fictionpage Chapter 193 Desire
Chapter 193 Desire
October 5, 1989, evening.
Nikkei Average: 30,120 points
A palpable sense of restlessness, almost boiling over, permeated the air of Tokyo. Every upward jump in the stock market index fueled the city's frenzy. People waved banknotes, desperately searching for outlets for their excess purchasing power.
Shibuya Crossroads.
The traffic lights beeped rapidly. A huge, multicolored wave surged in, and tens of thousands of people poured into the white zebra crossing from four directions simultaneously.
White-collar workers in wide-shouldered suits, housewives carrying Mitsukoshi department store paper bags, and young girls wearing highly saturated lipsticks intertwine on the gray asphalt road, forming a dense, flowing patchwork of colors. The chaotic sounds of tens of thousands of leather shoes and high heels rubbing against the pavement, mixed with heavy metal electronic music overflowing from the speakers of the surrounding shops, collided with each other in the canyon of reinforced concrete.
The three giant LED screens hanging on the exterior walls of the surrounding high-rise buildings were originally playing the new music videos of the noisy soda guy and his idol.
But within the same millisecond.
Three core screens, heavily controlled by SA Media, flashed with an extremely fine electromagnetic interference pattern. Accompanied by a faint "click" as the audio lines were cut, the deafening commercial audio track was instantly silenced.
The screen went completely black.
A five-second silence.
In the extreme noise of thousands of people passing by every minute, this sudden deprivation of sight and sound is like having all the oxygen forcibly sucked out of the air.
Pedestrians instinctively stopped in their tracks, countless heads tilting back at the same time, their gazes fixed on the darkness above.
On the huge screen, the image emerged from the black screen.
A long aerial shot plummets straight down from the sky. The harsh winter blizzard of the far north tears at the dark night of Hokkaido, and the gale churns the snow powder into a grayish-white chaos.
In the heart of this desolate wasteland, where even blood could freeze, a vast hemispherical glass dome is abruptly wedged into the permafrost. Tens of thousands of industrial-grade halogen lamps and underwater spotlights intertwine, causing this colossal structure to spew blinding blue and dazzling gold light amidst the minus twenty-degree blizzard. It resembles a miniature sun defying the laws of celestial motion, savagely and arrogantly dispelling the surrounding extreme cold.
The camera smoothly moves forward, skimming along the howling snow fog.
The raging snowflakes pounded on the outside of the special heated glass curtain wall, instantly evaporating from the high temperature overflowing from inside, turning into a layer of billowing white mist.
My gaze pierced through the layer of moisture.
Just a wall away, seasons and latitudes are forcibly altered by money.
In the humid tropical rainforest with a constant temperature of 28 degrees Celsius, giant Monstera deliciosa and palm leaves sway lazily in the artificial sea breeze created by large wind turbines. Crystal-clear artificial waves surge forward, washing over the soft white sand that has been airlifted directly from the Philippines by heavy cargo planes, producing a long and even "whoosh" sound.
Several women dressed in the latest haute couture swimwear reclined on beach chairs. They lay there languidly and comfortably.
Long, slender fingers held a crystal goblet.
"bite."
The ice cubes collided in the golden champagne liquid, producing an extremely crisp sound.
The woman held her wine glass, tilting her head slightly. Through the seemingly thin yet indestructible transparent glass, she gazed absently at the deadly blizzard just inches away.
A mere layer of glass, only slightly thick, forcibly cleaves the deathly cold of minus twenty degrees Celsius from the constant temperature of twenty-eight degrees Celsius in the humid tropics. Immense wealth, at this moment, materializes as a barrier against the laws of nature, granting humanity the privilege of altering the seasons through the most brutal consumption of energy.
At the bottom of the screen, a line of neat, bold text slowly appeared:
[A miracle of conquering the bitter cold, Japan at the pinnacle of the world]
— Niseko Gokurakukan, opening in late November.
In an era of frenzied growth, with the Nikkei index nearing historical lows, the inflated national confidence had exceeded the threshold of conventional consumption. The most sophisticated marketing strategies had long since abandoned the simplistic logic of discussing price and value for money. SA Group's GG project deeply linked this out-of-season building, which cost tens of billions of yen and completely defied the laws of physics and nature, with the concept of "national strength."
A sense of privileged superiority has been materialized. Patriotism and national pride have been precisely extracted, labeled with a clear price tag, and transformed into an expensive commodity that can be purchased simply by swiping a card.
Capital has put a price tag on vanity and laid it out in front of everyone.
……
Inside a somewhat cramped public housing apartment in Setagaya Ward.
The old-fashioned kerosene heater hummed softly in the corner, emitting a faint smell of kerosene.
In the cramped living room, the television was playing the evening news. An ordinary trading company employee sat on a low sofa, carefully placing the envelope containing his winter bonus, which had just been paid out that month, under the glass of the coffee table. The thick edges of the envelope were slightly warped under the weight of the glass.
His wife knelt on the carpet, holding a beautifully printed brochure in her hands.
Paradise House: A Special Annex for Public Experience
The glossy coated paper gleamed with a sophisticated sheen under the overhead incandescent light. The wife opened the fold-out, her gaze fixed intently on the high-resolution interior photographs.
The brochure shows the "standard suites" located in the low-rise buildings surrounding the Paradise Pavilion.
This room, defined as a "basic room" by the SA Group, still features imported North American walnut wood and high-end velvet fabrics in its interior decoration, completely surpassing the executive suites of most traditional five-star hotels in both visual appeal and tactile feel. Through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, the magnificent snowscape of Mount Yotei is unobstructed. The most irresistible allure is that even guests who purchase this basic suite still have access to the tropical glass dome and the artificial beach via key card.
The room rate is priced extremely precisely. It's locked in at a critical point: just enough for an average family to barely afford it by gritting their teeth and using up an entire season's bonus.
The wife stared at the artificial white sand beach and the reflection of the snow-capped mountains in the brochure, her fingers unconsciously tracing the edge of the high-grammage coated paper.
"Shota will be starting private tutoring next year, and this money is just enough to pay the first tuition and also to settle last month's gas bill."
Her voice was low, but her gaze was fixed on the high-resolution photos in the brochure. She gripped the edge of the glossy paper so tightly that a deep crease appeared.
"However, at yesterday's housewives' meeting, Mrs. Tanaka next door showed off her family's plane tickets to Hawaii for New Year's Eve." The wife swallowed, a dry sound coming from her throat. "Everyone was fussing over her. If we just eat discounted soba noodles at home for New Year's Eve, I have no idea where to look at the town party next month."
Inside the cramped public rental housing, an old-fashioned kerosene heater emitted a monotonous hum.
The man sat on the low sofa, his gaze shifting back and forth between the bonus envelope under the glass of the coffee table and the brochure in his wife's hand.
The envelope contained the reward he had earned by working overtime until late every night for six consecutive months. This money was enough to ensure his family's food security for the next six months.
But looking at that promotional brochure, he couldn't help but fantasize. A hotel invoice stamped with "Paradise House" would allow him to confidently join his colleagues' discussions about vacations and spending in the sales department's break room, and even garner a few envious exclamations, saving him from continuing to be the invisible man who could only lower his head and drink instant coffee.
The man's chest heaved violently.
"I'll apply for weekend overtime slots next month to cover the tuition for the private school."
He reached under the glass and pulled out the slightly warped envelope, pushing it next to the brochure. Then, he picked up the heavy black landline receiver from the coffee table.
My finger turned the dial, and the metal contacts clicked rapidly as I dialed the reservation hotline on the back of the brochure.
……
Ginza 4-chome, a high-class coffee shop.
The melodious cello music flowed through the air, mingling with the rich, bitter aroma of freshly ground Colombian coffee beans.
By the window, a middle-class businessman who started his business as an importer of cars leaned back in a velvet sofa. A half-smoked Cuban cigar was between his fingers, and the bluish-gray smoke swirled and rose in the air in front of him.
On the marble tabletop, a catalog with a black velvet cover and gold foil embossing lay open.
"Paradise Pavilion: Hidden Forest Villa Invitation Catalog"
On the opened page, large villas, each equipped with a private open-air hot spring, an independent constant-temperature wine cellar, and a dedicated butler, are scattered in a well-organized manner in the primeval fir forest, far away from the hustle and bustle of the crowds.
The boss took a deep drag on his cigar.
He wouldn't even bother with those "cheap suites with glass domes." For this middle class who made their first fortune by taking advantage of the times, being crammed onto the same beach as ordinary people who had saved up for months to join the crowd was an insult to their status.
He knew that his current cash flow was far from enough to buy a mansion with a private garden and servants' quarters in Minato Ward, Tokyo.
But this detached villa, priced at 500,000 yen per night, perfectly provides an illusion of upward social mobility. By paying this exorbitant bill, he can rightfully own an entire Hokkaido estate with a professional butler team for those 24 hours.
He picked up the bone china coffee cup on the table and took a sip. A fine layer of sweat appeared on his forehead due to extreme excitement, clinging to the edge of his hairline.
"Takahashi-kun".
The boss exhaled a smoke ring, flicked his cigarette ash at his business partner sitting opposite him, and spoke with a deliberately suppressed smugness in his tone.
"I finally managed to secure a reservation for a detached house for New Year's Eve through a friend in the Ministry of Construction. My whole family will be there to open a few bottles of good wine. As for the crowds in Tokyo on New Year's Eve, let those without connections have to bear with it."
A hint of barely concealed jealousy flashed in the eyes of the business partner opposite him. He nodded repeatedly in agreement, while in his mind he was quickly calculating which piece of land he should mortgage to get the same entry ticket.
……
Ginza 7-chome, the upscale club "Lumiere".
Inside the secluded VIP room, the lighting was adjusted to be extremely soft. The air was filled with the rich aroma of aged whiskey and the expensive perfume worn by the female hostess.
A newly rich president who has made a fortune in the past two years by reselling land sat on a large leather sofa.
The room was well-air-conditioned, yet a fine layer of sweat beaded on his forehead. He reached up and loosened the Hermès silk tie worth 100,000 yen around his neck, his breathing slightly rapid.
For the past week, he had his secretary call the Elysium's official reservation hotline every day. The response was consistently the same cold, official rhetoric: the secluded, independent forest villas were fully booked, with the waiting list extending a month into the future. The regular, most luxurious villas, however, could be obtained immediately.
"Ordinary? Who do you think you are? I deserve to live in the best! I'm a 'newly rich'!"
But this waiting-in response severely wounded the nouveau riche's pride. For a newly rich man who had accumulated enormous wealth in a short period of time, a regular five-star hotel suite was no longer enough to match his rapidly inflated self-image. The "absolute privilege of invitation only, hidden deep in a primeval forest" emphasized in the marketing of the Elysium perfectly tapped into his vanity, which desperately needed to prove that he had joined the top echelons of society.
Sitting opposite him was Yoshino, the president of Mitsui Bank.
As the father of Yoshino Ayako, a classmate of Saionji Satsuki, Yoshino not only successfully rose to the top in last year's internal reshuffle, but has now become the Saionji family's most core ally in the financial world.
Yoshino leaned back on the sofa, closed his eyes, and listened to the faint jazz music coming from outside the private room, his fingers tapping lightly on his knees.
"You are able to sit in this private room entirely because you helped the branch fill that 200 million yen bad debt hole at the end of last year."
Yoshino didn't open his eyes, and spoke in a calm tone, his voice just enough to penetrate the background noise of the jazz music.
"VIP spots for the first week at Gokurakukan are an extremely scarce resource in Tokyo right now. Real estate developers and business owners, even with boxes of cash, can't find any way to exchange favors for them. Now that I've secured this spot for you, all previous favors will be settled."
The newly rich president gritted his teeth and nodded repeatedly.
He desperately longed to visit that tropical wonderland amidst the snow and wind. He desperately needed to use this key, the most difficult to obtain in all of Japan, to crown his current wealth and status.
"I am fully aware of the significance of this opportunity. I am already extremely grateful that Mr. Yoshino was willing to open this door for me."
He opened the alligator-skin briefcase beside him and pulled out a Citibank draft with an astronomical sum filled in from an inner compartment.
He held the edge of the promissory note with both hands and slowly pushed it across the smooth marble tabletop.
The amount on the promissory note contained a huge premium enough to buy a luxury apartment in the port area outright. He was willing to use this wealth, which was enough for ordinary people to look up to, to exchange for the VIP spot for the first week that Yoshino had intercepted internally, in order to satisfy his extremely inflated subjective possessiveness.
Yoshino opened his eyes and glanced at the promissory note on the table.
Hmm, that's quite good. I could give them a little guidance later.
He stopped tapping his fingers, reached out, and pocketed the promissory note. Then, he took a black velvet envelope from his inside jacket pocket and placed it on the marble table.
The newly rich president, as if he had found a treasure, stretched out his hands and pinched the edge of the envelope.
Inside was a gold-embossed reservation card.
At the opportune moment, the female public relations officer next to him picked up the whiskey bottle, tilted her wrist, and poured the amber liquid into the crystal glass on the table.
The perfectly spherical ice cube in the glass, hand-carved and flawless, made an extremely subtle cracking sound as the room temperature and the liquid impacted it.
"Click."
A white crack appeared on the surface of the ice cube, which slowly sank into the amber-colored liquor.