 250 yen to 1 US dollar to 200, or even 150...

The Saionji family's factory has a profit margin of less than 10%. If the exchange rate fluctuates by more than 10%, exports will result in losses. If the fluctuation exceeds 30%, the more they sell, the greater the losses will be.

At that time, the Saionji family was burdened with 5 billion yen in debt, and their warehouses were piled high with unsold goods...

Shuichi felt a chill run down his back, and his shirt was instantly soaked with cold sweat.

Kenshiro, that idiot, and those bloodsuckers at the bank, they're pushing the Saionji family into a fire pit!

"Father?" Satsuki seemed startled by her father's agitated reaction, clutching the magazine and shrinking into the corner of the sofa. "Did I...read it wrong?"

Shuichi snapped out of his daze. He turned around and looked at his daughter, who looked like a frightened fawn.

At this moment, in his eyes, his 12-year-old daughter seemed to be shrouded in a sacred halo.

Was it the protection of his deceased wife? Or the manifestation of the ancestors of the Saionji family?

A child who had never been exposed to business actually saw through the truth that bankers who were full of professional jargon could not see (or deliberately concealed) with just a magazine and intuition.

"No, Satsuki. You didn't misread it."

Xiuyi walked over, squatted down, and brought his eyes to his daughter's level. Ignoring the milk stains on the carpet, he held his daughter's thin shoulders tightly with both hands.

"You read it perfectly. Absolutely...perfectly."

His eyes burned with an unprecedented light—the relief of surviving a disaster and the ecstasy of discovering a treasure.

"Satsuki, your mother always said that you have a more acute intuition than anyone else. I used to take it as a mother praising her child, but now it seems..." Shuichi's voice choked with emotion, "You are the last gift God left for your father."

Satsuki looked at her father, who was so close to her.

She could feel the heat emanating from Xiu Yi's palm; it was the true body temperature of a human.

Inside this body, the cold-blooded soul belonging to Wall Street remained unmoved, even finding it somewhat comical.

Intuition? That's a logical judgment gained through countless sleepless nights analyzing macroeconomic data.

But a smile that could melt ice and snow bloomed on her face. She reached out her small hand and gently wiped the cold sweat from her father's forehead.

"Although I don't understand it very well, I'm happy as long as I can help Father."

She paused briefly, then, in a tone as if she had just thought of something, softly added the finishing touch:

"So... now that the dam is going to open, shouldn't we move the things we've placed downstream? For example... use the money we'd spent on building factories for something else?"

Xiu Yi stood up and took a deep breath. His mind was racing.

If we don't expand production, how will we use this 5 billion yuan quota?

Since the impending floods (and dollar devaluation) have been anticipated, the current strategy should not be "manufacturing goods to exchange for dollars," but rather...

"You're right." Shuichi walked back to his desk, this time with a resolute air instead of a heavy step.

He picked up the letter of intent for financing.

"Let's move. We need to move to higher ground."

He looked at his daughter, his eyes becoming deep: "Satsuki, if we don't build the factory anymore, where do you think we should put the money? You don't need to think too much about it, just tell your father what you think."

Satsuki jumped off the sofa, grabbed the Time magazine, and walked barefoot onto the carpet to her father's side.

Instead of answering directly, she pointed to the Charging Bull logo on the magazine cover, a symbol of American financial hegemony.

"Father, since the American dam is releasing water, surely there will be people there collecting the water, right?" She blinked. "Why don't we go over there and wait for the water to flow down and turn into gold?"

This was an extremely vague hint, but to Xiu, who had already "awakened," it was nothing short of the most precise strategic guidance.

Short the US dollar. Go long the Japanese yen.

Use financial leverage to ride the wave of this impending tsunami.

Shuichi closed his eyes and mentally rehearsed the scenario. This was a high-stakes gamble. A gamble with the Saionji family's century-old legacy.

But when he looked into his daughter's eyes, which seemed exceptionally bright in the rainy night, the fear in his heart miraculously vanished.

"it is good."

Xiu opened his eyes and picked up his pen.

Instead of signing the expansion contract, he took out a blank sheet of paper, the pen scratching across the paper.

"To the President of Sumitomo Bank: Regarding the application from the Saionji family to adjust the use of funds and establish an offshore investment account..."

After finishing writing the title, Xiu Yi put down his pen and let out a long sigh.

The thunder outside the window seemed to have faded somewhat.

"Satsuki, it's getting late, go to sleep." Shuichi patted his daughter's head. "Tomorrow... no, starting tomorrow, things will get very busy at home. Some of the uncles and elders might be angry. Are you scared?"

Satsuki, clutching the magazine in her arms, shook her head.

"As long as I'm with Father, Satsuki isn't afraid of anything."

She smiled sweetly and turned to walk towards the door.

She stopped abruptly as she opened the door, turned her back to her father, and said softly, "By the way, that cake... if it's not good, Father, you don't have to force yourself to finish it."

After saying that, she closed the heavy wooden door.

Shuichi paused for a moment upon hearing this, then chuckled and shook his head.

"This child..."

……

The corridor was pitch black.

As the door clicked shut, Satsuki's smile vanished instantly.

She leaned against the door, listening to her father making a phone call and his excited commands coming from inside.

She lowered her head, looking at the magazine in her hand. Walker on the cover seemed to be coldly watching her through the pages.

"Old man," she whispered in a perfect New York accent, tracing the stern old man's face with her fingers, "you are going to make me rich again."

She casually tossed the magazine, which she considered an "apocalyptic" revelation, into the trash can at the end of the corridor.