Rebirth in Japan: The Heiress Who Conquered the World

At 6:45 AM the next morning, when Endo pushed open the door to his office on the third floor of the S.A. Group headquarters, the first thing he noticed was the fax machine.

The paper tray was empty.

He set down his briefcase and walked over.

Seven pages of paper were stacked neatly on the output tray. In the upper right corner of the first page, a line of scribbled German was written in blue ballpoint pen: ”Wie besprochen. K.W.” (As agreed. K.W.)

It was Weber’s handwriting. The timestamp read 2:17 AM.

Endo’s fingers paused for a moment on the edge of the paper.

2:17 AM — he knew Satsuki had gone to talk with Weber. That meant the Eldest Miss had stayed up late again, and in all likelihood, she’d been drinking too.

Eldest Miss, you really must take care of your health...

Endo shook his head, took out the seven pages, returned to his desk, and turned on the desk lamp.

Ever since Satsuki fainted last time, she had been paying much more attention to her health. One or two indulgences shouldn’t be a major problem.

He didn’t rush to read it. Instead, he took a red pen from his drawer, unscrewed the cap, and placed it within reach.

Then he began to read, page by page.

The first page was a personnel list. Three people. Gruber, Lange, and Hoffmann.

Their names, ages, professional fields, current positions, and quantitative descriptions of their technical capabilities — Weber had written everything in extreme detail, even attaching their respective employee codes within Carl Zeiss.

Endo nodded repeatedly as he read. Based on his understanding of Weber, he wasn’t the type to exaggerate for personal reasons. If these people could be brought into the Saionji family, it would certainly be a significant boost.

The second to fourth pages were an equipment list. It also included a layout diagram of the third floor of Building B, hand-drawn by Weber, marking the precise location of the ZSM-2200 magnetron sputtering equipment — ”B-312, against the north wall, about 3.5 meters from the window.”

Nearby, arrows marked the power access points and the routing of the cooling water pipes. The models of the vacuum evaporation equipment from the Dresden VEB Microelectronics Combine and the list of testing instruments were also listed one by one, with even the serial numbers included.

Endo’s brows furrowed slightly when he read the technical specifications for the ”ZSM-2200.”

—”Cathode target holder: hand-ground and assembled, tolerance ±2μm. There are only three left in all of East Germany, and this is the last one in operational condition.”

He used his red pen to draw a circle around the letters ”ZSM-2200.” He paused for a second, then drew a second circle.

The fifth and sixth pages were archive information for the Jena Glass Factory. The second floor of the Materials Department, gray metal cabinets, three locks.

Over thirty handwritten notebooks spanning from 1971 to 1989 contained a pile of formula data for the lithium-aluminum-silicate system, firing curves, annealing parameters, and analysis records of failed experiments.

Endo picked up the red pen again. ”Over thirty special formula notebooks from the Jena Glass Factory” — a double circle.

The seventh page.

When Endo turned to the last page, he found the content was much shorter than the previous pages. The top half was a brief comprehensive assessment — Weber used engineer-style phrasing to summarize the priority ranking of all the target items.

Then there was a paragraph at the very bottom.

The handwriting was different from the rest.

For the first six pages, Weber had written in a neat, compact, standard engineering document format. But for this last paragraph, the strokes were noticeably looser, as if he had hesitated for a long time after finishing the main text and ultimately decided to add it.

”P.S. — If possible, please help Hans bring his accordion. It is his only personal possession.”

Endo stared at it for two seconds.

Then he folded the bottom right corner of the seventh page.

...

At 8:00 sharp, Endo walked into the entrance hall of the main Saionji residence with the folder tucked under his arm. Fujita was already waiting for him at the entrance to the study corridor.

”Mr. Endo,” Fujita said, bowing slightly. ”The Eldest Miss woke up forty-seven minutes later than usual this morning. She is currently having breakfast in the dining room.”

Endo’s steps faltered for a half-beat.

There was no superfluous expression on Fujita’s face — it seemed to be what Dojima Gen had taught him, saying that an excellent bodyguard must not reveal any emotions.

But Endo understood.

Ah, the Eldest Miss has a hangover...

She hadn’t even reached adulthood yet, so why was she acting like a middle-aged man?

He didn’t ask further and just nodded.

”I will wait in the corridor.”

Fujita stepped aside to clear the path and silently retreated into the shadows at the end of the corridor.

Endo leaned against the corridor wall. Using the waiting time, he reopened the folder, his gaze falling on Weber’s note on the last page. He stared at those words for a few seconds, his fingers rubbing the folded corner of the paper.

Accordion.

He quickly ran through it in his mind — if it were air freight, the volume wouldn’t be an issue. A standard-sized accordion, including the case and the instrument, was about twelve to fifteen kilograms. It would fit into any suitcase with plenty of room to spare.

Endo closed the folder.

...

About twenty minutes later, Satsuki appeared at the dining room entrance.

Endo’s first reaction was that her complexion was half a shade paler than usual. Her eyelids were slightly swollen, but they had been touched up with fine foundation. Her hair was combed very neatly, and she had changed into a thin, dark cyan wool sweater.

If one didn’t look closely, it was almost impossible to notice anything unusual.

But Endo looked closely.

Then he immediately, quickly, and decisively averted his gaze. He pretended to be looking down, organizing the order of the papers in the folder.

Satsuki seemed to sense something. She glanced at Endo, who was feigning distraction, curled her lip, and came to sit at the dining table.

Endo glanced at the black tea the servant brought up — the color was at least one shade darker than the cup Satsuki usually drank, so strong it was nearly amber.

Judging by the scent, it was probably a Darjeeling second flush, and it likely had twice the amount of tea leaves than usual.

She picked up the cup, took a sip, and closed her eyes for a moment.

Then she saw the folder in Endo’s hand.

Her movements paused for a beat.

”Give it to me.”

She reached out her hand.

”Yes, Eldest Miss.”

Endo immediately handed the folder over with both hands.

Satsuki took it, opened the first page, and her gaze began to move across the paper.

She read very quickly. She spent about two minutes on each page — but Endo noticed that she lingered for a few extra seconds on the equipment diagram on the second page and slowed down at the ”over thirty notebooks” on the fifth page.

Fifteen minutes later, she placed the last page back into the folder.

She also saw the seventh page that Endo had folded. Her gaze lingered on Weber’s note for a moment — the time was very short, just a little over a second.

Then she closed the folder and pushed it back to the other side of the table.

She picked up her teacup and took another sip.

”Endo.”

”Yes.”

”The Trust Agency.” She set down the teacup, and a very light clink sounded as the bottom of the cup touched the bone china saucer. ”How much do you know about its operating model?”

...

Endo straightened up.

The intelligence he had obtained overnight from the Frankfurt office was now arranged into clear items in his mind.

”The legal framework has been established,” he said, his speaking pace steady.

”Article 25 of the ’Unification Treaty’ clearly stipulates that all state-owned assets of the former East Germany are transferred to the Federal Republic of Germany government as of 0:00 on October 3rd, and are to be managed and disposed of by the Trust Agency with full authority. There is no gray area regarding property ownership.”

Satsuki nodded slightly.

”But the administrative level is a completely different matter,” Endo continued. ”The scale of what the Trust Agency has taken over is over 8,500 enterprises and about 4 million employees.

As of now, even a complete asset inventory is far from finished. The account books of many enterprises are still handwritten, and inventory checks even require manual verification item by item.”

He paused.

”Due to a severe shortage of internal personnel, a few hundred civil servants and financial advisors sent from West Germany have to dispose of the entire wealth of an industrial country within two to three years.

This has resulted in each of them being assigned dozens of enterprises. They don’t even have time for on-site visits, let alone precise assessments.”

”What about Zeiss Jena?”

”It has already been included in the priority disposal list,” Endo replied. ”West German Zeiss has the priority right to the ’Zeiss’ trademark and is expected to lead the merger negotiations. But the so-called ’merger’—”

”They will first pick the things that can be written into the reports. As for the craftsmanship that doesn’t fit into the reports, it will usually be counted as layoff costs.” Satsuki finished for him.

”Yes. As for specifically which equipment and personnel will be retained by West German Zeiss, and which will be abandoned — negotiations have not yet begun. The situation at the Jena Glass Factory is similar, and it is highly likely to be acquired by the Schott Group. It has also not yet been signed.”

Endo put his hands behind his back.

”My assessment is that the window period is about three to six months. Before the West German enterprises formally sign to take over, that is our time to act. Once the contract is finalized and the asset ownership is clearly defined to specific items, it will be almost impossible to intervene.”

Satsuki did not respond immediately. She placed the teacup on the table, her fingers resting lightly on the rim, her gaze falling on the cover of the folder.

There was a silence of about five seconds.

”The asset inventory that the Trust Agency is doing for Zeiss Jena,” she began, ”how far along is it?”

”Currently, the Trust Agency’s inventory for Zeiss Jena is still at the ’departmental level,’ which means reporting a total asset figure for an entire department or an entire floor. Itemized cataloging is far from starting.”

”Specifically regarding the third floor of Building B.” Satsuki’s gaze lifted from the folder and looked at Endo. ”Do they have an itemized equipment list for each machine?”

Endo shook his head.

”They might have registered a number for how many pieces of equipment are on the third floor of Building B. But the specific model, technical parameters, and actual value of each piece of equipment — in all likelihood, have not been precisely assessed.”

He added, ”Doing this kind of assessment requires professionals in the field of optics. And those sent by the Trust Agency are all administrative officials with backgrounds in finance and law.”

Satsuki’s mouth twitched. The movement was very small. If Endo hadn’t been with her for so many years, he might not have noticed it at all.

”In other words, they don’t even know how much the things in their hands are worth themselves.”