Reborn in Tokyo: From Heiress to Global Tycoon

Chapter 12 The Darkest Hour Before Dawn

In September, Typhoon Mali was gathering strength in the Pacific Ocean over Tokyo, with the air pressure so low that it was hard to breathe.

The sky was an eerie leaden gray, with low-hanging clouds that seemed almost within reach. The air was extremely humid, and a fine layer of water droplets condensed on the surfaces of the expensive solid wood furniture, making it feel sticky and cold to the touch.

The heavy curtains in the Saionji family's study were drawn tightly, leaving only a small gap.

Shuichi Saionji sat behind his desk, the large leather chair now resembling a torture chair.

There were no tea sets on the table, only a crystal ashtray crammed full and a fax machine constantly spitting out price quotes.

"Sizzle—sizzle—"

The fax machine ejected another sheet of thermal paper.

Xiu Yi reached out and ripped it off, his movements so fast they were almost rough.

USD/JPY: 242.15

rose again.

Compared to yesterday, the US dollar rose another 0.5 points against the Japanese yen.

For ordinary people, this is just a negligible fluctuation on the exchange rate board. But for the Saionji family, who had placed a 20x leveraged short position at this point, this 0.5 fluctuation meant that hundreds of millions of yen in margin would evaporate instantly.

Shuichi stared intently at the number, his eyes bloodshot.

These past two months have been hell since I decided to go all in in Osaka in July.

Contrary to Satsuki's prediction, the US dollar did not immediately fall. Instead, it demonstrated a despairing resilience due to better-than-expected second-quarter GDP data released by the United States. Like a stubborn bull, it defied the pressure from all the bears and stubbornly charged upwards.

"Will prices rise further...?"

Shuichi's voice was hoarse, as if he had swallowed a handful of sand.

He even began to wonder if he was going crazy, if he had been brainwashed by that absurd "dam theory." Economists all over the world were bullish on the dollar, so how could a 12-year-old child be so accurate?

If you lose the bet, it's not just about going bankrupt.

The Saionji family's century-old reputation, the ancestral residence, and even whether they can be buried in the ancestral cemetery after death are all issues.

"Ring ring—"

The black telephone on the table suddenly rang loudly.

In the deathly silent study, the ringing was as sharp as fingernails scratching a blackboard.

Shuichi's body jolted, his heart skipped a beat. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for two seconds to regulate his breathing, then reached out and steadily picked up the receiver.

When he opened his eyes, the anxious, panicked gambler was gone. In his place was the cold, hard face of the head of the Saionji family.

"I am Saionji."

"Big brother! It's me, Kenshiro!"

The phone rang with the cacophony of machinery and Kenjiro's excited voice, "Are you still stuck in that moldy old house in Tokyo? It's bustling with activity here in Osaka! Two more trucks just hauled away the goods, and Mr. Smith was so happy he wanted to take me out for drinks!"

Shuichi moved the microphone further away, his face expressionless.

"Really? That's a good thing." His tone was as flat as if he were talking about the weather.

"Brother, no offense, but Kenjiro's voice was laced with barely concealed smugness. I heard from the elders in the clan that you recently mortgaged that piece of land in Chiba? And sold two warehouses in Osaka too? What on earth are you up to? Businesses are making so much money right now, what are you doing with the money you're taking? To fill that elusive financial hole?"

Shuichi tapped his fingers lightly on the table.

These are the same old words again. During this period, the elders of the family have been bombarding him with accusations of embezzling public funds and that he is leading the family into an abyss.

"Kenjiro."

Shuichi interrupted his incessant chatter from his younger brother. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a chilling undertone.

"You need to understand, I am the head of the family."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone.

"How the family assets are allocated is none of your business. Since you signed that betting agreement, mind your own business. If you can't deliver the goods by November, don't expect the main family to come up with a single penny to bail you out."

"You..." Kenshiro was speechless with anger. "Fine! Fine! I'll make a fortune then, just don't be jealous! You'll regret it!"

"Beep—beep—"

The phone hangs up.

Shuichi slowly put down the receiver. He kept his back straight, maintaining that dignified posture.

Hearing the busy tone coming from the receiver, he slumped in his chair like a puppet whose bones had been removed.

He shook a cigarette out of the pack and put it in his mouth.

"Click".

He tried to light the lighter several times but couldn't—his hand was shaking uncontrollably.

It wasn't because he was afraid of Kenshiro, but because Kenshiro had inadvertently touched a nerve—"the elusive financial hole."

Yes, that's a hole. It's sucking the blood out of the family every day.

Outside the window, the wind was picking up.

Raindrops began to patter against the window; the leading edge of the typhoon had arrived.

……

It's 2 a.m.

Heavy rain.

The entire city of Tokyo was shrouded in a raging storm, with trees groaning in the wind as if it were the end of the world.

Only one desk lamp was on in the study.

Shuichi was still awake. He simply couldn't sleep.

A ledger lay before him. The deficits on it were alarming. His margin account in Switzerland had issued a yellow warning. If the dollar rose another point, he would need to deposit more margin, or he would be forced to liquidate his position.

To add more margin, they would have to sell the ancestral home.

This house...

Xiu looked up and surveyed the dimly lit room. A portrait of his great-grandfather hung on the wall, and his father's favorite antique vase sat on the bookshelf.

Are we really going to risk everything for a single bet?

"Ring ring—"

The phone rang again.

This time, it was that special red hotline used to contact people overseas.

Shuichi stared at the phone as if it were a venomous snake.

He knew who it was. Frank, the account manager in Zurich.

There's only one possibility when someone calls at this time.

Answer or not answer?

If you accept the offer, you have to face reality. If you don't, you might see a margin call notification tomorrow morning.

Shuichi's hand reached for the phone, hovering in mid-air for a long time. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, sliding down his cheeks and dripping onto the ledger, blurring the bright red numbers.

"If you close your position now, you'll still have half of your assets left."

A voice inside me was screaming frantically.

"At least we can keep this house, and Satsuki can still live a comfortable life. Admit defeat, Shuichi. You're not a genius; you're just an ordinary person."

That voice was incredibly seductive.

Shuichi's fingers touched the cold receiver. He wanted to pick it up and tell Frank: Close the position. I'm done. This is insane.

"Squeak—"

Just then, the sound of the door opening interrupted Shuichi's reverie.

The heavy study door was pushed open a crack.

A dim, yellow light pierced into the dark room.

Xiuyi, like a child caught doing something wrong, abruptly pulled his hand back and turned around in a panic.

Satsuki stood at the door.

She was wearing a white nightgown, her long hair cascading over her shoulders, and carrying a tray. On the tray was a glass of hot milk and a thin piece of paper.

Thunder roared outside, and lightning ripped through the night sky, casting her long, thin shadow.

"Satsuki?" Shuichi's voice was hoarse. "It's so late, why aren't you asleep yet?"

"It's thundering, I can't sleep."

Satsuki entered the room and gently closed the door with her heel, shutting out the sound of the wind and rain outside.

She walked to her desk and put down the milk. She didn't look at the constantly ringing phone, nor at the messy price list on the desk.

Her gaze fell on Shuichi's hands.

The hand was still trembling slightly, the fingertips scorched yellow from the smoke.

"Was that a call from Switzerland?" Satsuki asked softly.

Shuichi paused for a moment, then nodded. He had no secrets from his daughter anymore.

"They're probably here to collect the deposit." Shuichi gave a bitter laugh, a laugh more painful than a grimace. "Satsuki, Dad might... not make it. That dam seems stronger than I thought."

He lowered his head, not daring to look into his daughter's eyes.

"If I close my position now, I'll lose the factory in Osaka and the land in Chiba, but at least I can keep this house. We can live a normal life..."

This was his bottom line. He could lose his ambition, but he could never lose his daughter's future.

He could endure losing everything—his family fortune, reputation, status—none of that mattered. But his daughter was the one thing he would absolutely risk his life to protect.

Satsuki did not speak.

She walked around the large desk and went to her father's side.

She reached out her little hand, pulled the cigarette butt, which had burned down to her father's fingers, from between his fingers, and stubbed it out in the ashtray.

Then, she laid the piece of paper she had been holding flat on the table, covering the red deficits.

It was a hand-drawn calendar.

September.

Every single day above has been crossed out, leaving only the last half month.

On September 22nd, a red skull was drawn with the words "Judgment Day" written next to it.

"17 days left."

Satsuki's voice was eerily calm, unlike that of a 12-year-old child; it sounded more like that of an old captain who had weathered countless storms.

"Father, do you know why it's darkest before dawn?"

Xiu stared blankly at the calendar.

"Because the sun is about to rise. It is gathering its strength to tear all the darkness apart." Satsuki stretched out her finger and pressed it on the red skull.

"The Americans can't wait any longer. Mr. Takeshita's private plane is taking off next week. The script is finished, and the actors are in place."

"But..." Shuichi pointed to the still-ringing phone, "If it rises even a little bit more in these 17 days..."

"Then let it rise."

Satsuki interrupted her father.

She raised her head, and in her obsidian-like eyes burned a flame that Shuichi found unfamiliar. It wasn't madness; it was absolute, almost divine, reason.

"Father, we're like holding our breath underwater right now."

"My lungs hurt a lot, my head is spinning, and I feel like I'm going to die. As soon as I float up to get a breath, I feel much better."

"But if we surface now, all that breath we held will be wasted. We'll only be able to catch a few small shrimp."

Satsuki grabbed Shuichi's large hand. Her hand was small and cold, but incredibly strong.

"Do you want to be a mediocre person for the rest of your life? Do you want to watch an idiot like Kenshiro swagger around in front of you? Do you want the Saionji family to be left only to eke out a living by selling off antiques?"

Xiu's pupils contracted violently.

In no mood.

He never even dreamed of it.

"If we lose..." Shuichi's voice trembled.

"If we lose," Satsuki suddenly laughed, a bright and innocent laugh, "then we'll go to the slums in Fukagawa and rent a tiny house that's only six tatami mats in size. Father will work as a porter at the docks, and I'll sew clothes for people. As long as we're together, it won't be a big deal, right?"

This seemingly naive statement was like a heavy hammer blow, shattering the last fear in Shuichi's heart.

Yes.

The worst outcome is nothing at all.

But he had come this far because of his obsession with "reviving the family." If he couldn't revive it, what difference would it make between staying in this empty mansion as a fallen nobleman and going to the slums?

Clinging to so-called "decency" is the greatest cowardice.

The phone suddenly stopped ringing.

The room fell into a deathly silence, with only the roar of the wind and rain outside the window.

Shuichi looked at his daughter.

In the flash of lightning, her slender frame seemed to contain boundless power. If she wasn't afraid, what was there for a forty-year-old man like himself to fear?

A strange sensation rose from my dantian and flowed throughout my body.

It's a feeling of complete relief, but also a resolute determination to burn one's bridges.

All the anxiety, panic, and hesitation were burned to ashes at this moment.

Xiu Yi let out a long breath of stale air.

He reached out, picked up the glass of milk on the table, and drank it all in one gulp. The warm liquid slid down his throat, dispelling the chill in his body.

"you're right."

Shuichi's voice was no longer hoarse, but had become deep and resonant.

He took another cigarette out of the pack.

This time, his hand was as steady as a rock.

"Click".

A flame shot up, igniting the tobacco. Blue smoke swirled and rose beneath the lamp.

"Once you're already sitting at the gambling table, there's no reason to take your chips back."

Shuichi picked up the red phone and dialed the number back.

Satsuki stood quietly to the side, watching her father's retreating figure. She knew that the indecisive "master of maintaining the status quo" was dead. From this night onward, standing here was the "first tyrant" of the Saionji Zaibatsu.

"I am Saionji."

The call connected, and Shuichi's English was fluent but cold.

"Frank, enough talk. I don't need to close my position."

"Deposit? I'll wire the mortgage payments for the last two plots of land in Tokyo tomorrow."

"Furthermore, if the exchange rate rises again..."

Shuichi paused for a moment, a sinister smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Then keep adding more slots! I'll keep adding them until you're too scared to accept them!"

"Remember, Frank. I'm not consulting you. I'm informing you."

"Click."

The phone hangs up.

Shuichi turned around and looked at Satsuki. His eyes were still bloodshot, but the fear had disappeared, replaced by a wolf-like gleam.

"Go to sleep, Satsuki."

Xiu Yi waved his hand, his tone filled with unprecedented confidence.

"Leave this to Dad. Even if the sky falls, Dad will hold it up."

Satsuki gave a slight bow, performing a standard goodnight greeting.

"Yes, Father."

She picked up the empty milk glass, turned around, and walked towards the door.

As she gripped the doorknob, she glanced back.

Shuichi was standing by the window, reaching out to pull back the heavy curtains.

A blinding flash of lightning illuminated his solitary figure. He stood there quietly, facing the raging storm outside the window, like a silent lighthouse.

The darkness before dawn is indeed terrifying.

But as long as you get through it, even in hell, flowers will bloom.

Satsuki closed the door, a victorious smile spreading across her lips.

Goodnight, my tyrannical father.