At 9:40 AM on the same day.
Hakone.
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki sat in a suite at the Prince Hotel, and the television had not been turned off since it was switched on in the morning.
NHK had rebroadcast the live footage from last night countless times.
The blown-up road surface, the collided vehicles, the police cars parked along the street, and that helicopter hovering above the road.
Every time the broadcast cut back to the footage, Tsutsumi Yoshiaki's brow would furrow anew.
Especially that helicopter.
Not long ago at Seibu Stadium, Satsuki had eagerly pitched the medical support service that Saionji had just rolled out, using the matter of him taking stomach medicine.
Something about a twenty-four-hour on-duty doctor.
Something about dedicated ambulance vehicles.
In severe cases, a helicopter could even be dispatched directly.
In the end, that little girl even told him with a caring expression on her face that the first member could have the initiation fee waived, with only the annual fee charged.
Ironically, the very first time this system was shown to all of Japan, it ended up being used on herself.
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki stared at the landing helicopter on TV for a moment, then irritably picked up the remote control.
Turn it off.
The room was quiet for less than half a minute.
He turned the television back on.
It happened to switch to another anchor on the morning news.
"According to currently available news, Miss Saionji Satsuki was not shot and was transferred by helicopter last night to a medical institution under Saionji for treatment..."
Immediately following below was another photo of Satsuki.
It was probably taken three years ago.
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki glanced at it and then averted his gaze.
She was alive.
She was not shot.
Up to now, there had not been any news of her being in critical condition or undergoing emergency surgery.
At least this much should be true.
Thinking of this, he leaned back against the sofa, and the blockage in his chest since last night finally eased somewhat.
Then he felt a bit ridiculous.
When did he start worrying about whether that little girl would get beaten to death by someone?
That girl dying would be doing a service for the public... Oh well, living is pretty good too.
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki picked up his teacup.
The tea had grown somewhat cold.
He had just taken a sip when the phone placed nearby rang.
After answering, the secretary quickly handed over the receiver.
"Chairman, Tokyo Headquarters."
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki took the phone.
"Is there any news from Saionji?"
"As of now, there is still no official statement. The group's external liaison window only confirmed that Miss Saionji is receiving treatment, and no other circumstances will be explained."
"What about Shuichi?"
"The Saionji Family head arrived at the hospital last night and has no public schedule this morning."
"Inside the group?"
"Normal."
The secretary on the other end paused for a moment.
"At least it looks normal for now; several meetings originally scheduled for today have not all been canceled."
"Saionji Logistics, Saionji Construction, and S.A. affiliated companies are all operating according to the original plan. Parts requiring confirmation from the family head's office are temporarily postponed."
Hearing this, Tsutsumi Yoshiaki became even more certain of one thing.
That was right.
If Saionji were truly thrown into sudden chaos, he would instead suspect whether that little girl was up to some trick again.
"How is the market viewing this?"
"After the opening, several related listed companies experienced declines, but funds quickly entered the market."
"Currently, the decline has narrowed, and there are no obvious abnormalities on the side of Sumitomo Bank."
"Who is buying?"
"It cannot be told for now; it should be more than one party."
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki let out a soft hum.
Did that even need looking at?
Saionji had money in its own hands.
The group of people inside The Club also had money.
When it truly came to this kind of moment, as long as a single word was released from that side, the people willing to enter the market to catch it could probably line up all the way from Nihonbashi to Location in Tokyo.
"Keep watching."
"Yes."
Just as Tsutsumi Yoshiaki was about to hang up the phone, he seemed to think of something.
"There is one more thing."
The secretary immediately picked up a pen.
"Today, if anyone proposes re-evaluating the terms of cooperation with Saionji, write down their name first."
The other side of the phone paused for a fraction of a second.
"Inside Seibu?"
"All companies."
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki said indifferently.
"Especially those who think they can take advantage of this opportunity to grab a bit more back."
"Understood."
The phone was hung up.
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki put the receiver back and looked back at the television.
Taking advantage of the current "chaos" and showing of "fatigue" at Saionji to seize some cheap benefits or the like... He knew such people would definitely exist.
After all, he was a man who had personally experienced the entire process completely.
Even just now, a similar thought had popped into his own mind.
If Satsuki really was badly hurt this time and had to lie in the hospital for a month or two...
Would Seibu have the opportunity to renegotiate some things?
The management rights of key stations.
Hotel procurement.
Stadium peripheral commerce.
These things had just been negotiated at the beginning of the year.
Quite a few of those projects were still in the integration period.
Switching to a few years ago, Tsutsumi Yoshiaki probably would have already had people test the waters.
Now, though...
He sat on the sofa for a while.
Then, very naturally, he pictured an odious face.
That little girl would probably sit across the table, first smilingly calling out "Uncle Tsutsumi."
Then she would ask him:
"Did you run over to steal things just because you heard I was hospitalized?"
...Not good.
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki's stomach suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable.
He looked down at the table.
He did not bring his stomach medicine today.
Forget it.
It was better to think less about such things.
But what truly kept Tsutsumi Yoshiaki from acting on this thought was not just fear of Satsuki coming back later to settle accounts with him.
It was mainly because—Seibu and Saionji were now bound far too deeply together.
Railways, hotels, agriculture, logistics, stadiums, performances, and further down the line, even the remodeling of Gokurakukan.
These things were no longer the kind of relationship where they sat on opposite sides of the table cutting flesh from each other.
If Saionji truly fell into chaos, Seibu would suffer bad luck right along with it.
Therefore, right now, he hoped even more than many people that that little girl would quickly crawl out of the hospital.
Ideally, she could crawl out by the afternoon and then continue tossing others around.
Anyway, as long as she stopped tossing Seibu around, it would be fine.
The news on TV had already cut to the Parliament.
A lawmaker standing in the corridor, surrounded impenetrably by reporters, was saying that last night's events "have broken through the security baseline that Japanese society can tolerate."
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki watched for a moment, then suddenly frowned.
That was not right.
He picked up the newspaper on the table.
From last night until now, the biggest anomaly in this matter was actually not the attack itself.
It was that Saionji was too quiet.
Satsuki was injured.
People from Saionji died.
Assault rifles had fired for so long on the streets of Tokyo.
The government, political circles, and financial circles were all in an uproar now, yet the family that truly should be the most furious had not said a single proper word up to now.
This did not look like Shuichi; that old fellow treasured his own daughter dearly.
Even less did it look like Satsuki. Based on Tsutsumi Yoshiaki's understanding of Satsuki, he would not be surprised if this girl turned the entire Tokyo Metropolis upside down right now.
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki flipped the newspaper to the next page.
Right on it was a report about last night's yakuza meeting.
A few hours before being attacked, Saionji Satsuki had just concluded a meeting with the top brass of the three major yakuza organizations.
Then, as soon as she stepped out, Washio made his move.
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki looked at those few lines of text, his eyes slowly narrowing.
Washio.
This part...
Why did the more he looked, the more wrong it felt?
What kind of person was that little girl?
Several years ago, she could take a wretched piece of land two meters wide and sit there waiting for Seibu to crash right into it.
This time, she went to meet the top brass of three yakuza organizations simultaneously, preparing to mess with who knows how many people's rice bowls—would she really have zero preparation?
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki rubbed his chin.
What if she had known long ago that someone below was dissatisfied?
Even knowing that Washio would make a move.
And then deliberately letting it be.
The moment the agreement was signed, a subordinate cadre unwilling to follow the rules jumped out to attack Saionji right after.
How could the three major organizations speak up for their subordinates after that?
How could the government slowly discuss it anymore?
A matter that originally would have taken years to suppress overnight gained the best possible justification.
Thinking of this, Tsutsumi Yoshiaki suddenly leaned back a bit.
Humph, I understand.
It was very much like her.
Too much like her.
This was indeed something that little girl could pull off.
He could even imagine Satsuki sitting in front of him, holding a teacup and asking with an innocent expression:
"How can you say it was intentional on my part? It was clearly Washio who chose to make a move himself."
The more Tsutsumi Yoshiaki thought about it, the more it seemed like her.
But the next moment, his gaze fell on the photograph on the other side of the newspaper.
The vehicles had been beaten so badly by bullets that they were almost unrecognizable.
The explosion marks on the road.
Assault rifles.
Hand grenades.
And the foreigners currently being tracked down by the police.
The expression on the face of Tsutsumi Yoshiaki slowly faded away.
This part did not add up.
The Saionji Satsuki known to him was indeed bold.
Sometimes so bold that it made people wonder if she even knew how the word "fear" was written.
But she was not stupid.
Gambling her own life on whether a few assault rifles would hit their mark—that kind of thing was no longer just being bold.
That was being sick in the head.
About that layer with Washio, she might have known.
As for the things that followed, something had probably truly gone wrong.
So even that little demon had times when she miscalculated...
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki stared at the newspaper for a moment.
Probably?
Just as that word popped into his mind, he frowned again.
Wait.
The news up to now only said she was injured.
Just how badly was she injured?
No one knew.
Saionji herself had not said anything either.
It was true that she was taken to the hospital by helicopter last night, but who in all of Japan saw whether she was lying in a hospital bed this morning, or already leaning against the headboard eating while bossing people around?
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki fell silent for a few seconds.
He suddenly felt that the latter mental image was actually easier to picture.
Maybe that girl was already awake right now.
Maybe the first thing she did after waking up was ask who outside was making phone calls.
Who was making statements.
Who was starting to hide.
And who thought she could not get up temporarily and was already preparing to reach out and grab things.
Then write them down one by one.
Thinking of this, Tsutsumi Yoshiaki looked down at the phone he had just used to have his secretary record the list.
"..."
Why did it feel like the two of them thought of the exact same thing?
He picked up his teacup and took a sip.
It was cold.
This time he finally put it back with disgust.
"Get me a fresh cup."
The person nearby immediately took the tea away.
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki looked back at the television.
Actually, things were already very simple at this point.
Just how badly Satsuki was injured, he did not know.
How much of the attack last night she had anticipated, he did not know either.
But none of this mattered.
Because no matter which situation it was, going to test Saionji right now would bring no benefits.
If she was truly badly injured, Seibu running over at this time to renegotiate terms would be equivalent to tearing up the newly established cooperative relationship with its own hands.
If she was not actually injured heavily...
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki thought for a moment and suddenly shivered.
Then going was even more out of the question.
He definitely did not want to see that little girl smilingly ask him the next time they met:
"Uncle Tsutsumi, I heard you were very busy while I was in the hospital?"
Thinking of this, Tsutsumi Yoshiaki suddenly let out a neurotic chuckle.
The secretary looked over with some puzzlement.
"Chairman?"
"It is nothing."
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki coughed twice, waved his hand, and reached out to pick up the phone again.
"Prepare a condolence letter for me and send it to the Saionji Main Residence in my personal name."
"Write the formal one to Mr. Shuichi, phrase it according to usual etiquette, and do not mention any business matters."
The secretary picked up a pen to take notes, and just as he was about to acknowledge the order, Tsutsumi Yoshiaki added another sentence:
"Also, bring a note for that little girl."
After speaking, he picked up the note paper provided by the hotel from the desk and uncapped his fountain pen.
When he actually put pen to paper, he stopped again.
What should he write?
Recover well?
No, that was too ordinary.
If there is anything that requires Seibu to cooperate, you can directly contact...
That was too much like official business.
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki thought for a moment and finally wrote only two lines on the paper.
[Focus on your recovery.]
[Seibu is still here, and no one can move it away for now.]
He looked down and read it over once.
Satsuki should understand.
If she could not even understand this, that girl would have argued with him so many times in vain over the past few years.
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki folded the note and handed it to the secretary.
"Send this along with it."
After taking it, the secretary glanced at it, the corners of his mouth seeming to twitch.
"Do you need me to sign your name on it?"
"Of course you need to sign it."
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki raised his eyes to look at him.
"Lest she bring this piece of paper to ask me later if I could not even bear to write a condolence letter seriously."
The secretary lowered his head and hid that trace of a smile.
"Understood."
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki had already picked up the newspaper on the desk again.
"Also, tell the people below. No one should try to be clever these past two days."
The secretary was originally prepared to put away his pen, but stopped upon hearing this.
"Projects already confirmed with Saionji will proceed as usual, and matters requiring their re-confirmation can wait a few days. Do not carry a pile of documents to the hospital."
"As for those terms still under negotiation, stop wherever they were previously discussed. If anyone thinks now is a good time to re-offer a price, have him report his name to me first."
When he said the last sentence, his voice had already grown faint.
The secretary immediately understood his meaning.
Right now, there were probably quite a few people all over Japan staring at Saionji.
Some were worried.
Naturally, there were also those who felt the opportunity had finally arrived.
With so many companies under Seibu, it was impossible for everyone not to have their own agenda.
"What if the Saionji side takes the initiative to contact us?"
"Then talk normally."
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki turned the page of the newspaper.
"They are just hospitalized, it is not like the entire Saionji is taking a vacation along with it."
"Do not act too overly attentive, and do not suddenly hide far away either. Just do what you are supposed to do."
"Understood."
The secretary wrote this item down as well, and just as he was about to go out and make arrangements, the gaze of Tsutsumi Yoshiaki fell on another column of the newspaper.
The report about the foreign gunmen was right in the bottom right corner.
He looked at it for a few seconds and spoke again.
"Right, go over the connections on the side of Seibu in the United States again."
The secretary stopped in his tracks.
This time, the expression on the face of the secretary became significantly more serious.
"You suspect the event of last night is related to our business in the United States?"
"I do not know yet."
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki folded that page of the newspaper, leaving the lines about "foreign gunmen" exposed at the very top.
"Hotel clients, real estate partners, banks, and all the American companies and individuals contacted through Seibu over the years—check them all."
"Focus on whether there are any connections that can be tied to backgrounds like military industry, security, or government contractors."
Hearing this, the secretary completely understood what he wanted to check.
"Should we have New York directly inquire with the partners?"
"No."
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki rejected it almost immediately.
"Check the materials in our own hands first. Keep the movements small, do not let people know Seibu is digging up old accounts."
"If you really find anything that can connect to that group of people from last night, send it to me first, and no one is allowed to contact them without authorization."
The secretary nodded.
"I will arrange it immediately."
This time Tsutsumi Yoshiaki did not call him back.
After the room door closed, only the sound of the television remained in the suite.
The morning program had shifted from on-site conditions to measures the government might take.
The anchor and several commentators sat in the studio discussing whether Congress would push for new Boryokudan regulations next, while the latest news continuously scrolled across the bottom of the screen.
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki leaned back against the sofa, watched for a while, and turned the volume down a bit.
In fact, there was one more thing he had not told the secretary.
If something truly useful could be found in the end, he would hand it directly to Satsuki.
After all, the two of them had just talked at the beginning of the year.
After having a fight, knowing where the blade of the other would stab, sitting down to talk about cooperation would actually be easier.
Now someone from the outside was holding a gun and firing at this table.
That was already a completely different matter.
Even if that girl was to be defeated, it had to be him, Tsutsumi Yoshiaki, who defeated her with his own hands.
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki leaned into the sofa and imagined that scene once more:
The arrogant little girl kneeling frustratedly in front of him, crying and saying she knew she was wrong...
Hm, just thinking about it felt like it could add a few more years to his life.
After a while, the newly replaced hot tea was brought in.
He picked it up and took a sip, finally satisfied.
The name of Satsuki appeared on the television again.
Tsutsumi Yoshiaki glanced at it and muttered in a low voice.
"What a troublesome little girl."
Though he said so with his mouth.
He never turned the television off after all.