Rebirth in Japan: The Heiress Who Conquered the World

Nagatacho.

House of Representatives First Members Office Building, Room 508.

Three red landlines on the desk started ringing almost simultaneously. The shrill sound filled the spacious office, sharp enough to make your eardrums ache.

Osawa Ichiro sat upright in his leather office chair. Hands folded over his abdomen, he watched calmly as several secretaries scrambled to answer the phones.

Hirano covered a receiver, hurried to the desk, and leaned down slightly.

”Osawa-sensei... it’s Chairman Matsuda from Kansai Heavy Industries,” Hirano said, keeping his voice low and fast. ”Chairman Matsuda says several major city banks in Tokyo cut off all bridge loans this morning with no warning. Even the downstream payment terms were forcibly severed by Great East Asia Corporation.”

”The Chairman says if they can’t raise one billion yen in cash by tomorrow, their No. 3 blast furnace has to shut down. He’s asking you to use your political influence to get the banks to grant a few days’ extension.”

Osawa’s gaze rested on Hirano’s anxious face, but he didn’t answer right away.

At another phone, a second secretary covered the mouthpiece and turned.

”Sensei! It’s the Chairman of the Kanto Real Estate Alliance. Eight of their projects have had their gates blocked by contractors because the capital chain snapped. They’re demanding the Ministry of Finance intervene immediately and stop the banks from calling loans.”

The voter base was on fire.

The people begging for help were core financial backers of the Osawa faction — the source of donations and the bedrock of local votes.

Osawa narrowed his eyes slightly.

”Tell them I’m in talks with the Ministry of Finance. Tell them to stabilize the situation for now,” Osawa said, his voice steady and unshakably calm.

The secretaries nodded and turned back to placate the callers.

Just then, the private miniature mobile phone in Osawa’s pocket began to vibrate.

He took it out and glanced at the unsigned, encrypted number on the screen. Standing, he walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window and answered.

”Mr. Osawa.”

A low male voice, run through a voice changer, came through. It was a high-level mole Osawa had placed inside Kasumigaseki.

”What’s the movement at the Ministry of Finance? Why did the banks suddenly pull all loans at once?”

Osawa kept his voice low, direct.

”Real-time data from the Ministry’s Monitoring Bureau just came in. Early this morning, several core conglomerates led by Fuji Bank and Great East Asia Corporation coordinated a cutoff of bottom-tier cash flow. Worse, they moved the massive yen they pulled back offshore through foreign exchange channels and converted everything into North American bonds.”

The mole spoke fast.

”The Ministry just tried to issue administrative guidance ordering them to release funds, but every bank cited compliant risk-hedging policies and refused. Right now the domestic interbank lending market is almost dry.”

A dial tone sounded.

Osawa slowly lowered the phone.

He stood before the floor-to-ceiling window. Winter sunlight streamed through the glass onto his face, but it didn’t touch the cold rising in his eyes.

A coordinated cutoff. Abnormal capital flight. Perfect, compliant excuses.

Osawa’s mind ran at full speed. Financial and trading giants like Fuji Bank and Great East Asia Corporation would never reach a tacit agreement for self-preservation on the same morning without warning. Only a handful of people in all of Japan could move them at once — and make them willing to send astronomical sums overseas.

He immediately thought of the Saionji Family, which had been selling marginal assets and pulling in its lines aggressively.

An uncontrollable chill ran up Osawa’s spine. Fine cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

This wasn’t a technical hedge. The Saionji Family was directing this from behind.

They were using the panic of the major zaibatsu over their own survival to engineer a man-made drought that could bring the entire national economy to a standstill.

These people were deliberately draining the blood that kept the country running.

Osawa turned. He walked quickly to the desk and yanked open the locked bottom drawer.

He took out a black, encrypted private line with complex knobs.

This phone was a direct line to a certain person at the Saionji Main Family Residence.

If these core financial backers went bankrupt from the liquidity break, his political base would collapse instantly. No money, no votes — his tower of power in Nagatacho would cease to exist.

He had to stop this.

Osawa picked up the receiver, his fingers spinning the rotary dial. The gears clicked sharply.

The line connected.

A few seconds later, the faint, crisp sound of a ceramic cup touching a saucer came through the receiver.

”Mr. Osawa.”

”Miss Saionji.” Osawa gripped the receiver, keeping his voice as steady as he could. ”The economic situation has seen some uncontrollable fluctuations. Several core regional industrial giants are at their capital limits, and public anger is building. For the sake of overall political stability, I hope the Saionji Group can loosen bottom-tier liquidity slightly and stop this capital withdrawal that could trigger social unrest.”

Silence on the other end. The soft sound of tea being poured.

”Mr. Osawa.”

Satsuki’s voice stayed gentle, but there was ice under it.

”The market is simply clearing out over-leveraged, wasteful firms. This is the economic cycle’s self-metabolism.”

”Japan doesn’t need dead weight that drags the economy down, do you understand?”

Osawa’s breathing grew ragged.

The Saionji Family wasn’t even pretending.

”But the Ministry of Finance is preparing an emergency rescue proposal. If those firms fail en masse, the pressure on the Cabinet...”

”Do not act rashly.”

Satsuki cut him off. Her cold voice came through the line like a frozen blade to Osawa’s throat.

”In the coming month, I want you to use your position in the Diet to block any rescue or intervention proposals from the Ministry of Finance.”

”Let the market regulate itself.”

Fine cold sweat broke out on Osawa’s forehead.

He swallowed hard.

His political status, his faction’s funding, even the confidence that let him stand here and give orders — all of it depended on the Saionji Family’s backing from the shadows.

Faced with overwhelming capital pressure, the political maneuvering he prided himself on felt pale and powerless.

”I... understand.”

Osawa gritted his teeth, forcing his voice to stay level.

He slowly hung up. The receiver dropped back onto its base with a dull thud.

Osawa leaned back in the leather chair, still sitting straight, but his chest rose and fell faster than normal. He could feel his shirt going cold from the sweat on his back.

He opened his eyes, and there was an uncontrollable tremor in them.

The Saionji Family’s intent had nothing to do with risk avoidance. They were actively fanning the flames, ready to push the ship of Japan — and everyone on it — into an abyss.

Osawa closed his eyes.

Defy the Saionji Family?

The thought flashed through his mind, and he crushed it instantly by instinct.

No. Absolutely not.

Outsiders didn’t know, but he knew the Saionji Family’s methods better than anyone.

If he openly disobeyed, he wouldn’t end well.

But the price of compliance was just as heavy.

To be controlled for life? To follow orders and destroy his own foundation, until he became a puppet they could discard?

Osawa’s jaw tightened.

He wasn’t willing. As a politician who had climbed to the peak of power, he absolutely wasn’t willing.

Where were the chips to resist?

Osawa’s eyelids trembled in the dark. His breathing was heavy.

The Ministry of Finance’s administrative guidance had already been ignored. The momentum the Saionji Family built had taken shape, and every domestic force, including the Big Three zaibatsu, was scrambling to protect itself.

On this isolated island with its blood drained, no physical force remained that could directly challenge that massive capital.

He had to bring in a higher-dimensional power.

Internal memos on the recent Japan-US Structural Impediments Initiative flashed through his mind.

That was it. Washington... Wall Street...

He knew the Saionji Family had deep ties and overlapping interests on Wall Street, but he also believed those people wouldn’t sit by while the Saionjis did this.

There was still a chance...

A full minute passed.

He snapped his eyes open.

His gaze turned cold and hard again.

Don’t underestimate Japanese politicians, you bastards.

Osawa sat up straight. He pulled open the middle drawer of his desk. From the deepest hidden compartment, he took out a black-covered private address book.

His fingers flipped quickly through the yellowed pages.

His eyes stopped on one entry. It listed an encrypted number with a prefix exclusive to the U.S. Embassy.

Osawa picked up the regular landline on his desk again. He pressed the internal call button.

”Hirano,” Osawa said, his voice cold and low. ”Cancel all my appointments this afternoon. Use that anonymous identity to arrange a secret meeting.”

He looked at the number in the address book.

”Set the location at that teahouse in Minato Ward. For the contact... say an old friend wants to discuss the topic of ’structural impediments.’