Lunch break at Seika Academy.
The courtyard, designed with a strong Zen aesthetic, featured raked white sand in the dry landscape garden and several sturdy five-needle pines. Satsuki sat alone on a bench beneath a wisteria trellis, holding a can of black tea she had purchased from a vending machine.
Although the school offered dedicated tea rooms with maid service, she needed solitude now to organize her thoughts. The bench lay in a quiet blind spot of the courtyard, making it an ideal sanctuary.
She pulled the tab on the can with a soft click that sounded unusually clear in the tranquil afternoon. Instead of drinking, she pressed the cold metal against her cheek to soothe the facial muscles stiffened by hours of polite, artificial smiling.
"The Okura family specializes in land reclamation, so their capital chain relies heavily on bank loans. If Sumitomo Bank tightens its lending policies…"
Satsuki replayed the earlier confrontation in her mind. It had been a childish victory at best. The real battlefield lay in how she could leverage the Okura family's impending misfortune to establish her own voice within the "Rose Circle."
A hesitant, dragging sound of footsteps interrupted her thoughts. She did not turn around, but the pattern told her everything: two steps forward, a pause, half a step back. The newcomer was locked in deep internal conflict.
At last, the person gathered courage and approached the side of the bench.
"Um… Saionji-san."
The voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz, trembling with nervousness.
Satsuki turned her head slowly. The cold, calculating expression she had worn moments earlier melted seamlessly into a gentle, proper smile.
Before her stood a girl with ear-length short hair and thick-rimmed glasses. She clutched the hem of her skirt so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
Suzuki Emi—Amy.
Satsuki remembered her. In the classroom earlier, she had been the only one who nearly laughed when Okura Masami was humiliated, only to clap a hand desperately over her mouth.
"It's Suzuki-san," Satsuki said, setting the tea aside and adopting a warm tone. "Is something the matter?"
Amy drew a deep breath, as though summoning every ounce of courage she possessed.
"Th-thank you!"
"Thank me?" Satsuki tilted her head, feigning puzzlement.
"For what you did earlier… in front of Okura-san…" Amy's face flushed with excitement, and her words tumbled out faster. "Okura always mocks my family, calling us 'countryside part-makers' and saying I smell like solder. No one has ever dared talk back to her—everyone fears her father. But Saionji-san, you…"
I see.
Satsuki understood at once. An enemy's enemy could become a useful friend—or, more precisely, an admirer ripe for cultivation.
Given Okura Masami's nouveau-riche arrogance, she must have bullied many girls at Seika. Satsuki's intervention had accidentally cast her in the role of "defender of justice" in the eyes of the victims.
"I did not act for your sake, Suzuki-san."
Satsuki shook her head gently, her voice soft as a spring breeze, perfectly suited to the noble persona she cultivated. "I simply believe that as students of Seika, we should understand what it means to be truly refined. Okura-san's words and behavior lacked any ladylike grace. I merely offered her a small reminder."
This modest attitude only made the light of admiration in Amy's eyes burn brighter.
"Even so… it was truly amazing!" Amy took a half-step forward, then caught herself and shrank back timidly.
At that moment, Satsuki noticed what the girl clutched tightly to her chest. It was neither a fashion magazine nor a romance novel, but a well-thumbed professional journal titled Radio Technology, its cover adorned with a complex circuit-board diagram.
Even more intriguing, a dark green object protruded slightly from between the pages—a corner of a printed circuit board (PCB).
With the superficial knowledge of the hardware industry she retained from her previous life, Satsuki recognized it instantly.
"Suzuki-san," she asked in a casual, conversational tone, careful not to show overt interest, "are you interested in such things?"
"Ah?" Amy followed Satsuki's gaze and hurriedly hid the journal behind her back. "S-sorry! I know it's strange… girls are supposed to read Non-no or study flower arrangement, but I…"
"Does your father run a factory?" Satsuki interrupted her anxious rambling.
"Yes… a small one in Ota Ward." Amy lowered her head, her voice thick with self-deprecation. "It's an OEM for electronic components. It's noisy and messy, nothing elegant like the Saionji family…"
Ota Ward. Electronic-component OEM.
Satsuki's mind swiftly consulted the industrial map of 1985. That district teemed with small and medium-sized enterprises—capillaries supplying vital parts to giants such as Sony, Toshiba, and NEC.
For Wall Street analysts, these humble factories at the bottom of the supply chain often revealed the true temperature of an industry long before polished financial reports.
"Has the factory been busy lately?" Satsuki asked lightly, patting the empty space beside her in invitation.
Amy sat down tentatively, visibly flattered. She sighed with mild complaint. "Busy to the point of exhaustion. Papa has been working overtime every day. He took a huge order from Kyoto. The house is overflowing with red-and-white plastic shells—even my room has been taken over."
Satsuki's pupils contracted slightly.
Kyoto. Red-and-white plastic shells. 1985.
Combined, those details pointed to only one possibility: Nintendo's Family Computer—the Famicom.
Although the console had launched in 1983, 1985 marked a critical turning point. On September 13 of that year, Super Mario Bros. would be released, igniting an explosive surge in sales.
If the Suzuki family's factory was laboring overtime to produce shells or assemble boards, it meant Nintendo was stockpiling an enormous volume of inventory in preparation for the Christmas sales campaign.
This was raw, unpublished market intelligence.
Satsuki studied the girl before her, whose face clearly read "so troubled," and a subtle shift occurred in her gaze.
She would not even need to spend money on bribes. A little aristocratic "friendship" and "recognition" would be enough. This ostracized girl would pour out every detail—shipment volumes, overtime hours, new-product molds—like beans from a jar.
"Red-and-white shells?" Satsuki asked with innocent curiosity, offering a smile appropriate to her age. "That sounds rather cute. Is it a toy?"
"It's a game console," Amy replied. Seeing genuine interest from the young lady, her shyness melted away and the words flowed freely. "It's called the Famicom. Papa says the company is releasing new cartridges soon, and they're pushing for delivery like mad. Even I have to help stick labels on the assembly line."
"Putting on labels must be tiring work."
Satsuki reached into her pocket, withdrew a delicately wrapped French fruit gummy, and placed it gently in Amy's palm.
"Something sweet may help you feel a little brighter."
Amy stared at the candy. It came from a renowned Ginza dessert shop; a single piece cost several hundred yen—enough for her to buy several old magazines.
Her eyes reddened with emotion. "Saionji-san… you're such a good person…"
Satsuki merely smiled.
Through this girl, she could monitor Nintendo's shipping pace. A sudden surge would signal the moment to buy Nintendo-related stocks or distributor options. A sudden halt would warn of inventory buildup.
As for Amy herself?
She did not need the girl to be a genius or to understand technology. She only needed her to remain a factory-raised daughter who craved friendship in this cold elite school—a naïve, loyal sweetheart.
"Suzuki-san," Satsuki said softly, her tone carrying a gentle note of seduction, "actually, I find those glowing vacuum tubes far more interesting than diamonds. Although I don't understand them well, if any of those 'strange new cartridges' appear next time, could you secretly tell me about them? I am quite curious about that… red-and-white toy."
"Of course!" Amy nodded vigorously, as though entrusted with a royal command. "Next time I'll sneak out a discarded shell to show you! Papa is going to dispose of them anyway—it won't matter if I take one!"
The corners of Satsuki's mouth deepened into a satisfied smile.
"Then it is a deal. In exchange…"
She gestured toward Okura Masami's group in the distance, who were pointing and whispering in their direction.
"If anyone mocks the smell on you again, tell them it is 'the smell of the future.' If they still do not understand, come find me."
That was sufficient.
With a single piece of candy and a few well-chosen words, she had secured a direct channel to the end of Nintendo's supply chain.
This was the quiet art of domination.
"Class will begin soon."
Satsuki stood and brushed nonexistent dust from her skirt.
"Let us go, Suzuki-san. Let us see what new tricks Okura-san might attempt this afternoon."
As she watched Satsuki's elegant retreating figure, Suzuki Emi clutched the gummy as though it were a precious talisman. She silently vowed to bring Saionji-san the freshest and most interesting items from her father's factory.
Meanwhile, the smile on Satsuki's face, now walking ahead, had already faded.
She glanced at the overcast sky.
"Information channel +1."
She checked the item off silently in her mind.