Rebirth in Japan: The Heiress Who Conquered the World

Satsuki picked up the wood box and took another look at the wood grain on the lid, polished smooth by the passage of time.

”I must trouble you to stay in Tokyo for one more day, Chizuru,” she said. ”There are some things I would like to ask you about tomorrow morning.”

Chizuru bowed slightly. ”As you wish, Miss.”

”Did you bring enough luggage?”

Chizuru’s movements paused for a fleeting moment.

”I brought three days’ worth of changes of clothes.”

Satsuki’s gaze lingered on Chizuru’s face for half a second longer.

One day’s worth was the standard for a round trip.

Three days’ worth meant that she had prepared not to return immediately before she even set out.

Delivering the letter from the Old Madam Kujo would only take an afternoon.

The last Shinkansen for the return trip was at 9:40 PM.

If Chizuru had only come to deliver the letter, she should have returned to Kyoto tonight.

But she had brought three days’ worth of luggage.

Satsuki did not press the issue.

She nodded, picked up the small copper bell beside her, and gave it a gentle shake.

Fujita pushed open the sliding door almost the exact moment the sound of the bell faded.

”Fujita. Prepare a guest room in the East Wing for Miss Matsumuro. Prepare a set of daily necessities according to my standards.”

”Understood.”

”Also—” Satsuki’s tone remained unchanged. ”Compile the press clippings related to Kyoto for this month and bring them to the study tonight.”

”Yes.”

Fujita stepped aside to clear the path.

Chizuru did not move.

She remained kneeling in her original spot.

Her hands were placed in front of her knees, fingertips together, her posture exactly the same as when she entered.

Yet, she did not rise to perform the parting bow.

Fujita stopped by the sliding door.

He cast a glance at Chizuru, then looked at Satsuki, remaining silent.

The Japanese-style room was silent for about three seconds.

”Chizuru.” Satsuki’s voice was flat. ”Is there something else?”

Chizuru leaned her upper body slightly forward.

The angle this time was deeper than the bow she had made upon entering—her forehead almost reached the height of her fingertips.

”Chizuru has something she dares to report to you, Miss.”

Satsuki did not speak; silence itself was permission.

”The Old Madam sent Chizuru here this time, and the letter was one purpose.” Chizuru did not lift her forehead, her voice kept very low, but every word was crystal clear. ”Chizuru herself is the second.”

”Since childhood, Chizuru has received grace from an old acquaintance.”

”That old acquaintance is no longer here. This life of mine was meant to be used to repay that person.”

She paused for a moment.

”Now, the daughter of that old acquaintance has traveled such a long road alone. Chizuru implores you, Miss—please allow me to stay by your side and serve you.”

The air in the Japanese-style room did not stir.

Outside in the garden, the maple tree dropped another leaf, its shadow sliding across the shoji screen, unnoticed by anyone.

Satsuki watched the back of Chizuru’s neck, bowed over the tatami mat.

Her hair was tied up tightly, without a single stray strand.

The skin on the back of her neck was very white and thin, and one could see a fine blue vein beneath it.

”Old acquaintance.” Satsuki repeated these two words.

Her tone held no intention of questioning, nor any intention of refusal.

She simply weighed the words on the tip of her tongue.

”Rise.”

Chizuru straightened her upper body.

Her expression was no different from when she had entered—blank, like a mirror wiped too clean.

But the moment her gaze lifted, it fell upon Satsuki’s eyes.

What a pair of eyes those were.

It was only for a split second.

Then, she lowered her gaze back down, returning it to the spot two inches below Satsuki’s neck.

Satsuki had seen something in that momentary gaze.

She seemed a bit bewildered.

Although she appeared tough on the outside, that trace of ”helplessness” in her eyes could not be hidden.

Satsuki narrowed her eyes slightly, the corners of her mouth curling up imperceptibly.

Not bad, she is worth training.

”Come to the study tomorrow morning at nine,” she said. ”We will discuss this matter tomorrow.”

Chizuru lowered her forehead again.

This time, the bow was neither too deep nor too shallow, the distance between her hands exactly one fist’s width—a parting bow.

But the speed of the bow was a beat slower than any of the previous ones, lingering in that posture for half a second longer.

”Yes.”

Then, she rose.

Her movements were as silent as when she had been kneeling.

When she stood up, the moment her knees left the tatami, there was not even an indentation left on the straw mat.

She turned and followed Fujita into the hallway.

Satsuki sat where she was, her gaze following that figure in the iron-colored, plain-patterned kimono.

The hallway was made of the old house’s original wooden flooring.

It had been renovated once during the Taisho era, but the base beams were still materials from the Meiji era—dried for over a century, they inevitably emitted a faint creaking sound when stepped upon.

Fujita walked in front, every step producing a slight noise.

But Chizuru walked behind him.

The floor did not creak.

Not a single sound.

Satsuki’s gaze lingered for three more seconds after that figure disappeared around the corner of the hallway.

Endo had noticed it too.

His gaze and Satsuki’s met in the air for a moment.

The sliding door closed.

The wind in the garden passed through the half-open shoji screen, bringing in a bit of cold air and the scent of late osmanthus flowers.

It was mid-November, and the osmanthus should have long since faded, but the silver osmanthus tree in the Saionji family garden was an old tree, its flowering period half a month later than common varieties.

Only two people remained in the Japanese-style room.

Satsuki looked down at the paulownia wood box in front of her, tracing a tiny circle on the lid with her right index finger.

”Endo.”

”Yes.”

”That ’old acquaintance’ she spoke of—do you have any clues?”

Endo’s reply was very cautious. ”I have not encountered the surname Matsumuro before. But if the ’old acquaintance’ she mentioned has a connection to the Saionji family, the scope is not large.” He paused. ”Should I investigate?”

”No need.” Satsuki’s finger stopped. ”Since she said it herself, she will explain it clearly tomorrow.”

Her tone was flat, but Endo heard something very faint in her voice, something that did not quite sound like Satsuki.

It was hard to say what it was.

If one had to describe it, perhaps it was interest.

Satsuki picked up the paulownia wood box, opened the lid again, and took another look at the paper.

Then she shifted her gaze to the side—at the bottom of the paulownia wood box’s lining lay a small piece of old silk, folded extremely neatly.

The color of the silk had already yellowed, and it looked as if it had been used by someone for many years.

This piece of old silk was not the work of Old Madam Kujo; even the oldest of the Old Madam’s possessions carried the elegance of an antique.

This piece of silk was honestly old, old in a way that suggested someone had carried it close to their body for a long time, unable to bear throwing it away, and finally found a place to lay it to rest.

Satsuki did not take the silk out.

She just looked at it for two seconds, then closed the lid.

Chizuru... Kujo... was it Mother?

Forget it.

”Which of the old noble families in Kyoto are currently close to the Hakusuikai?”

Endo opened the notebook at his side.

”There are two that can be confirmed at the moment,” he said. ”One is the Kuga family; the head’s wife was a classmate of the wife of the Sumitomo Bank Kyoto branch manager. The other is the Kazan-in family; a member of a branch family serves as an external director at a Hakusuikai-affiliated enterprise.”

”Not a high level.”

”Not high.” Endo paused. ”Both are below the Seiga rank, at the Minister family level. In the circle of old noble families, their weight is limited.”

Satsuki’s fingers stopped.

”Sumitomo Bank wants the Old Madam to come forward and host the gathering,” she said. ”The intention is very clear—they cannot reach the top-tier old noble families of Kyoto themselves and need to borrow a ladder.”

”The Old Madam did not lend it.”

”She would not lend it.” Satsuki picked up the paulownia wood box, opened the lid, and looked at the paper again. ”This Old Madam concerns herself with rules. Bankers play the ’Kansai’ card, taking the reputations of Senba and Kitahama to cover their own bad debts—in the Old Madam’s eyes, this breaks the rules.”

Endo did not speak.

”The people at Hakusuikai probably think that as long as they hold up the word ’Tokyo’ as a target, everyone in Kansai will stand on their side.”

Satsuki put the paper back and closed the lid.

”They forgot one thing.”

”What?”

”Kyoto is not Osaka.” Satsuki pushed the paulownia wood box toward Endo. ”Osaka merchants talk about interests; if you show them a threat, they will hesitate. The old noble families of Kyoto talk about order—who has deep roots, who has high seniority, who has the final say; these things have not changed for hundreds of years.”

She stood up.

”Uragami wants to use ’Kansai’ to tie everyone together. But when Kyoto and Osaka sit at the same table, Kyoto is always the seat of honor.”

Endo took the paulownia wood box and glanced at the old paulownia wood on the lid, which had not a single decoration.

”If we go to Kyoto for the tea ceremony—”

”It is not ’if’.” Satsuki walked to the shoji screen and reached out to push open the other half as well.

The evening wind poured in, the tips of the maple tree branches in the garden were blown to lean slightly, and a few red leaves swirled and fell onto the wooden floor of the veranda.

”The invitation has already arrived, and the date is for us to decide.”

She turned around, standing in the backlight.

”This is Kyoto telling Osaka—the affairs of the Saionji family are not for Kitahama to judge.”

Endo closed the notebook.

He wrote three words on the title page.

Kitayama, November.

Then he put away his pen.

At the end of the hallway outside the study, faint voices could be heard—Fujita was directing her to the guest room.

Chizuru’s response could not be heard clearly; the sound was absorbed by the wooden doors and the distance.

The leaves had turned completely red, a dark red, like the base color of aged lacquerware.

”There is no rush to reply to the invitation.” Satsuki held the maple leaf in her palm, looked at it for a moment, and then placed it on the crossbeam of the veranda pillar.

Her voice was very soft, carried away a bit by the evening breeze.

”First, let us see the chessboard of Kyoto clearly.”