The 5,000-tsubo processing center operated under a steel dome illuminated by high-pressure sodium lamps.
Mechanical systems dominated the facility: conveyor belts, rubber rollers, and metal chutes transported bulk crops.
Otsuka Kouhei, wearing an unbuttoned white lab coat over a flannel shirt and a baseball cap, monitored the automated sorting line. He removed a potato from the belt, examined its surface, and noted the absence of a fresh, earthy odor.
It was April. Seed potatoes had only recently been planted on the Tokachi Plain. Local harvest was not yet possible.
Otsuka turned to Hayakawa. His tone was controlled but accusatory.
"President Hayakawa. You think I'm an old fool?"
He placed the potato on the stainless steel inspection table.
"This is a Russet Burbank. Rough skin. Shallow eyes. High starch content. This is the standard variety from Idaho or Washington. We do not grow this in Hokkaido.
When I signed on, you told me we were going to revive Tokachi agriculture. Make Hokkaido potatoes flow across Japan. I believed you. But now, where did this come from? If you brought me here to apply a Hokkaido-grown label to cheap imports, you selected the wrong person.
I may be regarded as unorthodox, but I intend to maintain my professional integrity."
The workshop was silent. Hayakawa began to respond, but Satsuki interceded from the control platform.
"You're right, Mr. Otsuka."
She descended the stairs and approached him, picking up the potato.
"This is a Russet Burbank. As you said, these are American potatoes, offloaded at Tomakomai Port yesterday."
Otsuka's expression hardened. "You admit it? So this is part of the plan? Use cheap American stock to fill the gap?"
"No," Satsuki replied. "Not a single one of these will reach the market. They are designated for internal use only — as feed, fuel, or meals for workers on our construction sites."
She returned the potato to the belt.
"Mr. Otsuka, you are an expert in farming. But you are not yet familiar with this equipment. This line cost 300 million yen.
It is new, and it requires calibration. If we wait until autumn to test it with field potatoes, we risk malfunctions that could cause tens of thousands of tons of fresh potatoes to spoil.
These cheap imports are consumables for calibrating the optical sensors, testing cutter angles, and establishing operational rhythm. In two weeks, this system will be ready. When the Tokachi harvest arrives, it will be processed at maximum efficiency."
Otsuka's posture shifted as he processed the explanation.
"Besides," Satsuki continued, "I am concerned with brand integrity. The Saionji name must represent pure Hokkaido-grown product.
During the initial phase of building consumer trust, any presence of American starch would compromise the brand.
After testing, every American potato will be sent to Saionji Construction canteens and Saionji Industries employee cafeterias. Internal consumption only. None will be sold in supermarkets. This is a direct order."
Otsuka studied her, then exhaled.
"It seems I made an incorrect assumption. Forgive my rudeness."
He bowed to Hayakawa, then to Satsuki.
"If they are for calibrating the machines, then we should proceed. Even foreign potatoes are suitable for testing hardness. I want to see how much faster this 300-million-yen system is than manual labor."
Satsuki nodded and addressed the control room technicians.
"Full power. Test maximum sorting speed."
The lead operator activated the controls. The conveyor increased speed. The optical sorting system, using CCD line-scan cameras and high-speed pneumatic valves, separated the potatoes by surface reflectivity and shape. Acceptable tubers were directed to auto-bagging. Rejects were processed by an industrial dicer into one-centimeter cubes.
Amy observed the core unit labeled "Optical Sorting Box."
"That is a CCD line-scan camera, and those are high-speed pneumatic valves. The principle is similar to sorting precision resistors. Mr. Otsuka, the probe scans surface reflectivity in milliseconds.
Regular shapes are marked 'pass' and continue. Deformities are identified by coordinates, and the system directs compressed air to remove them. Here, potatoes are processed as data objects with parameters."
Otsuka monitored the output and checked his watch.
"Two hundred kilos per minute. Twelve tons per hour. This is the efficiency I have advocated for. This is the agriculture I want."
He struck the railing for emphasis.
"JA has argued that Japan's fragmented terrain is unsuitable for large-scale machinery. This demonstrates efficiency. This is the future."
Satsuki joined him at the railing.
"Your theory was correct. Machines do not experience fatigue, and they do not make subjective errors. With this system and your large-scale field methods, we can reduce loss rates to near zero.
These misshapen units, which previously rotted in fields or were used for animal feed, will become frozen fries, mashed potatoes, and curry ingredients. Once cooked and seasoned, their original appearance is irrelevant."
Hayakawa approached with a printout of test data.
"Young Mistress, the numbers are in. Even accounting for American freight costs, once we include automated sorting and processing, the total cost for curry ingredients from our own Hokkaido potatoes can be reduced to 30% of market price."
Otsuka's expression changed to one of satisfaction.
"Good. With that cost, we can compete effectively. This is still a conservative estimate," Satsuki said.
"Besides potatoes, there are onions and carrots. These are the three primary components of Japanese curry. Our strategy is to control the low-end supply chain for all three.
Our farms will expand. Large-scale mechanization, standardized industrial processing, and S.A. Logistics' private distribution will reduce the raw material cost of national curry to levels JA cannot match.
We can sell potatoes in Tokyo supermarkets at half JA's price while maintaining substantial margins. This is the economics of curry rice."
Otsuka looked at Satsuki. He had initially viewed her as a financier supporting a technical project. He now recognized the scale of her objective: restructuring Japan's food pricing system.
Satsuki picked up a potato and examined the "Product of USA" stamp on the crate label. She did not speak her internal assessment: that in extreme circumstances, sourcing policy could be reconsidered. She judged such contingencies unsuitable to share with Otsuka, whose commitment to brand purity was essential, or with Hayakawa, whose focus required certainty.
She set the potato down and addressed Otsuka.
"Even though this batch of American stock assisted us, remember: S-Food's label must be, and can only be, 'Hokkaido Produced.' In the early stage, purity of origin is the highest priority. No exceptions. I want your assurance that what grows from this land will be superior to these American potatoes. Can you do it?"
Otsuka removed his cap and placed his hand over his chest.
"Leave it to me. As long as this machine operates and we have fertilizer, I guarantee that what comes out of this black soil will exceed the American product. Hokkaido potatoes are the best in the world. If I cannot produce the best, I will take responsibility for that failure."
"Good," Satsuki replied. "Then proceed. Run this machine. Process these test potatoes, cook them, and send them to our construction sites as a benefit for the workers. I hope Uncle Kenjirō approves."
She turned toward the iron walkway.
"I am going to check the cold storage. I received a report that the onion stockpiles damaged the wall."
Hayakawa followed her. "Yes. We are reinforcing it now."
The conveyor continued operating. Test potatoes dropped into a drum marked "Internal Special Supply."