Rebirth in Japan: The Heiress Who Conquered the World

October 26, 1990. Friday. 4:00 PM.

In the Japanese-style room of the Saionji main residence, Shuichi sat kneeling before the table, with five invitation receipts spread out in front of him.

Each one was written with a calligraphy brush by the other party’s secretary office, with respectful wording and precise language.

”Respectfully returning this correspondence, awaiting your visit.” This style of writing is rarely seen in the financial circles of late Showa. Only among true old-line clans is this layer of paper-based tradition still maintained.

Shuichi’s fingertips paused on the fourth receipt.

Sumitomo Light Metal Industries. The president did not come. He sent an executive director instead.

He arranged the five receipts according to the seating order, then looked up at Satsuki, who was sitting at a low table to the side.

Satsuki was holding that Wedgwood cup, her gaze fixed on the seating chart on the table.

She was wearing a navy blue kimono today, her hair loosely pinned up, looking just like an Eldest Miss accompanying her father to handle household affairs.

”The president of Sumitomo Light Metal didn’t come, he only sent an executive director,” Shuichi said.

”Expected,” Satsuki put down her teacup. ”Light Metal is the smallest among the Hakusuikai member companies. If the president himself had come, it would be equivalent to publicly taking a side. Sending an executive director is neither rude nor does it burn bridges.”

”Then how should the seating be arranged?”

”Let the executive director sit at the end of the table. Let him watch, let him listen. After he returns, he will naturally relay tonight’s contents to the president word for word.”

Shuichi nodded and placed the fourth receipt at the bottom.

He reviewed the list again.

Sumitomo Metal, Sumitomo Chemical, Sumitomo Electric, Sumitomo Light Metal.

Four manufacturing enterprises. Four representatives of different status.

”Satsuki.”

”Hmm?”

Shuichi withdrew his hand from the receipts and rested it on his knees.

”Tonight... you aren’t appearing?”

”I am not appearing.”

”Why?”

Satsuki tilted her head slightly.

The late autumn light filtered in through the shoji paper, illuminating the side of her face.

”Father, the average age of the presidents of the Sumitomo group is sixty-two.”

”Would they be willing to open their hearts in front of a seventeen-year-old girl?”

Shuichi was silent for two seconds.

”And besides,” Satsuki placed the teacup back on the saucer, the bottom of the cup hitting the porcelain with a very faint sound.

”Tonight’s theme is ’Credit Protection.’ Things like credit rely on seniority, connections, and dignity.”

She looked at Shuichi.

”Father has all three of these.”

Shuichi lowered his eyes. His fingers tightened slightly on his knees, then relaxed.

”...There is only one thing,” his voice dropped half a tone. ”The Sumitomo family are old acquaintances. Yoshio’s father and your grandfather helped each other out after the war.”

”I don’t want people to think the Saionji Family is taking advantage of their misfortune.”

Satsuki did not answer immediately.

The sound of the gardener pruning pine branches came from the courtyard. The snip of the scissors was very crisp, followed by the rustling of twigs falling to the ground.

”That is why only Father is suitable to speak tonight.”

She stood up and left the seating chart on the table.

”I’m going to check on the kitchen preparations.”

...

6:45 PM.

The separate restaurant room of the main residence.

This Japanese-style room was rarely used on normal days.

A six-tatami mat space, rosewood alcove pillars, and a painting of white plum blossoms by Maruyama Okyo hanging in the alcove. It was an old item purchased by his great-grandfather from a Kyoto court noble, painted on silk, the ink of the signature having faded to a light tea color.

Shuichi stood in front of the alcove and straightened his cuffs.

He was wearing a kimono tonight.

A dark gray plain kimono, with the Saionji Family crest embroidered very faintly on the silk haori. It was a three-comma crest that could only be identified upon close inspection, so subtle it almost blended into the fabric.

This was his own judgment.

A suit meant ”negotiation.” A kimono meant ”reminiscing.”

A difference of one word, and the degree of relaxation in the other party’s shoulders when they sat down would be completely different.

Fujita stood at the corner of the hallway, bowing slightly to him.

”Master, the car from Sumitomo Metal has arrived at the gate.”

Shuichi took a deep breath.

”Please.”

Next, it would be his home field.

...

6:55 PM. All four guests had arrived.

Koichi Uchida, President of Sumitomo Metal, sixty-four years old.

His gray hair was combed very neatly, his back was slightly hunched, his movements were very slow when taking off his shoes at the door, and his left knee seemed to be bothering him.

But his gaze was clear. The first thing he did after sitting down was to scan the room’s layout, pausing for two seconds on that white plum painting by Maruyama Okyo.

Masayuki Murata, acting president and executive director of Sumitomo Chemical, fifty-eight years old.

He was the youngest of the four and the only one who came wearing a suit.

When he entered, his gaze paused for a beat on Shuichi’s kimono, then he quickly adjusted his posture, straightening his back even more.

Heiji Kawaguchi, executive director of Sumitomo Electric, sixty-one years old.

He was not tall, his fingers were thick and short, and there was a layer of calluses on the first joints of the middle and ring fingers of his left hand. They were marks that only someone who had worked in a factory in their early years would have.

When he entered, he only said one sentence: ”Excuse the intrusion,” his voice was not loud, but every word was clear.

Tatsuya Hashimoto, executive director of Sumitomo Light Metal, fifty-five years old. He was the last to arrive.

His seat was arranged by the host at the lower seat closest to the sliding door. This happened to match Light Metal’s relatively marginal position within the Sumitomo group.

When led to his cushion by Fujita, he whispered ”Excuse me,” and after sitting down, he pressed most of his weight onto his knees, his posture tense, as if ready to stand up and leave at any moment if the atmosphere felt wrong.

The meal began to be served at seven o’clock.

The appetizer, sakizuke, was persimmon shira-ae.

The vessel was a small Shino-ware bowl, the glaze warm and smooth, and the colors of the ingredients clean.

Next was the mukozuke: seasonal yellowtail sashimi.

Sliced thin, laid on an ice bowl, the surface shimmering with a very faint sheen of fat.

The sake was chilled sake. Dassai Niwari Sanbu.

Shuichi personally poured the first cup for every guest.

The opening topic started with the sake.

”This Dassai is a limited edition from Asahi Shuzo in Yamaguchi Prefecture from last year,” Shuichi gently placed the sake carafe back on the table. ”Their master brewer retired the year before last, and the new master brewer’s style is lighter, with a fragrance profile that leans towards pear and white peach.”

Uchida picked up his cup and sniffed it. ”It is indeed lighter. I’ve had their Sanwari Kyubu before, and I remember it being thicker.”

”Times are changing, after all,” Shuichi said with a smile, his tone casual.

The topic shifted from sake to the seasons, and from the seasons to the recent sudden drop in temperature. And then, quite naturally—

”I’m afraid this winter will be cold,” Shuichi said.

Uchida put down his chopsticks.

He glanced at Shuichi.

”Are you talking about the weather?”

Shuichi did not avoid this gaze.

He drank the chilled sake in his cup and set the cup down.

”President Uchida. Is your company’s overseas raw material procurement going smoothly this year?”

The air in the Japanese-style room froze for a beat.

Murata’s chopsticks paused in mid-air. Kawaguchi lowered his head, looking at the sake in his cup. Hashimoto’s back pressed against the shoji door behind him.

Uchida was silent for three seconds.

”...I will not hide it from you, Saionji,” his voice was very low. ”Last month, our supplier in Hamburg sent a letter increasing the confirmation rate of our letters of credit by 0.3 percentage points.”

”And the reason?”

”They didn’t state a reason. They only said, ’In view of the recent credit rating adjustment of your affiliated financial institution.’”

Shuichi nodded slightly. He did not ask which ”affiliated financial institution” it was. Everyone present knew the answer.

Murata spoke up at this moment. His voice was a fraction more urgent than Uchida’s.

”Saionji, the situation at Sumitomo Chemical is even more serious.”

He put down his chopsticks and rested his hands on his knees with fingers interlaced.

”Our monthly import volume of ethylene and benzene is nearly eighty thousand tons, all settled in US dollars.”

”Last week, Citibank notified our finance department that the standby letter of credit line has been ’temporarily frozen for review.’”

The four words ”Freeze the review” echoed for a moment in the quiet Japanese-style room.

Shuichi did not respond immediately.

He poured another cup of sake for Murata.

His movements were slow. The sake flowed thinly from the spout into the cup, the sound barely audible.

At this moment, Kawaguchi looked up.

”Mr. Saionji. Sumitomo Electric has three signed overseas project contracts on hand, totaling 7.2 billion yen. The delivery date is next March.”

”If the credit situation on the bank’s side continues to deteriorate, we won’t even be able to issue performance bonds.”

”If we can’t issue the bonds, we will have to pay liquidated damages. The liquidated damages are ten percent of the contract value.”

720 million yen.

No one spoke.

Shuichi placed the sake decanter back on the table.

He looked around at the four people seated there.

The veteran Uchida’s expression was steady, but the vertical lines between his brows were deeper than when he had entered.

Murata’s fingers were tapping alternately on his knees, as if he had words stuck in his throat.

Kawaguchi was very quiet, seemingly interested in the utensils on the table, staring at them without moving.

Hashimoto was taking notes. His gaze kept sweeping over the expressions of the other three.

Shuichi took a deep breath.

Then he spoke.

”Everyone. Banks will have their own storms.”

”But the furnace fires of manufacturing cannot be extinguished because of the muddy water in the ledgers.”

The Japanese-style room was silent for a full five seconds.

Uchida’s breathing became slightly heavier.

Murata’s hand stopped.

Kawaguchi looked up, staring straight at Shuichi.

Shuichi continued.

”The Saionji Family upgraded Saionji Trading last month, specifically to handle cross-border trade settlements and foreign trade channels.”

”Trading is currently able to independently issue letters of credit.”

”The US dollar channel is clear.”

He paused for a beat.

”If in the future, of course, I am only saying if, you encounter any temporary difficulties with overseas financing channels.”

”Saionji Trading can provide you with assistance in issuing letters of credit on your behalf, transferring export performance bonds, and accounts receivable factoring.”

Shuichi did not use the word ”cooperation.” He used ”assistance.”

Everyone present understood the nuance of this.

”Of course.” Shuichi smiled slightly. ”This is just in case. I hope it won’t be needed.”

He poured sake for everyone again.

”Come, it’s a rare night. Let’s eat the fish first.”

The topic was gently pulled back to everyday matters by Shuichi.

They chatted for a while about the weather in Kansai, a few words about golf, and then about the new alloy steel research institute built by Sumitomo Metal.

But everyone was digesting those few sentences in their hearts.

The Saionji Family has US dollars.

Saionji Trading can issue letters of credit.

They are willing to ”assist.”

These three pieces of information were like three seeds that had already fallen into the soil.

...

8:45 PM.

The banquet drew to a close.

The dessert was chestnut yokan, served with roasted green tea.

When Kawaguchi put down his teacup, he suddenly asked a question.

”Mr. Saionji.”

Shuichi looked at him.

”If the letter of credit quota of Sumitomo Bank is lowered by overseas banks,” his wording was extremely cautious. ”Can Saionji Trading issue standby letters of credit on our behalf?”

This was the first question tonight that pointed directly to the operational level.

Uchida’s chopsticks paused in his hand. Murata turned his head slightly. Hashimoto’s back moved away from the shoji door.

Shuichi placed his teacup back on the table.

He did not answer immediately.

Two seconds.

Then he bowed slightly.

”Specific matters will be confirmed by the personnel at the operational level of both sides.”

”But the Saionji Family is willing to do its part for the credit of Japanese industry.”

Kawaguchi looked at him.

That pair of hands with calloused, thick, short fingers clenched slightly on his knees.

”Thank you.”

...

9:15 PM.

The guests left one after another.

Shuichi saw each guest to the door at the entrance and personally held an umbrella for the elderly Uchida. Although the rain had stopped, the stagnant water on the floor tiles was still reflecting the porch lights.

The headlights lit up one by one, driving out of the stone path and disappearing into the night.

Shuichi stood under the porch, watching the last taillight vanish around the corner.

Footsteps came from behind.

Fujita.

”Master.”

”Hmm.”

”The Eldest Miss is waiting in the study.”

Shuichi relaxed his shoulders, which he had been slightly tensing, and let out a long breath.

The white vapor dissipated in the late October night breeze and vanished in the blink of an eye.

”Understood.”

...

The study.

Satsuki sat behind the desk. The black tea in front of her had already been replaced once.

When Shuichi pushed the door open and entered, she looked up.

”You’ve worked hard, Father.”

”It was alright.” Shuichi sat down opposite her and took the hot towel handed over by Fujita to wipe his hands. ”It was much easier than the progress meeting in Odaiba.”

Satsuki smiled.

”How did it go?”

Shuichi placed the hot towel on the tray.

”Uchida from Sumitomo Metal was the most cautious. He didn’t express his stance throughout, but when he left, he shook hands with me privately. His grip was stronger than when he came in.”

”Murata from Sumitomo Chemical was the most anxious. He is probably already making calls in his car.”

”Kawaguchi from Sumitomo Electric,” Shuichi paused. ”He asked directly about issuing letters of credit on their behalf.”

Satsuki’s fingertips paused on the rim of the cup for a beat.

”Kawaguchi asked?”

”Yes, he asked in person.”

Satsuki lowered her eyes.

Kawaguchi Heiji. Executive director of Sumitomo Electric. Sixty-one years old.

A person who can raise specific business questions in person on such an occasion. Either they don’t understand the rules, or they are already so anxious that they can no longer care about the rules.

Given Kawaguchi’s seniority, it is highly likely the latter.

”What about the one from Sumitomo Light Metal?”

”He didn’t speak the whole time. But his eyes kept watching others.”

Satsuki nodded.

Shuichi was silent for a few seconds.

He looked at the tea in the cup on the table. Deep red, like a small amber dish under the light.

”Satsuki.”

”Hmm?”

”Tonight... I don’t think they don’t trust the Saionji Family.” Shuichi’s voice was very soft. ”They are afraid.”

”Afraid of what?”

”Afraid of being caught in the middle.” Shuichi tapped his fingers lightly on the table. ”The people from Hakusuikai are still sitting in the bank’s seats. No matter how anxious the presidents are, they dare not openly bypass them.”

”That’s why they need a decent stepping stone,” Satsuki said.

Shuichi looked at her.

”Tonight’s banquet is that stepping stone.”

Satsuki picked up the black tea and took a sip.

Her expression was very calm, but Shuichi saw a faint curve at the corner of her mouth.

At this moment, Fujita walked over silently from the end of the corridor.

He stopped at the door of the study and bowed slightly.

”Eldest Miss.”

”What is it?”

”The accompanying secretary of executive director Murata from Sumitomo Chemical found the doorman privately before leaving.”

Fujita handed a business card to Satsuki. A line of words was written in pencil on the back of the card.

”Please provide the contact information for the person in charge of the trade settlement department of Saionji Trading.”

Satsuki looked at the pencil writing.

The handwriting was somewhat scribbled. The person who wrote it was probably in the car, hurriedly writing it down during the few seconds before the car door was closed.

She placed the business card back on the table.

Outside the window, the stone lantern in the courtyard was dampened by the evening dew, its surface glowing with a dim luster.

The maple leaves were redder than last week. The few leaves at the top had completely turned deep vermilion, as if they were about to burn on the branches.

”The first ticket has arrived.”

Satsuki said.

Shuichi looked at his daughter’s profile.

The light fell on her forehead and eyebrows, on her seventeen-year-old face, and her eyes reflected the dark red of the tea.

He wanted to say something more, but in the end, he just stood up.

”I’m going to rest.”

”Hmm. Good night, Father.”

”Before twelve o’clock—”

”Understood.”

Shuichi walked out of the study. His footsteps gradually faded away on the wooden floor of the corridor, and a soft sound of a sliding door came from the end.

Satsuki sat alone behind the desk.

She picked up the business card, turned it over to the back, and read the line of pencil words again.

Then she opened the capital flow chart of the Sumitomo group on the table and pressed the business card onto the box labeled ”Sumitomo Chemical.”

Using red pen.

She drew a circle next to ”Sumitomo Chemical.”

Then she closed the report and capped the pen.

The chirping of insects outside could hardly be heard.

In Tokyo at the end of October, the crickets were almost done singing their songs for the season.