Tokyo was Japan's capital and its public face, a city of crowded streets, clockwork schedules, young people chasing dreams, and wealth piled upon wealth. It felt vibrant and suffocating at the same time.
Some thirteen and a half million people competed within roughly 2,190 square kilometers. Even the air seemed cold and restless.
Yet Tokyo was divided into twenty-three wards, not packed into a single cage. Taken one district at a time, the city was not always as crushing as its reputation suggested.
Kurosaki Enterprises had begun as a console game developer. In recent years, a change in strategy had carried it into the booming VR market. With cutting-edge products and expertise, it had become one of the industry's leaders, successful enough to sit back and collect licensing fees.
Its headquarters had moved from Sumida Ward to Minato Ward. The newly acquired office tower rose over one of Tokyo's wealthiest neighborhoods, a sharp new corporate logo displayed above the entrance. Every receptionist in the spacious first-floor lobby seemed young, polished, and beautiful.
Satoru admired the women in their office attire, listened to their soft and impeccably polite Japanese, and watched executives in expensive suits pass around him.
He looked painfully out of place.
Most of the men wore designer labels such as Zegna and Canali. One even had an Anderson & Sheppard suit, a brand famous for its history, tailoring, and reputation.
Satoru wore a counterfeit black Adidas jacket, asphalt-gray jeans bought during an Amazon sale, and an outdated pair of Japan-release New Balance sneakers.
The entire outfit had still cost him around ten thousand yen. It was clean too, so he did not quite look as if he had dressed from a donation bin.
Next to all that world-class tailoring, however, the distinction became rather thin.
He sat alone on a soft leather sofa, halfway through the coffee a receptionist had brought him. Quiet business conversations surrounded him. He caught fragments about monopolies, bids, shares, major investors, government projects, multinational contracts, and "the bright future of bishoujo games."
That last conversation seemed to belong at a different event.
Then again, the guests represented the electronics, advertising, and gaming industries. Kurosaki Enterprises was still a game company, so even a famous eroge studio had every reason to attend. Adults-only VR would practically sell itself. Shut-in otaku would buy every release and cycle through virtual wives by the week.
Today marked the formal opening of Kurosaki Enterprises' new headquarters. Renovations on the Minato building were complete, and the old Sumida office had been reduced to a branch.
Minato might be the most prestigious and desirable ward in Tokyo.
Roppongi stood at the front of the entertainment industry. Shimbashi and Shiodome offered luxury and commercial power. Akasaka was one of the city's oldest nightlife districts, while Takanawa and Azabu housed the wealthy.
Tokyo Tower, Shiba Park, and Odaiba were all in Minato. So were the headquarters of Japan's five major commercial television networks and, despite its name, Shinagawa Station.
The ward also held embassies for countries such as China, the United States, Canada, and the Netherlands, along with the fashion districts of Aoyama and Kita-Aoyama.
Chiyoda, Chuo, and Minato had some of the highest land prices and average incomes in Japan. As the saying went, if someone was buying a home in one of those three wards, marry them before they got away.
For comparison, Satoru lived in Kita Ward at Tokyo's northern edge.
It was also one of the poorest wards in the city.
The lobby was crowded with guests offering congratulations while quietly discussing future business.
Now that the company had money, it had spared no expense on its new public face. Blue and white dominated the lobby, divided by occasional black lines. LCD screens replaced framed artwork and cycled through the company's products and advertisements while music played at a comfortable volume.
There was ample seating. Elegant sofas and rattan-style tables gave the lobby the feel of a cafe, complete with a dedicated drinks station for visitors.
The move was not entirely finished. Some floors were still dusty and not ready for work, which made a full tour awkward. Fortunately, today's guests were long-standing partners who had come to see friends, admire the new building, and discuss a few deals.
The fact that several company presidents had appeared despite the incomplete move said enough.
Kurosaki Enterprises had truly made it.
Satoru found himself wondering whether The Seed alone could carry that much influence.
He remained on the sofa, occasionally pulling out his Banana X Plus to check the time. Even that separated him from the men who rolled back immaculate cuffs to consult luxury watches.
After another few minutes of breathing in capitalism, the receptionist who had welcomed him returned. Her hands were folded neatly before her, and even her walk looked carefully practiced.
"Mr. Suzuki, you may go upstairs now. Mr. Kurosaki has finished with his previous guest."
"All right. Thank you."
Satoru stood and smoothed the wrinkles from his counterfeit Adidas jacket.
Several people watched him in surprise. Hidemura Kurosaki was meeting the day's most important guests one by one and had left department managers downstairs to handle everyone else.
Why was this casually dressed young man receiving the same treatment as the executives?
Was he the heir to some enormous fortune?
Even the receptionist looked a little more curious than before. It probably had not helped that when she first greeted him, Satoru had openly complimented the curve of her calves.
Fortune truly did move in strange ways. Satoru, former cook and professional power-leveler, had finally lived to see the day when strangers mistook him for a rich heir.
The elevator carried him to the eighth floor. Hidemura believed a manager's office should never occupy the highest or lowest level. A middle floor reduced the time employees wasted riding elevators whenever they needed him.
Even that small decision impressed Satoru. It showed a manager's attention to detail, something Sakuya Miara and her little workshop could never hope to match.
He followed the quiet corridor and opened a door marked CHAIRMAN in gold lettering.
Hidemura sat beyond an enormous wooden desk in a black leather executive chair. The man who called himself "Sumida's Takuya Kimura in his youth and Minato's Marlon Brando in middle age" rose with a smile and hurried over.
"Satoru! You came all this way just for the occasion. I'm touched."
He seized Satoru warmly by the arm and guided him to a chair beside the desk.
"What would you like? Wine or coffee?" Hidemura pointed toward a dark wooden cabinet filled with bottles. "I have a rare Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, Fauchon coffee, and Keemun black tea that arrived this morning. All of it is genuine."
"No, thank you. I've already had several cups of coffee downstairs."
"That supermarket blend downstairs can't compare to my collection. Then how about a smoke? An Albero cigar?"
"Isn't smoking prohibited in here?"
Satoru swept his gaze across the immaculate office. Filling it with nicotine hardly seemed appropriate.
"Come now. We're family. Why worry about rules meant for outsiders?"
Hidemura waved the concern away and started toward the desk, apparently ready to retrieve a cigar as thick as his thumb.
"..."
Family?
Last time Satoru checked, one of them was named Suzuki and the other Kurosaki.
"No, really. I don't smoke cigars."
He managed an awkward smile. Hidemura's sudden warmth was difficult to accept. The man Satoru knew was seasoned, composed, and carried the authority of someone who had managed employees for decades. He normally reserved this kind of affection for Saki alone.
Success had only sharpened his image. He wore a custom black Huntsman suit, and a limited-edition Rolex showed beneath one cuff. His hair had been carefully styled for the day's visitors, giving him the air of an old American crime boss.
His earlier boast had not been entirely empty. With a little imagination, he really did resemble a Japanese Marlon Brando.
He must have been remarkably handsome in his youth. Age had made him steadier and more distinguished, and Saki clearly owed some of her beauty to her father's genes.
Unable to resist Hidemura's hospitality, and feeling his own nicotine craving return, Satoru took a soft pack of Yunyan cigarettes from his pocket. He offered Hidemura one first, then placed another between his own lips.
Hidemura seemed pleased by the gesture.
"Chinese cigarettes? I've heard of this brand. Rich flavor, reliable, perfect for an everyday smoker."
He nodded approvingly.
"That's the right attitude. Think internationally and keep your horizons broad. It helps in business and in life."
"You're absolutely right."
Satoru gave him a strained smile, pulled out his matte Zippo, and lit Hidemura's cigarette before his own.
They inhaled almost in unison and released equally satisfied breaths. Smokers everywhere seemed to develop the same little rituals.
Still, something about the room felt increasingly wrong.
The lobby downstairs had been saturated with money and business. Up here, in the chairman's office, the atmosphere was stranger. Hidemura was not looking at Satoru with a host's polite interest.
He was studying him, weighing him, and apparently liking what he saw.
"There are a lot of people here today. Sorry I kept you waiting."
Hidemura held the cigarette between two fingers.
"Important business comes first."
Satoru did not mind. For all he knew, every sentence spoken in those earlier meetings had moved another few million yen.
"You're different from Saki in that regard. She wouldn't care who I was meeting. She'd make a scene until I went out to entertain her."
Hidemura smiled fondly.
"Not that I would be angry. I rather enjoy it."
He made no attempt to conceal how hopelessly he doted on his daughter.
"But I built this company myself. It is the work of my life. Saki is far too impulsive. If she took charge, the whole operation might collapse within three days."
Satoru pictured Saki running the company and nodded with complete sincerity.
"The Seed allowed me to ride the rise of VR. The industry will only grow from here. But I'm getting older, and I no longer have the ambition I once did. These days, I value stability. I can protect what I've built, but taking it much further may be beyond me."
"Uncle... Kurosaki, you're more than capable. I'm sure you could do it."
Mr. Kurosaki had almost escaped before Satoru met the man's peculiar gaze and somehow replaced it with Uncle Kurosaki.
Many people had tried to stare Satoru down. Most had lost. He had faced death itself and traded jokes with a madman on Kayaba's level.
Today, however, he was the one retreating. Hidemura's gaze was simply too strange.
Too expectant.
"The company has already surpassed everything I imagined. But life can't be nothing but work and money. A man needs time to enjoy himself."
Hidemura sighed.
"Unfortunately, I still can't walk away."
"That seems easy enough. The owner of a restaurant where I once worked used to say that real bosses count the money and leave the work to everyone else. Hire people you trust, then lie on a beach while they make more money for you."
Satoru smiled.
It really was that simple. If you had money, pay someone to earn more of it.
Hidemura's interest sharpened.
"Exactly, Satoru. But this is a large company. I can't hand complete control to just anyone, can I?"
"What about relatives or close friends?"
"Those are fine, but no friend or distant relative is as close as immediate family."
Hidemura raised one eyebrow and watched him carefully.
Satoru frowned. The conversation was no longer as simple as it sounded.
"Are you thinking of leaving it to Saki? Honestly, that seems unwise."
"I agree. But my wife has been gone for many years, and Saki is my only child."
Hidemura waited.
Satoru offered nothing.
The older man cleared his throat and tried again.
"I can still work for a few more years. By then, Saki will be older. Perhaps she'll have found someone she likes..."
"That could work," Satoru said, finally understanding.
"Exactly. A son-in-law would be family, and I could retire without worrying."
Hidemura sighed.
"Unfortunately, there is little hope. I cannot imagine a single man in this world worthy of my daughter. It is a terrible problem."
"That should be Saki's decision. She'd never accept some arranged marriage forced on her, would she?"
Satoru had known Saki for years. He was used to her father's obsessive affection, but he did not want to see her trapped in a life she hated.
"Yes. Of course it depends on what she wants."
Hidemura looked at him with tragic resignation.
"That is exactly why I have to smile through the pain."
"...?"
Satoru scratched his head.
"Have you spent much time with Saki lately?" Hidemura asked.
"We had dinner together a little while ago. I made mapo tofu."
"Really? I didn't expect that."
There had been three people at that dinner: Satoru, Saki, and Shino.
Looking at Hidemura's face, however, Satoru instinctively decided that mentioning another woman would be unwise.
"Well... perhaps this is for the best. Apart from being beautiful, polite, intelligent, gentle, considerate, and practically an angel, Saki has nothing going for her."
Hidemura spoke as though mourning a great tragedy.
"If you can cook and keep a home, all the better. The two of you can't eat out every day."
For some reason, the powerful chairman suddenly looked utterly defeated, as though his daughter had already left him behind.
"Satoru."
Hidemura took a deep drag and patted him on the shoulder.
"Come by more often when you have time. Let the employees get to know you, especially the other directors."
"Saki has been sheltered, but a daughter deserves to be spoiled. Take good care of her from now on."
His solemn tone made Satoru feel as though he had been entrusted with the fate of the world. He still had no idea what the older man truly meant, but he responded with the respect expected of him.
"Don't worry, Uncle Kurosaki. When it comes to Saki, I'll let her have her way."
"Good. That's very good..."
Hidemura nodded and sighed as though the answer had struck him somewhere painful.
"By the way, Satoru, I never asked. What brought you here today?"
"Saki mentioned the opening, and there was something I wanted to ask you, Uncle... Mr. Kurosaki."
The new form of address refused to settle naturally on his tongue. Every time he used it, his conscience seemed to object.
"What is it?"
Satoru did not answer immediately.
He rose and walked to the wastebasket beside the desk. A flick of his fingers sent pale ash drifting from his cigarette. When he turned back, all the humor had left his face.
Hidemura remembered the first time they met. The unknown young man had laid out a bold proposal in an aggressive voice, like a fighter making his final stand.
"Is it something important?" he asked again.
"Do you know about the Medicuboid Project?"
Satoru's voice was low and serious.