Reborn in Tokyo: From Heiress to Global Tycoon

Chapter 121 God of Zero Sales

October 14, 1988.

Chiyoda Ward, Niban Town.

Inside the chairman's office at the Ito-Yokado headquarters, the air was so thick it felt almost solid. Heavy velvet curtains blocked out the afternoon sun, leaving only the dim, yellowish glow of the vintage desk lamp on the desk.

In the crystal ashtray, the cigarette butts of Seven Stars cigarettes piled up to the edge, and a few wisps of smoke that had not been completely extinguished swirled and rose under the light.

"Is this the data for the Shinjuku 3-chome store yesterday?"

Toshifumi Suzuki's voice was hoarse as he tapped his fingers forcefully on the thin thermal paper. As the helmsman of 7-Eleven, this man, hailed as the "father of Japanese convenience stores," looked like a lion trapped in a cage at that moment.

Standing opposite him was the managing director in charge of purchasing goods, whose forehead was already covered with a fine layer of cold sweat.

"Yes...yes, Chairman."

The executive's voice was somewhat heavy. He lowered his head, not daring to look directly into Suzuki Toshifumi's bloodshot eyes.

"FamilyMart's average daily sales per store in that neighborhood exceeded 700,000 yen yesterday. And ours... only reached 400,000."

"That's impossible."

Suzuki Toshifumi slammed the report on the table, making the teacup next to him clink.

"The foot traffic in that neighborhood is fixed. Our 'single-item management' system predicts very accurately; the upper limit of demand for bento boxes in that business district is just that. How could they possibly sell 700,000?"

He grabbed a rice ball from the corner of the table.

It was a simple "hand-rolled rice ball" wrapped in clear plastic, with a prominent label that read "Hokkaido Autumn Salmon - 100 Yen". He had asked his driver to buy it from across the street on his way home from get off work yesterday.

Toshifumi Suzuki tore open the packaging and took a bite.

The stale, cheap taste that I had expected did not appear.

The rice grains were distinct, carrying the sweetness of new rice, and the salmon meat even had a slightly oily, tender texture. Although the seaweed had softened a bit from being exposed to air, it still tasted like a high-end product.

"One hundred yen..."

Suzuki Toshifumi chewed the rice ball in his mouth, the taste spreading on his tongue, but it made his heart sink little by little.

As a retail expert, he knew the ins and outs better than anyone. The cost of raw materials of this quality, plus labor, logistics, and shop rent, definitely exceeded eighty yen. If you factored in the scrap rate, selling it for one hundred yen was practically charity.

"That crazy guy, Tsutsumi Seiji."

Suzuki Toshifumi swallowed the rice ball and snorted coldly.

"Just to spite his brother and to fund that InterContinental Hotel acquisition, he actually allowed FamilyMart to engage in this kind of loss-making business? How long can this price war last? A month? Two months?"

"Um... President."

The executive hesitated for a moment, then carefully took out another document from his briefcase.

"This is information relayed back by our informants planted in the FamilyMart distribution center."

"explain."

"They... don't seem to be losing money." The executive's voice was so low it was almost inaudible. "In fact, their gross profit margin is higher than ours."

Suzuki Toshifumi suddenly raised his head.

"What did you say?"

"Because...their abandonment rate...is only 0.6%."

A deathly silence fell over the office.

Only the wall clock emitted a monotonous "click, click" sound.

Suzuki Toshifumi slowly leaned back in his chair, his fingers unconsciously stroking the wrapper of the rice ball.

0.6%.

This is a number that could drive any retail professional to despair.

7-Eleven's much-vaunted "single-item management" requires store managers to predict tomorrow's sales based on weather, holidays, and surrounding events, in order to control inventory. Even with this meticulous approach, the waste rate consistently hovers around 3%.

This opponent simply erased the number before the decimal point.

Toshifumi Suzuki took off his glasses and rubbed his throbbing temples.

He was indeed a genius in the retail industry, but what Satsuki carried with him was the experience accumulated by countless retail professionals over the decades, experience that even included his own future contributions.

Faced with this utterly unreasonable and epoch-making crushing force, even he, Toshifumi Suzuki, was at a loss for how to respond.

Just then, the internal telephone on the table suddenly rang.

Toshifumi Suzuki took a deep breath, put his glasses back on, and answered the phone.

"This is Suzuki."

"Suzuki? I'm Ito."

An aged voice came from the other end of the phone. It was Masatoshi Ito, the founder of Ito-Yokado, and also Toshifumi Suzuki's real boss.

"Come up here. A guest wants to see you."

"guest?"

"Yes. Miss Saionji. She said she came to deliver the 'antidote'."

……

The large conference room on the top floor offers a wide view.

Through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, you can overlook the entire green space of the Imperial Palace.

Satsuki sat at one side of the long table, wearing her Seika Academy high school uniform. Her dark blue blazer, adorned with the school badge, had its ribbon tied meticulously at the collar. Holding a cup of hot tea, she quietly gazed out the window, like a female student who had stumbled into the world of business.

Two people stood behind her.

One is Fujita Tsuyoshi.

The other one seemed somewhat out of place.

Shimomura Tsutomu, wearing his signature gray hooded sweatshirt, had messy hair and looked like an unemployed man who had just come out of an internet cafe after an all-nighter. He was idly fiddling with a heavy black laptop, a Toshiba T3100 that had just been released, but in his hands it looked like a toy.

"Thump."

The conference room door was pushed open.

Masatoshi Ito and Toshifumi Suzuki walked in.

"Grandpa Ito, it's been a long time."

Satsuki put down her teacup, stood up, and gracefully performed a junior's bow. Her obedient demeanor made it impossible to associate her with the ruthless "witch" who was decisive in the business world.

"It's Satsuki." Masatoshi Ito said with a kind smile. "How's Shuichi-kun doing lately? He said he'd send me a box of good tea at The Club last time."

"Father is in very good health," Satsuki replied with a smile. "Tea has been prepared for you; I'll have Fujita deliver it to your residence another day."

After exchanging pleasantries, everyone took their seats on either side of the long table.

Suzuki Toshifumi sat to the left of Ito Masatoshi, scrutinizing the girl before him.

Is this the rumored "mastermind" of the Saionji family?

"Mr. Suzuki seems to have some doubts about the 'gift' I brought?"

Satsuki keenly caught Suzuki's gaze, and instead of looking away, she looked directly into the eyes of the "God of Convenience Stores".

"If you're here to sell rice balls, then there's no need for that."

Suzuki Toshifumi's voice was somewhat cold and hard.

"7-Eleven has its own fresh food factories and its own logistics system. We don't need to outsource."

This is his pride. 7-Eleven's dominance in the industry stems from its absolute control over the supply chain.

"I know."

Satsuki nodded in agreement.

"Your 'single-item management' philosophy is a textbook for the retail industry. Relying on the store manager's experience and intuition to anticipate consumer needs is a kind of 'human' wisdom."

She changed the subject.

"However, people get tired and make mistakes."

Satsuki tilted her head slightly and snapped her fingers at Shimomura Tsutomu behind her.

"Shimomura."

"Hi, hi."

Shimomura Tsutomu took a piece of chewing gum out of his pocket and popped it into his mouth, then connected the laptop to the projector in the conference room.

He pulled a telephone line from his messy pocket and plugged it into the socket on the wall.

"Sizzle—sizzle—"

After a series of piercing dialing sounds, a black screen with green text appeared on the screen.

That was an electronic map of Tokyo.

The surface is covered with countless green dots, each dot representing a FamilyMart store.

"What is this?" Suzuki Toshifumi frowned.

"This is what's happening in Tokyo right now, at this very moment."

Satsuki stretched out her finger and pointed it in the air.

Shimomura Tsutomu typed on the keyboard.

A dot on the map suddenly turned red, and a pop-up window appeared next to it.

【新宿3丁目店。14:35:21。售出：照烧鸡肉饭糰 x 2。库存剩余：3。触发补货指令。】

Almost at the same second.

The data in the bottom right corner of the screen also jumped up and down.

[Chiba Central Kitchen, Zone C. Production order received. Raw material deductions. Estimated shipping time: 16:00.]

Suzuki Toshifumi's pupils suddenly contracted.

He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor with a screeching sound.

"That's impossible!"

He pointed at the screen, his fingers trembling slightly.

"Current POS systems upload data in batches via phone lines after the store closes at night. How could you possibly monitor it in real time?"

In 1988, before the internet and broadband, data transmission had a "time lag." Headquarters had to wait until the next morning to know the sales figures of its branches.

"Because we've laid out our own 'nerves'."

Satsuki remained seated, her expression calm.

"Mr. Shimomura modified the communication protocol. Each of our POS machines is a real-time terminal. It doesn't need to wait until night; every time it sells a rice ball, it immediately tells the boiler in Chiba: 'Hey, I'm short one here, you should make a new one.'"

"Mr. Suzuki, you're using yesterday's weather forecast to decide whether or not to bring an umbrella today."

"And I was looking at the rain outside the window, deciding whether or not to go out."

Toshifumi Suzuki stared at the constantly flickering screen.

Each flash represents a completed transaction and a precise adjustment to the inventory.

That flowing data stream is like blood rushing through veins—vibrant, precise, and without any stagnation.

In comparison, his prized system, which relied on store managers to fill out order forms, seemed so clumsy and slow, like a rusty steam engine facing an internal combustion engine.

"So this is... the secret behind the 0.6% waste rate?"

Suzuki Toshifumi muttered to himself, as if all his strength had been drained, and slowly sat back down in his chair.

He lost.

It's not that it lost out because of the taste of the rice ball, nor because of the price.

He lost to "time".

"Mr. Suzuki, your factory is now a burden to you."

Satsuki's voice was soft, yet every word pierced the heart.

"To keep those old factories running and to cover losses caused by miscalculations, your bento box costs remain high. You have to sell the rice balls for 120 yen just to break even."

"And across from me..."

Satsuki pointed to the screen.

"FamilyMart is using my system to push costs to the limit. They can offer better quality than you for 100 yen and still make a profit."

"You can't win this battle."

The conference room was deathly silent.

Masatoshi Ito, who had been silent all along, finally opened his half-closed eyes.

As a capitalist, he doesn't care about the technical details. He only cares about the results.

"Satsuki," Ito Masatoshi said, looking at the girl opposite him, his tone carrying a hint of businessman's shrewdness, "Why are you showing this to us? To make Suzuki-kun admit defeat?"

"Of course not."

Satsuki shook her head.

"I'm here to seek cooperation."

She pulled a pre-prepared folder from her schoolbag—a schoolbag that looked like it contained textbooks—and pushed it in front of the two of them.

"Although FamilyMart adopted my system, Mr. Seiji Tsutsumi is a 'poet.' He doesn't really understand the essence of retail. He just wants to use it to embellish the financial statements."

"But Mr. Suzuki is different."

Satsuki looked at Suzuki Toshifumi with a sincere respect in her eyes—the strong deserve recognition.

"You understand retail. You know how to turn that technological advantage into real dominance."

"The Saionji family has no plans to open a convenience store. We just want to be quiet 'water deliverymen'."

"Shut down your factory, or sell it to me."

"Leave the supply chain to me. Connect to S-Food's central kitchen and SA Logistics' logistics network."

"You only need to do what you do best—manage the store, serve customers, and develop new products."

"As for the dirty and tiring work like cooking, delivering goods, and managing inventory..."

Satsuki smiled slightly, like a devil tempting a child with candy.

"Leave it to me."

"I can assure you that 7-Eleven will remain the king that leaves all competitors in despair. Moreover, your profit margin will be at least 15% higher than it is now."

Toshifumi Suzuki looked at the documents in front of him.

Supply Chain Outsourcing and Technology Cooperation Agreement.

By signing this agreement, 7-Eleven essentially handed over half of its lifeline—its supply chain—to the Saionji family.

But if I don't sign...

He stared at the constantly flickering red dot on the screen...

Technological gap.

These four words were like a mountain, pressing down on him and making it hard for him to breathe.

"I... need to think about it."

Toshifumi Suzuki closed the file, his voice hoarse.

He did not refuse.

This is the biggest concession.

"certainly."

Satsuki stood up and straightened her skirt.

"However, please don't think about it for too long. After all..."

She glanced at Shimomura Tsutomu beside her.

The genius hacker was idly blowing bubbles with his chewing gum.

"The president of Lawson, Nakano, invited me to dinner in Akasaka tomorrow."

"I think he must be very interested in how to become 'second in the industry'."

After speaking, Satsuki bowed again and turned to walk towards the door.

Fujita Takeshi and Shimomura Tsutomu followed closely behind.

As she reached the door, Satsuki suddenly stopped.

"By the way, Mr. Suzuki."

She turned her head, and the afternoon sun shone on her profile, outlining a golden silhouette.

"That rice ball today tasted good, didn't it?"

"That's Yumepirika rice, newly harvested this year by S-Farm in Hokkaido. If we cooperate, this will become the standard offering at 7-Eleven from now on."

As Suzuki Toshifumi looked at the girl's golden profile, a strange chill ran through his heart.

She... knows everything.

The door closed.

The bright sunlight and the terrifying girl were kept out of the door.

Inside the office, only two elderly people remained, along with a suffocating anxiety that lingered in the room.

Suzuki Toshifumi pulled a cigarette from the pack, his hand trembling slightly. He tried several times before finally lighting it.

Blue smoke rose up.

He stared at the still-lit screen, the still-blinking green cursor representing FamilyMart's sales data.

"Ito-san..."

Toshifumi Suzuki took a deep breath; the smell of nicotine calmed him down a little.

"It seems we're about to see a change in the political landscape."

Outside the window, the sky over Tokyo remained a clear blue.