Reborn in Tokyo: From Heiress to Global Tycoon

Chapter 114 Consumption Tax? Consumption Tax!

September 25, 1988, 10:00 AM.

Saionji Information Systems Co., Ltd. (formerly the headquarters of Epes), Shinbashi, Minato-ku, Tokyo.

The air inside the building still carried a pungent smell, a mixture of latex paint and disinfectant. The ostentatious Baroque-style decorations that once belonged to President Ezaki had been completely removed, replaced by a somber gray palette and minimalist lines.

The walls that used to be adorned with famous paintings have now been replaced with a huge corkboard panel.

Shimomura Tsutomu, wearing a loose gray hooded sweatshirt and worn-out sneakers, stood in front of the corkboard, making a very faint "smacking" sound as he chewed a piece of gum. He held a handful of colorful pins in his hand, as if he were completing an unfinished jigsaw puzzle.

"This looks like a primary school student's craft project."

Osawa Ichiro stood three meters away from the corkboard, his hands behind his back, his brows furrowed.

This former powerful figure in the Takeshita faction of the Liberal Democratic Party was accustomed to looking at thick documents with the red letterhead of the Ministry of Finance, or checks in envelopes. The Tokyo map in front of him, densely covered with red, blue, and yellow pins, seemed not only rudimentary to him, but even somewhat childish.

"If your elementary school student can run data on the Cray supercomputer for three days and three nights, then he can indeed do this."

Without turning around, Shimomura Tsutomu casually plunged a large red pin into a street in Adachi Ward.

"Smack."

"Mr. Osawa, please don't be fooled by appearances."

Satsuki sat in a black leather swivel chair not far away, holding a cup of steaming black tea. Today she was wearing the autumn uniform of Seika Academy, a dark blue suit jacket with a gold school badge pinned to it, looking like a high school student who had just skipped class (it was Sunday, and the young lady hadn't skipped class).

She gently blew on the floating tea leaves on the surface of the tea.

"Shimomura, explain yourself."

"Yes, Boss."

Shimomura Tsutomu turned around and pushed up the thick glasses on his nose.

He pointed to the map on the wall, his expression turning serious.

"Each nail on this represents one hundred samples."

His finger traced the dense red area on the map.

"Red represents men aged 20-30 with an annual household income of less than four million yen who show 'low compliance and extreme dissatisfaction with the status quo' in the SPI personality test. We cross-referenced their job search records and consumption tendencies and found that these individuals are most sensitive to terms like 'fairness' and 'breaking down privileges.'"

Move your finger to the blue area, which is mainly concentrated in Setagaya and Chiyoda.

"Blue represents the middle and wealthy classes with an annual income of over ten million. They are risk-averse, crave stability, and are most concerned about 'stock prices' and 'land prices'."

Finally, his finger stopped on a messy yellow area.

"As for yellow... that's for 'swingmen.' They don't have a fixed political stance; they vote based on their mood or which candidate's poster they like better."

Ichiro Osawa looked at the map.

The initial disdain gradually disappeared, replaced by a chilling shock.

As a seasoned politician who has spent decades navigating election campaigns, he knows all too well what this means.

In the past, elections involved "please" and "shake hands," campaign vehicles aimlessly bombarding the streets with loudspeakers, and mobilization through personal networks of support groups and industry associations. That was the approach of World War II—wasting ammunition and inefficient.

But what's in front of me...

"You don't need to talk to everyone."

Satsuki put down her teacup, the porcelain cup clinking against the table with a crisp sound.

She stood up, walked to the map, and stood next to Ichiro Osawa.

"Say what you want to hear to those who want to listen."

"With this chart, you can avoid the hardline opponents who will never vote for you and spend every penny of your campaign funds precisely on those 'yellow' and 'red' thumbtacks."

Satsuki stretched out her slender fingers, pulled out a red thumbtack, and gently twirled it between her fingertips.

"Prime Minister Takeshita's era was built on 'money' and 'personal connections.' That was the old way of doing things in the Showa era."

She raised her head, her clear black and white eyes staring directly at Ichiro Osawa.

"But in this coming new era, politics will rely on 'data'."

"Whoever controls the data controls people's hearts."

Ichiro Osawa took a deep breath.

He stared at the colorful map on the wall, as if he saw a giant net hanging over Tokyo. And the thread that wove this net was held in the hands of this teenage girl.

"This gift..."

Osawa Ichiro's voice was a little hoarse.

"This is too expensive. Miss Saionji, what would you like?"

"I want you to become a 'villain'."

Satsuki smiled slightly.

"Although the Special Investigation Department came up empty-handed and didn't get the ledgers, they're now like enraged mad dogs, relentlessly pursuing us. Prime Minister Takeshita can't hold on any longer."

She turned around and leaned against the map wall.

"The consumption tax bill must be passed; this is the bottom line for the financial world and for the nation's finances. Takeshita Noboru couldn't do it because he was too 'soft,' too concerned with that so-called 'playing the game.'"

"We need a knife."

"A knife that dares to cut open wounds on ruins, and pushes the bill through even if it means bearing infamy."

Osawa Ichiro was stunned.

He understood what Gaoyue meant.

This is sending him to his death. No, it's sending him to be the "necessary evil."

If he pushes through the consumption tax, his approval rating will collapse instantly, and he may be called a "public enemy" for a long time.

but.

If he could do what even Takeshita Noboru couldn't, he would have obtained the final piece of the puzzle to the pinnacle of power—the trust of the business world and the bureaucratic class.

It's a big gamble.

The stakes were his political reputation, and the odds of winning were the future prime minister's seat.

"……interesting."

Osawa Ichiro suddenly laughed. It was the maniacal laughter of an ambitious person seeing a huge stake.

He walked up to the map, reached out, took the red thumbtack from Satsuki's hand, and plunged it hard into the center of the map—the location of Nagata-cho.

"it is good."

"I'll be the villain."

Shimomura Tsutomu rolled his eyes, continued chewing his gum, and typed lines of green code on the keyboard.

"Smack."

He blew a bubble.

……

It's late at night, 11 p.m.

Noboru Takeshita's private residence in Shirosawa, Setagaya Ward.

The autumn rain is continuous.

The cold rain pattered against the stone lanterns in the Japanese garden, producing a monotonous and desolate sound. Rainwater from the eaves formed curtains of water, isolating the mansion from the outside world.

The main lights in the study were not on; only a floor lamp emitted a dim, yellowish glow.

Takeshita Noboru, wearing a slightly worn wool cardigan, sat alone at a low table. There were no documents on the table, only a half-empty bottle of sake and two cups.

A man was kneeling opposite him.

Takeshita Noboru's chief secretary, Aoki Itaru, who had been his "treasury attendant" for thirty years.

"prime minister."

Aoki's voice was soft, with a slight, almost imperceptible tremor. He didn't pick up the wine glass in front of him, but simply placed his hands properly on his knees, his head lowered, looking at the fine patterns on the tatami mat.

"The Special Investigations Department summoned my wife again this afternoon."

Takeshita Noboru's hand holding the sake glass stiffened for a moment.

"What did they ask?"

"I asked about the source of that mortgage payment at home." Aoki looked up, his face, which usually wore a gentle smile, was now as pale as a sheet of paper, his eyes sunken. "Although the Saionji family has cleaned up Apes's accounts, the Special Investigation Department doesn't intend to stop. If they can't find the company, they'll start looking into the people."

"They said...the investigation will never stop until a 'specific person' comes forward to take responsibility."

Takeshita Noboru remained silent.

He turned his head and looked out the window at the dark, rainy night.

Because of the lack of crucial evidence, the Special Investigation Department descended into a frenzied, retaliatory investigation. Public opinion had already concluded that "destroying evidence means having a guilty conscience," and the cabinet's approval rating was plummeting daily. The party's senior figures were watching him, the opposition parties were watching him, and the entire nation of Japan was watching him.

If no explanation is given, this fire will continue to burn until it burns through the cabinet and destroys the entire Jing Shi Hui (a political organization).

"Ippei."

Takeshita Noboru's voice was hoarse, like an old bellows.

"Do you remember when we were in our hometown in Shimane Prefecture thirty years ago?"

Aoki's body jolted violently.

"Back then, we vowed to make this country a better place."

Takeshita Noboru put down his wine glass, and the wine sloshed around in it, creating ripples.

"But right now, the consumption tax bill is stuck in the Diet. If this bill doesn't pass, Japan's finances will be finished."

"As long as the Special Investigation Department's investigation continues, the opposition party has one reason to refuse to review the case."

Takeshita Noboru did not utter that word.

He simply trembled as he reached out and grasped Aoki's icy hands.

"Yiping, for the D... for the country."

The room fell into a deathly silence.

Only the sound of rain outside the window sounded like the wailing of countless wronged souls.

Aoki Ihei slowly straightened up. He looked at Takeshita Noboru, at the lord he had served for half his life. He saw the pain and reluctance in his lord's eyes, but even more so, a calm and decisive judgment as a politician.

He knew the time had come.

As long as he lives, he is the living target, the bridge connecting the Prime Minister and the scandal. Only death can completely sever the leads. Only death can force the Special Investigations Department to close the case.

This is the darkest and most "traditional" unspoken rule of Showa politics.

Well... the time has come, hasn't it? I had already prepared myself for this long ago, so what else is there to say?

"I see."

A relieved smile appeared on Aoki Itsuki's face.

He withdrew his hand, picked up the untouched glass of wine in front of him, held it with both hands, and raised it to Takeshita Noboru.

"prime minister."

"Please make sure... that this country is well governed."

"I'll drink this glass in one gulp as a sign of respect."

He tilted his head back and downed the drink in one gulp. The spicy liquid slid down his throat like swallowing a piece of burning coal.

"Yiping..."

Takeshita opened his mouth, and two streams of tears slid down his wrinkled cheeks. But he did not stop him.

Aoki Ihei slowly and deeply kowtowed, his forehead hitting the tatami mat heavily.

"All the blame lies with my own arbitrary actions. It has nothing to do with the Prime Minister."

Please... take care.

He stood up, straightened his perfectly wrinkle-free suit, then turned and opened the door, walking into the dark corridor.

"Squeak—"

The door closed.

They left light and warmth inside the house, while taking darkness and death far away.

Takeshita Noboru slumped in his chair, covering his face with his hands.

On this bleak and rainy night, the old man standing at the pinnacle of power sobbed silently like a child.

For power.

For that damn bill.

He personally handed the knife to his most loyal retainer.

……

The next morning, at six o'clock.

Bunkyo District, Saionji Headquarters.

It was a chilly morning, and the leaves in the courtyard were beginning to turn yellow, carrying a hint of autumn desolation.

Inside the "Mugou" tea room, the charcoal fire glowed faintly red, and the water in the iron kettle made a "gurgling" sound.

Shuichi sat at the tea table, holding a morning newspaper that had just been delivered.

His hands were trembling slightly.

The front page of the newspaper featured a black-and-white photograph with a startling headline:

Aoki Itaru, the chief secretary to Prime Minister Takeshita, was found dead in his apartment this morning, having committed suicide.

Police have preliminarily determined the cause of death to be hanging, and a suicide note was found at the scene: "Everything was my own arbitrary decision."

"He's gone mad..."

Shuichi muttered to himself and put down the newspaper.

"It really came to this. Is this the 'benevolence and righteousness' of Showa politics? Using a life to fill the cracks in power."

Despite having been in politics for so long and being familiar with the tradition of "lizard tail removal," Shuichi still felt a chill run down his spine when a vibrant human life was actually reduced to cold, lifeless print in a newspaper.

This is the game they are playing.

Using life as a bargaining chip.

"Click."

A crisp sound of scissors closing rang out.

Satsuki was kneeling beside her, holding a pair of pruning shears, trimming a pot of flowers.

A withered chrysanthemum was cut off and fell onto the wooden floor.

"This is not benevolence, Father."

Satsuki's voice was calm. She wasn't looking at the newspaper, but rather intently examining the flower branch in front of her.

"This is the 'necrosis' of the old era."

She put down the scissors, stretched out her fair fingers, picked up the fallen flower, and gently held it in her hand.

"Aoki's death will force the Special Investigation Department to close the case. According to Japanese law, if a suspect dies, no prosecution will be initiated. Kanemaru Shin is safe, and Takeshita Noboru, though now a cripple, is safe for the time being."

"but……"

Satsuki tightened her fingers slightly, and the withered chrysanthemum shattered in her palm, its petals scattering to the ground.

"The people's anger will not disappear. This anger has been forcibly suppressed, but it will only accumulate more and needs a new outlet."

"The downfall of the Takeshita Cabinet is imminent. That sticky, ambiguous, and sentimental Showa era has come to a complete end with the death of Aoki Ihei."

Looking at his daughter's delicate yet indifferent profile, Shuichi suddenly felt a sense of unfamiliarity mixed with awe.

"What about the Great Swamp..."

"Mr. Osawa is ready."

Satsuki picked up a damp towel and wiped her hands with elegant and composed movements.

"Once Takeshita announces his resignation, Osawa will take over the mess of the consumption tax as the representative of the 'reformist faction within the party'."

She turned her head and looked out the window.

The fog outside the window was heavy, enveloping the courtyard and the entire city of Tokyo.

Beneath that hazy horizon, the vast city was just awakening, countless people rising from their slumber to prepare for another day's hustle and bustle. Who knew that in the rain of the previous night, a man had died alone, trying to cover up the crimes of those powerful figures?

"The stage has been cleared."

Satsuki said softly, a faint, meaningful smile playing on her lips.

"The era of Ichiro Osawa... no, our era has begun."

The morning mist enveloped Tokyo, like a huge, white shroud covering a massive corpse.

The sun has risen.

But this light did not bring warmth.