Rebirth in Japan: The Heiress Who Conquered the World

By the time the motorcade approached from the direction of Red Square, the sky had already darkened.

Outside the car window, Moscow’s streetlights lit up one by one.

The light was diffused by the fine snow and mist, falling onto the snowbank by the roadside in a yellowish hue.

The red walls of the Kremlin flashed past Satsuki’s field of vision, only to be blocked by the building on the street corner.

”Moscow’s nights are very quiet,” Satsuki said softly, looking out the window.

Hearing this, Kozlov turned slightly.

”Yes, Miss Saionji. Moscow is an orderly city,” he said. ”The quietness of the night is precisely part of this city’s solemnity.”

Satsuki nodded gently, saying nothing more.

A few minutes later, the motorcade stopped in front of a tall building.

It was a Stalinist-style foreign guest hotel.

The facade was clad in beige stone, with several thick columns supporting the portico from both sides of the steps, giving it a very grand appearance.

A red carpet was laid out on the steps, stretching extravagantly from the revolving door all the way to the edge of the driveway.

Fujita got out first, went around to the back, and opened the car door.

By the time Shuichi stepped down, Kozlov was already standing on the steps.

He had swapped his ushanka for a black fedora, his dark blue woolen overcoat was buttoned up to the very top, and the smile on his face remained perfectly disciplined.

”Lord Saionji, Miss Saionji, please.”

The revolving door spun.

Heating and the smell of tobacco rushed out together.

The hotel lobby was very wide, and the ceiling was so high that one had to look up to see it.

The most conspicuous feature was a huge chandelier hanging in the center, with a brass frame and frosted glass shades, its style seemingly frozen in the seventies.

But only about two-thirds of the light bulbs were lit, with the rest sunk in semi-darkness.

The marble floor was waxed, reflecting the blurry outline of the ceiling.

Behind the reception desk hung clocks showing times from all over the world: Tokyo, Moscow, London, New York.

The clock for New York was six minutes slow, but no one had adjusted it.

Kozlov seemed to notice Satsuki’s gaze.

He smiled slightly and stepped aside to block the clock.

”This hotel was built in 1957. Back then, it was specifically built to host the World Festival of Youth and Students invited by Comrade Khrushchev.”

His tone carried a sense of pride, as if it had been rehearsed repeatedly.

”Over the past thirty years, distinguished guests from more than sixty countries have stayed here.”

Shuichi smiled.

”This is truly a place of long history and great grandeur.”

”There are also some anecdotes,” Kozlov lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret. ”In 1973, the entourage of Japanese Prime Minister Kakuei Tanaka also stayed in this building. It is said that his secretary was full of praise for the borscht here.”

Satsuki chimed in, ”Is that so? Then we must try it tonight.”

Kozlov nodded with satisfaction, and then led Shuichi to the front desk to handle the check-in procedures.

Satsuki stood on one side of the lobby, her gloves still on, her gaze sweeping past the chandelier, the counter, the sofa by the wall, and the uniformed bellhop.

Emi clutched her tool bag and muttered in a low voice.

”It is so big.”

She paused, then added.

”But so dark.”

Chizuru stood a step and a half to Satsuki’s right, her eyelashes slightly lowered, not responding.

Fujita was confirming the security room distribution with the hotel’s security chief.

The other man was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man whose uniform buttons were strained tight; when speaking, he habitually looked first at the documents in Fujita’s hand, then at Fujita’s face.

The procedures took nearly seven minutes.

Shuichi gently dealt with the front desk manager, Kozlov, and a hotel reception director the entire time.

Every time the other party said ”friendship,” ”welcome,” or ”honor,” he would nod just at the right moment, neither seeming perfunctory nor letting the conversation drag on.

This was his job.

Satsuki did not intervene.

She just stood aside, watching a female receptionist write down the Saionji party’s names in the registry with ruler-straight movements.

Finally, Kozlov closed the folder and turned to walk back.

”Lord Saionji, the rooms have been arranged. At nine o’clock tomorrow morning, I will come to the hotel to pick you up and take you to the Academy of Sciences.”

”The visit plan will be explained in detail then. Please rest well tonight.”

Shuichi nodded.

”Thank you for your trouble.”

Kozlov smiled, as if suddenly remembering something.

”Additionally, there is a foreign exchange desk on the first floor of the hotel. If you need to exchange rubles, you can do so there.”

He spoke very naturally.

”Occasionally, people on the streets of Moscow will initiate conversation. Please do not pay them any attention, distinguished guests.”

Satsuki nodded slightly.

”Thank you for the warning.”

Kozlov said no more, bowed, and took his leave.

As he left, the lobby’s revolving door spun once.

The cold wind from outside sneaked in, only to be quickly swallowed by the heating.

Satsuki looked at the door, which was still slowly revolving.

”Father.”

”Yes.”

”That story about Prime Minister Tanaka, he made it up.”

Shuichi coughed lightly. ”Probably.”

”During Tanaka’s visit to the Soviet Union in 1973, he stayed at the Kremlin State Guesthouse.”

”...You do not need to correct him on such matters.”

Satsuki smiled, her expression very obedient. ”Yes, my apologies.”

The elevator was on the side of the lobby.

When the metal doors closed, they made a scraping sound.

A corner of the chrome plating on the button had chipped off, revealing the yellowish brass underneath.

The elevator went up.

Emi stared at the floor indicator, watching it jump from one to two, and then from two to three.

”So slow.”

She whispered.

Shuichi smiled slightly.

”During a journey, going slow is fine too.”

Satsuki glanced at her father.

”Father, you are already starting to sound like a tourist.”

Shuichi coughed lightly.

”We came here for a trip, after all, did we not?”

Satsuki blinked.

”Well, I still want to buy some local crafts. For instance, those Matryoshka dolls? The locally made ones have a certain charm that the ones in Japan lack.”

The elevator fell silent for two seconds.

Shuichi looked at Satsuki, as if trying to confirm whether she really wanted to buy Matryoshka dolls.

Fujita stared straight ahead, his expression completely motionless.

Ding.

The elevator arrived.

The first thing they saw was the deep red carpet lining the floor corridor, with light brown patterned wallpaper on both sides and yellowish lighting.

At the end of the somewhat dim corridor sat a floor dezhurnaya (on-duty attendant).

She was a middle-aged woman in a dark blue uniform, her permed hair perfectly in place.

On her desk lay a registry, a fountain pen, and a wooden board studded with several rows of brass hooks.

A key hung from each hook, with an oval brass tag dangling from it.

Seeing the foreign guests step out of the elevator, she stood up immediately.

A professional smile floated on her face, but her eyes first swept over the number of people, then over their luggage.

She took two keys from the hook board, lowered her head to verify the room numbers, and then placed them neatly on the edge of the desk with the brass tags facing up.

Fujita stepped forward and took them.

The brass tags clinked together, making a crisp sound.

The attendant said something in Russian, which the young liaison nearby immediately translated.

”She says to please return the keys to her when you go out, and retrieve them when you return.”

Shuichi nodded.

”Understood.”

Satsuki’s gaze lingered for a moment on the registry.

This floor attendant was the most classic presence in Soviet foreign guest hotels; nominally responsible for keeping room keys and providing service, but in reality, she recorded the entry and exit times of every guest—essentially a form of surveillance.

The suite was in the middle of the corridor.

When the door opened, the first thing that wafted out was a smell of heating mixed with old wood.

It was a two-bedroom suite with a living room.

The living room was furnished with dark walnut furniture, the edges polished bright, though there were already scuff marks at the bottom of the table legs.

The curtains were made of thick velvet, hanging by the window like two heavy, dark green drapes.

In the corner stood a small Soviet-made refrigerator, but thanks to the Soviet Union’s outstanding light industry, this refrigerator looked like some kind of precision instrument, buzzing away.

Shuichi took off his overcoat and hung it on the coat rack.

”Satsuki-chan... Can I share a suite with you? I want to chat with you...”

Emi clutched her tool bag and clung to Satsuki’s side.

Once inside a relatively private space, her lively nature began to show.

”That depends on whether my father is willing.”

Satsuki said as she walked to the window, reaching out to touch the surface of the radiator.

Just as her fingertips touched it, she pulled her hand back.

It was very hot.

”Is that so? Uncle Shuichi!”

Seeing an opportunity, Emi hugged her bag and ran off to find Shuichi, making a clattering noise.

Fujita opened the refrigerator and took a look.

Inside, there were only two bottles of mineral water and a small bottle of vodka.

A thin layer of frost coated the inner walls, and the labels on the bottles were slightly curled from the cold.

”Young Miss, we will need to have someone send up more water.”

”Yes.”

Satsuki took off her gloves and placed them casually on the tabletop.

Not long after...

”Satsuki-chan! Uncle Shuichi agreed! He said—”

Emi ran back, breathless, her tool bag clanking in the crook of her arm.

Before she finished speaking, she jumped up and down on the spot.

”He said, either give the bedroom to me—”

She paused, then jumped again, looking a bit embarrassed.

”Or... or it is, it is also okay for me to sleep in the same bed with Satsuki-chan!”

Shuichi followed her in, his pace leisurely, holding a fresh cup of hot tea.

He glanced at Satsuki’s expression and explained gently:

”The heating in the Soviet Union is too strong; it is easy to get restless before sleep. You have two bedrooms all to yourself, and that one is just sitting empty.”

Satsuki turned her head, looked at Emi, then looked at Shuichi.

Father, do not let your guard down just because Emi is a girl... Your daughter does not have as much strength as Emi...

Well, perhaps he had never even considered that possibility.

”Father... you have really been getting better with words lately.”

”...Is that a compliment?”

”Guess.”

Satsuki placed her gloves on the tabletop and turned to Emi.

”Go get your suitcase, and do not mess up what Chizuru just organized.”

Emi let out an ”Oh!” and had already dashed out the door.

A rush of footsteps with slipper soles frictioning against the carpet echoed in the hallway, followed by a low—

”Ugh... cannot move it...”

Fujita lifted his eyelids and walked over.

Shuichi sat down on the single sofa opposite Satsuki, placed his teacup on the low table, and took a sip.

”It is rare to see her this happy.”

”She is always happy,” Satsuki replied, walking to the window.

Shuichi smiled, however.

”It is good to chat more with Emi; just take this trip as a chance to relax.”

Satsuki did not speak.

She reached out and touched the window frame, her fingertips picking up a thin layer of dust.

She looked down at it, expressionless, and wiped it off with a handkerchief.

At this moment, Chizuru had already moved away from the luggage.

Chizuru was not organizing anything—the luggage had long been put away, clothes hung in the wardrobe, and the document bag pressed against the corner of the table.

She was now walking to the side near the desk, holding something in her hand, walking unhurriedly along the wall.

From behind, it looked like she was looking for an outlet, or perhaps just zoning out.

Satsuki sat back on the sofa, took the travel guide out of her canvas bag, and opened it to the page on the Winter Palace.

When Emi squeezed through the door dragging her silver-gray suitcase, Chizuru had already reached the curtains, raising her hand as if to adjust a piece of curtain fabric that was about to slip off the rod.

Emi placed the suitcase by the bed and straightened her back, her head steaming with heat.

She wiped her forehead with her cuff, her gaze sweeping over inadvertently—

Chizuru stopped beside the floor lamp, her fingertips brushing along the bottom edge of the lamp base, then she looked down, looked up again, and changed direction.

Emi blinked.

”...Chizuru?”

Chizuru turned her head.

”Miss Suzuki, is there anything you need?”

Emi pointed at the floor lamp, her tone tinged with confusion.

”Were you just, wiping the lamp?”

”Yes.”

Chizuru nodded calmly, her expression as usual.

Emi paused, then looked at the telephone, then the desk lamp, then—

”Satsuki-chan,” she turned to Satsuki, ”Chizuru has been wiping things down the whole time.”

Satsuki turned a page of the travel guide without looking up.

”Yes, she is a neat freak.”

”...A neat freak?”

”Yes, a neat freak.” Satsuki repeated, pressing down on the book page. ”You know, some people just cannot stand it when things are not cleaned properly. Chizuru thinks the hotel’s hygiene, well, how should I put it—”

She paused and sighed,

”The standards are inconsistent.”

Emi chewed on this sentence for two seconds.

”But...” She glanced towards Chizuru, ”Satsuki-chan, you do not seem to have such a severe case of being a neat freak, do you?”

”Chizuru is worse than me.”

”And you just touched the window frame earlier and just wiped your hand and that was it.”

”That is because—”

”And...”

Satsuki raised her eyes and glanced at Emi.

That look was very calm, carrying a subtle meaning—as if waiting for her to finish on her own.

Emi’s mouth stopped.

She looked down at her feet.

Then she looked up at Chizuru.

Chizuru was walking towards the bathroom, her movements unchanged, as if she were just a dutiful maid checking if the room had been cleaned properly.

Emi’s gaze followed her, from the desk lamp, to the desk, to the telephone, to the bedside—

Then she suddenly realized.

”Oh, oh, I see.”

Emi’s voice returned to its lively tone.

”It really does feel like there is a lot more dust here than in Japan.”

Satsuki had already lowered her head back to the travel guide, her fingertip tapping on the name of an exhibition hall on the Winter Palace map.

”Yes, Japan has less dust because of its oceanic climate.”

”Moscow is considered inland, so generally speaking, there is much more dust.”

”That is true...”

Emi sat down on the edge of the bed lightly, hugged her tool bag to her chest, and did not make another sound.

She felt like she had messed up.

Shuichi held his teacup, his gaze shifting between Satsuki and Emi.

He said nothing and took a sip of tea.

A while later, Chizuru walked back from the bathroom, stood still on Satsuki’s right, and folded her hands in front of her.

Satsuki turned a page of the book, her right index and middle fingers tapping lightly on the side of the travel guide.

Chizuru lowered her eyes.

”Young Miss, the tidying up for today is complete.”

”Yes, thank you for your hard work.”

Satsuki closed the travel guide, placed it on her knees, turned her head, and glanced at Emi.

Emi was sitting on the edge of the bed, her two feet dangling and swinging above the floor, looking seriously like she was not thinking about anything.

”Emi.”

”Hmm?!” She jumped slightly, ”What is it, what is it?”

”Do not leave that suitcase on the floor; lift it up and lean it against the wall.”

”Oh... oh! Okay.”

Emi quickly slid off the bed, stood the silver-gray suitcase filled with treasures upright, pushed it to the head of the bed, and went back to sit down.

Shuichi put down his teacup, stood up, and patted Satsuki’s head.

”Alright, I am going to the other bedroom. Do not you two sleep too late.”

”Father, good night.”

”Yes, good night.”

He turned to Emi, his tone gentle, ”Emi, get some good rest. We have an itinerary tomorrow.”

Emi looked up, her eyes curving, ”Good night, Uncle Shuichi!”

The door closed.

Only the sound of three people breathing and the tireless humming of the refrigerator in the corner remained in the parlor.

Emi turned her head and looked at Satsuki.

Satsuki reopened the travel guide, looking at the page for the Grand Theatre, her index finger tracing the photo of the golden curtain.

Emi hugged her knees, rested her chin on them, and asked in a low voice:

”Satsuki-chan, how many did you find?”

Satsuki did not look up.

”Two places.”

She paused.

”There are two places I want to go.”

Emi let out an ”Mm,” pressed her chin onto her knees, not knowing whether she was lamenting that this number was too many or too few.

Chizuru stood on Satsuki’s right, her expression unchanged.

The refrigerator was still humming.

Satsuki closed the travel guide, placed it on the coffee table, and leaned back on the sofa.

”Go to sleep.”

”Moscow will still be here tomorrow.”

”So Satsuki-chan, can I sleep with you?”

”No, I will not be able to sleep.”

”Why? I will not disturb you.”

”No means no.”