Chapter 121 The World's Richest Man's Fear and the White Night

The next morning, Yasuko Sawaguchi's manager received a call from her.

On the phone, Yasuko Sawaguchi's voice was unusually calm as she issued three instructions in extremely concise language.

First, immediately cancel all public appearances for the next six weeks. This includes already signed magazine shoots, television appearances, and two brand endorsement events. The agency will cover the penalty for breach of contract; there will be no room for negotiation.

Secondly, before this afternoon, help her contact a small temple called "Jikkobo" near Jakkoin Temple in the Ohara area of ​​Kyoto to make an appointment for long-term stay for quiet meditation.

Third, and most importantly.

After she left Tokyo, her agent personally contacted the Seibu Group's intermediary through the previously established communication channel.

"Once you've made contact, convey exactly what I'm about to say, word for word."

Yasuko Sawaguchi took a deep breath and then began to repeat it.

The more the agent listened on the phone, the more indescribable his expression became.

It's not because Yasuko Sawaguchi's statement is absurd.

Quite the opposite.

Having worked in this industry for twelve years, she knows all too well how deeply people in Yoshiaki Tsutsumi's circle are obsessed with metaphysical concepts like "fortune" and "aura."

Every year at the end of the year and the beginning of the new year, the amount of money that tycoons spend on prayers and offerings at top shrines is enough to buy a building.

For every major merger and acquisition, the signing date must be calculated by a specialist down to the exact hour.

The brilliance of this rhetoric lies not in how "credible" it is, but in how precisely it hits a blind spot—no one dares to use their own luck to verify whether it's fake.

The reason the agent found it hard to accept was because she was worried that Yoshiaki Tsutsumi might not be interested in this at all.

But Yasuko Sawaguchi didn't give her time to hesitate.

Please.

There was a very soft sound on the phone, and then it hung up.

It was 4 p.m. that day.

Yasuko Sawaguchi, carrying a simple bag, boarded the Shinkansen from Tokyo to Kyoto alone.

The scenery outside the window receded at a speed of 270 kilometers per hour.

The concrete jungle, the densely packed residential areas, and the occasional glimpses of parks and green spaces gradually separate her from the power structure of Tokyo.

Two and a half hours later, she got off at Kyoto Station and took a bus to Ohara.

Forty minutes later, the bus stopped at the foot of the mountain.

From here on, there is no public transportation.

Yasuko Sawaguchi dragged her luggage and walked up the mountain along a stone path flanked by cedar trees.

The air in the mountains at the end of February was as cold as a razor blade.

She walked for nearly forty minutes, panting heavily. The inside of her coat was soaked with sweat and then dried by the mountain wind. The alternation of these two states left her with purple lips from the cold.

Finally, in the last moments before dusk, she saw the small temple hidden deep in the cedar forest.

Shiguangfang.

There was no grand mountain gate, only an old wooden building quietly nestled in the valley, the moss on the roof turning a deep, dark green in the dim light.

An elderly nun stood at the door, seemingly having been waiting for a long time.

"Master Zekou?"

Yes. Sorry to bother you.

The nun nodded slightly and turned to lead her inside.

The wooden corridor creaked, and the air was filled with the aroma of incense and aged wood.

Yasuko Sawaguchi was led into a small room of less than six tatami mats, with a paper sliding door, tatami mats, and a solitary lamp.

Outside the window was a pitch-black cedar forest.

She put down her luggage, knelt on the tatami mat, placed her hands on her knees, and slowly closed her eyes.

The silence of the deep mountains enveloped her like a tide.

There are no agent calls, no reporter flashes, and no shadow of Yoshiaki Tsutsumi here.

The only sounds were the wind whistling through the cedar forest and the intermittent chirping of a night bird in the distance.

Meanwhile, in Tokyo.

Yasuko Sawaguchi's manager, a 40-year-old woman known as the "Iron Lady" in the industry after twelve years in the business, is currently sitting in her car parked on a quiet side of the road in Roppongi.

Her gaze was fixed on the number in the notebook next to the steering wheel.

She has been sitting frozen in the car for a full fifteen minutes now.

There were three freshly crushed cigarette butts lying in the vehicle's ashtray.

She held the fourth cigarette tightly between her fingers, but hesitated to light it.

Because my hands were shaking so badly, I couldn't even turn the lighter's grinding wheel.

She knew full well the significance of the call she was about to make.

This isn't about playing games with some ordinary nouveau riche; it's about using a vague excuse to snatch food from the jaws of a tiger in front of the world's most powerful tycoons.

If this rhetoric fails to work, or if Yoshiaki Tsutsumi realizes he's been tricked, the consequences could be disastrous.

With just a casual remark from that man, the livelihoods of dozens of people in the entire agency, along with Yasuko Sawaguchi's acting career, would be crushed to dust by the wheels of capital.

But in my mind, Yasuko Sawaguchi's desperate "Please" on the phone this morning felt like a final plea for help.

Then the agent forcefully snapped the unlit cigarette between his fingers, took a deep breath of the stale air in the car, picked up the slightly heavy car phone receiver, and dialed the number.

The other party answered very quickly.

"Ah, it's from Ms. Sawaguchi's side... I remember, I remember."

The middleman's voice was gentle yet worldly, carrying the shrewdness characteristic of someone who had spent years navigating the cracks of power.

"Is there any message you want to pass on? The president is waiting for a reply."

Upon hearing this, the agent took a deep breath and said softly, "Mr. Yamamoto... I'm so sorry to bother you so late."

At this moment, the agent's voice trembled violently, revealing barely suppressed fear as he said, "We at the firm are extremely honored by Chairman Tsutsumi's kind offer."

"But... something's happened. It's a very serious situation, and I really don't know how to tell you..."

She paused for a moment, and the sound of her swallowing with extreme tension was clearly transmitted through the radio waves.

"After filming 'Confessions', Sawaguchi developed mental health issues."

The agent's voice was extremely low, as if she were reciting a chilling curse: "She's been haunted by the character of Yuko Moriguchi."

"I know this sounds unbelievable, but for the past few weeks, she's been having the same nightmare every night."

"I dreamt that I became Yuko Moriguchi, standing in an empty classroom reciting lines to a room full of students. She often woke up screaming at three or four in the morning, covered in cold sweat and trembling like a leaf."

"At first we thought it was due to stress, so we took her to see a cardiologist, but it didn't help at all! Now she's also starting to feel dazed during the day, her eyes are blank, and she seems possessed by something unclean!"

After the agent finished speaking, there was silence on the other end of the phone.

But the agent ignored his thoughts and continued, "The president of the agency has been extremely anxious lately and has used his connections to hire a highly respected monk in Kyoto at a high price."

"This master is very effective; many important figures you know have consulted him."

She deliberately omitted specific names, leaving it to the other party to fill in the blanks with their own imagination regarding the list of high-ranking political and business figures.

"The master's expression changed immediately upon seeing Sawaguchi."

At this point, the agent paused at just the right moment.

"The master said... Sawaguchi is currently carrying a very ominous aura. This is not just a matter of getting too caught up in the role, but rather—'a very bad omen of financial loss and bad luck'."

"The master's original words were: The character of Yuko Moriguchi herself carries the aura of a vengeful spirit with the ultimate goal of destruction. Sawaguchi was too deeply involved, and this destructive resentment has permeated her destiny. Therefore, the evil spirits surrounding her specifically harm the power, wealth, and fortune of the rich."

The agent's voice was filled with genuine panic as he said, "Sawaguchi was terrified at the time, crying and begging the master for guidance on how to break the curse. The master sighed and said that this kind of evil spirit is extremely dangerous. If she doesn't quickly withdraw from the world to resolve it, it will not only devour her, but will also severely harm anyone who tries to get close to her."

"The master asserted that the only way to break this curse is to immediately go to an ancient temple deep in the mountains to sever all worldly ties and undergo a full month of arduous cultivation in order to cleanse this malevolent aura."

"So, she set off for Kyoto this afternoon. She's going to a remote temple deep in the mountains of Ohara for a month-long retreat starting today. She'll be eating vegetarian food, chanting Buddhist scriptures, and remaining silent, completely cut off from the outside world."

After speaking, the agent held his breath. There was a deathly silence on the other end of the phone.

That silence was like a steel wire stretched to its limit, ready to snap at any moment, and the direction of the break would determine the life or death of everyone.

In that deathly silence that lasted for half a minute, the agent could even hear his own heart pounding as if it were about to explode.

Finally, the middleman, Yamamoto, spoke up.

"……I see."

His tone didn't convey anger at being deceived; instead, it carried a subtle, somewhat apprehensive seriousness.

"Thank you for your hard work. I will convey these words to the chairman verbatim."

As the call ended, the agent abruptly released his grip on the receiver, and then sat back in the driver's seat.

Her back was now completely soaked with cold sweat, and the icy shirt clung tightly to her skin.

The agent leaned back in the car for a long time until his heart rate slowly returned to normal from 120 beats per minute, before finally letting out a long sigh of relief.

Now that I've done what I was supposed to do, how things will develop is up to fate.

That evening, the penthouse suite at the Tokyo Prince Hotel.

Taking advantage of a lull in Yoshiaki Tsutsumi's mood after finishing a round of golf, the chief secretary of the Seibu Group presented Yasuko Sawaguchi's reply in the most cautious terms.

Yoshiaki Tsutsumi leaned back in the leather sofa, holding a glass of whiskey on the rocks.

After hearing his secretary's account, he remained silent for a long time.

When he starts swearing, it means things are still under control; when he falls silent, it means he is weighing the pros and cons in some irreversible way.

"A very unlucky omen that brings financial loss and misfortune..."

Yoshiaki Tsutsumi repeated the word in a low voice, a smile playing on his lips that was hard to decipher—it was hard to tell whether it was mockery or apprehension.

While he may be ruthless in the business world, he possesses an astonishing devotion to the unquantifiable realm of "fortune."

The enormous donations that the Seibu Group makes to shrines every year, and the feng shui surveys conducted before the start of each project, are irrefutable evidence of the world's richest man's reverence for "fate".

The location of each new hotel is repeatedly surveyed by a professional feng shui master.

When it comes to major business activities, Yoshiaki Tsutsumi's travel schedule must be confirmed by his personal Onmyoji (a diviner of Yin and Yang), otherwise he would rather postpone it for a week.

This is neither a disguise nor a performance.

This is something ingrained in his bones.

A person who controls an empire worth trillions of yen understands better than anyone the weight that "luck" plays in success.

When he inherited the empire from his father, Tsutsumi Yasujiro, he witnessed too many cases where "everything was under control, but all efforts were in vain because of some inexplicable variable."

These experiences instilled in him an almost religious reverence for fate.

Therefore, when he heard the saying "a very unlucky omen that brings financial loss and bad luck," his first reaction was indeed disdain.

But his second reaction, rising from the depths of his subconscious, was something that could not be suppressed by reason... what if.

What if it's true?

With his current wealth and status, is it worth risking even a one-in-a-thousand chance of his fortune for a woman—even an exceptionally outstanding one?

The answer is obvious.

"understood."

Yoshiaki Tsutsumi tilted his head back and took a sip of whiskey, saying casually, "Since it takes a month to repair, let's wait until she finishes."

The secretary, feeling as if granted a pardon, bowed deeply and left the room.

A catastrophe that could have wiped out the entire firm was thus easily put on hold.

In Yoshiaki Tsutsumi's view, a mere month is but a fleeting moment.

He had absolute patience, waiting for the prey to come to him clean and come to him on its own.

mid March.

The study in the penthouse apartment in the port area.

Kitahara Iwa sat at the large desk, his fingertips tapping the surface idly.

A blank sheet of manuscript paper lay before him, and the pen, its cap removed, sat on the pen holder, yet hesitant to put it down.

Now he has won the Akutagawa Prize and the Naoki Prize, his name is firmly occupying the top three spots on the bestseller list, and the box office of "Confessions" is rising against the odds.

From an outsider's perspective, he had already reached the absolute pinnacle of the Japanese literary world.

But Kitahara Iwa knew in his heart that this so-called peak was far from enough.

In the rigidly hierarchical system of Japanese pure literature, the Akutagawa Prize and the Naoki Prize are essentially just stepping stones for "newcomers to debut" and "established writers to rise to prominence."

They can make someone famous overnight, but they can't make someone a god.

The true symbol of the highest artistic achievement in Japanese literature is the Jun'ichirō Tanizaki Award. The base of that trophy is engraved with the names of literary giants who truly defined the history of Japanese literature, such as Yukio Mishima and Kenzaburo Oe.

And there is another extremely high threshold and the judging criteria are so strict as to be almost abnormal. Within the literary world, it is regarded as the ultimate fortress that is even more difficult to conquer than the Akutagawa Prize.

To win these two legendary awards, the social realism of "The Scream" alone is not enough, nor is the horror shell of "The Ring".

I need a literary masterpiece that truly strips away all the pretenses of genre fiction and strikes at the deepest abyss of human nature with pure narrative power.

Thinking of this, Kitahara Iwa stopped typing, picked up his pen, and wrote three words at the top of the blank manuscript paper.

Journey Under the Midnight Sun.

In my past life's memories, this is undoubtedly Keigo Higashino's masterpiece.

A boy born in the mire of the lowest rungs of society and a girl stripped of everything by fate are bound together from childhood by an unspeakable sin.

They depend on, exploit, and destroy each other in the darkness without the sun, spending their lives walking under a false light like a white night, until they are doomed.

The true grandeur of this story lies not in its intrigue, but in its spanning nineteen years of historical change.

From the working-class neighborhoods of Osaka in the 1970s to the neon lights of Tokyo during the bubble economy.

The fates of these two individuals are inextricably linked to the ills of Japanese society as a whole; every shock to the economic structure leaves new wounds on their bodies.

This is not a detective novel; it is an epic of the times, disguised as a suspense novel, about the complete alienation of humanity in despair.

Then Kitahara Iwa wrote the first line on the manuscript paper, paused for a moment, crossed it out, and started writing again.

For the next few days, the study light stayed on almost all night.

A mountain of documents gradually piled up on the table: a social survey report from Osaka's Nishinari Ward in the 1970s, details of the gray operations of the pawnshop industry, insider documents on real estate speculation today, and judicial files on juvenile delinquency.

The two characters created by Kitahara Iwao are gradually coming to life amidst this thick pile of historical materials.

Karasawa Yukiho, a girl who crawled out of the mud, used her impeccable beauty and absolute coldness to disguise herself as a perfect social weapon.

Her smile was as warm as the spring sun, but behind the sunshine lay permafrost that would never thaw.

Ryoji Kirihara, a shadow who lost the right to walk in the sunlight from childhood.

He lurked in the deepest darkness, clearing all obstacles for her with his blood-stained hands.

He was her knife, and she was his only compass for survival.

The book never contains a single "I love you," but upon reading it, it is a cruel and despairing sacrifice that leaves one breathless.

This work is far larger in scale than any of Kitahara Iwao's previous novels.

The nineteen-year time span implies an extremely complex network of character relationships and a narrative interwoven with subtle foreshadowing.

Each chapter is an independent slice of an era, and all the slices must eventually converge seamlessly to form that irreversible trajectory of destruction.

And so, Kitahara Iwao devoted himself to his desk for more than ten hours every day without any distractions.

The Tokyo Bay outside the window changes from gray-blue to pitch black, then from pitch black to pale white, in a never-ending cycle.

Time quickly passed to the afternoon of March 26th.

Just as Kitahara Iwatsu had finalized a core chapter and was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed to rest, the landline on his desk suddenly rang.

Kitahara Iwa opened his eyes and glanced at the caller ID.

It's not a Tokyo number, it's the Kyoto area code.

Kitahara Iwa picked up the receiver.

"Teacher Kitahara—"

Yasuko Sawaguchi's voice came from the other end of the phone.

But unlike the calm he had when he left Tokyo two weeks ago, this voice was now trembling violently, the kind of trembling that comes from being pushed to the edge of a cliff by fear and on the verge of complete collapse.

"Something's happened..."

Yasuko Sawaguchi covered the microphone tightly, as if afraid of disturbing the nun next door, and said at the lowest possible volume, "Yoshiaki Tsutsumi... he's not waiting anymore."

Upon hearing this, Kitahara Iwa remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"The agent just called. The middleman from Seibu Group delivered an ultimatum this morning."

Sawaguchi Yasuko's voice was broken and filled with deep despair as she said, "Tsutsumi Yoshiaki said that his patience has run out. He doesn't care about any of that 'killing' stuff; he demands a clear answer by today—either he'll keep the appointment tomorrow night."

At this point, Yasuko Sawaguchi paused, letting out a swallowing sound as if her throat was being choked.

"Or... he will personally take action to make my firm and everyone connected to me disappear completely from this industry."

On the other end of the phone came a desperate sob, suppressed to the extreme.

"Teacher Kitahara, what should I do... I only managed to keep up the excuse for half a month, and now he doesn't believe me anymore."

"He feels like his luck is invincible right now, and he can suppress any evil influence. I'm really at my wit's end..."

Kitahara Iwa listened quietly to Sawaguchi Yasuko's tearful account.

At this moment, Kitahara Iwa raised his head and glanced at the calendar on the study wall.

Today is March 25th.

The day after tomorrow is March 27th.

"Ms. Sawaguchi, listen to me."

Thinking of this, Kitahara Iwa slowly said, "You can have your agent reply to Seibu Group now. Just say... you've agreed to keep the appointment."

Upon hearing Kitahara Iwa's words, the sobbing on the other end of the phone abruptly stopped.

"What...?"

At this moment, Yasuko Sawaguchi's voice was filled with terror and disbelief.

Tell them you've agreed to keep the appointment tomorrow night.

Kitahara Iwao spoke slowly, but every word was clear and forceful: "But I'll also make one condition: in order to cleanse yourself of the last trace of bad luck and avoid offending Chairman Tsutsumi's fortune, you need to spend the entire next day at the temple for a final incense-burning, bathing, and purification ritual."

"Let's postpone the meeting until after March 27th."

Faced with Kitahara Iwao's explanation, Sawaguchi Yasuko still couldn't quite understand and continued to ask, "But Kitahara-sensei, what if by the night after tomorrow I really have to—"

"You won't live to see the day you meet him."

Kitahara Iwa interrupted Sawaguchi Yasuko, saying, "The day after tomorrow morning, a huge mountain will crash down on Tsutsumi Yoshiaki's head."

"After he's done smashing it up, he'll be in trouble if he can even keep his empire. He'll never have the slightest thought of keeping your appointment again."

Upon hearing this, Yasuko Sawaguchi asked, somewhat puzzled, "How...how did you know what would happen the day after tomorrow morning?"

"I have a very reliable friend who has given advance notice of the Tibet Ministry's policy direction for tomorrow."

Kitahara Iwao didn't elaborate further: "I can't go into the specifics. You just need to know that after tomorrow morning, Tsutsumi Yoshiaki's world will undergo a dramatic change. He will face a true life-or-death ordeal."

"So, just do as I say and set the meeting time for the evening after tomorrow."

Kitahara Iwa's voice carried a reassuring certainty as he said, "You don't need to do anything. Just stay in the temple. Time will solve everything for you."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

With Kitahara Iwa's reassurance, Sawaguchi Yasuko's rapid breathing gradually calmed down.

"I understand. Thank you, Kitahara-sensei."

Her voice finally regained a bit of strength.

"Um."

Kitahara Iwa hung up the phone and then picked up the pen he was using to write "Journey Under the Midnight Sun" again.

That evening.

Yasuko Sawaguchi's agent dialed the middleman Yamamoto's number again.

This time, the agent's voice lacked fear; instead, it was filled with an extreme sense of dread and submissiveness.

"Mr. Yamamoto! Sawaguchi said she will personally keep the appointment the day after tomorrow to apologize to Chairman Tsutsumi in person!"

"I just hope to give her a little time tomorrow during the day to complete the final purification ritual at the temple, to ensure that all evil spirits are removed and everything is foolproof."

"The time is set for the evening of the day after tomorrow; the location is entirely up to the chairman!"

The middleman, Yamamoto, chuckled on the other end of the phone, his tone relaxed. "Good. I will convey this message truthfully; the chairman should be very pleased."

That evening, the Prince Hotel's penthouse suite.

After listening to his secretary's report, Yoshiaki Tsutsumi slowly exhaled the smoke from his cigar, nodded in satisfaction, and then let out a cold laugh mixed with contempt.

"I originally thought this woman was incredibly tough, able to hide in the deep mountains for a whole month."

Yoshiaki Tsutsumi, with a cigar between his fingers, casually pointed to the Tokyo night view outside the floor-to-ceiling window and said, "You're already in such a hurry to go down the mountain after only half a month?"

"It seems that the so-called bad luck that brings financial loss to her was scared off so quickly?"

The secretary standing to the side bowed slightly, smiling obsequiously, and said, "In the face of the chairman's power, no amount of mystical excuses from charlatans can withstand the blow."

"She has finally come to terms with reality and knows that if she continues to hide, her firm and she herself will completely disappear from this industry."

"So, in the face of absolute capital, even the most arrogant woman will eventually have to obediently wash herself clean and offer herself up."

Yoshiaki Tsutsumi chuckled and stubbed out his cigar in the crystal ashtray.

"Go and arrange the venue for the day after tomorrow."

He glanced at his secretary, his tone brimming with the arrogance of someone in a superior position who had his prey in his grasp, and said, "The most private, top-tier hot spring hotel in Hakone is completely cleared out; it's only for me."

"I'd like to see how she plans to apologize to me in person the night after tomorrow."

"Yes, Chairman, I'll take care of it right away."

The secretary acknowledged the order and withdrew.

Only Yoshiaki Tsutsumi remained in the large suite.

He leaned back into the large leather sofa, comfortably picked up the glass of whiskey with an ice ball, and savored the rich liquid while looking forward to the night after tomorrow.

For the next thirty-odd hours, everything seemed calm and peaceful.

Throughout March 26, the massive capital gears of the Seibu Group continued to spin at full speed amidst the frenzy of the bubble economy.

The group's executives are still actively acquiring land, signing contracts worth billions of dollars.

Meanwhile, the top-tier hot spring hotel in Hakone is undergoing the most rigorous preparations for clearing out the premises. In order to welcome Chairman Yoshiaki Tsutsumi, they even replaced the paintings and tatami mats in the guest rooms with brand new custom-made items overnight.

Standing atop the pyramid, Yoshiaki Tsutsumi overlooks the city, which is burning hot with money, arrogantly believing that he can still control everyone's fate forever.

However, true destruction often comes at the very peak of revelry.

As the morning sun rose on March 27th, illuminating the solemn gray building of the Ministry of Finance in Kasumigaseki, the death knell for Japan's zaibatsu began to toll.

It was exactly 9:00 AM.

No interest groups were given time to react.

The Banking Bureau of Japan's Ministry of Finance has officially issued a "Notice on Controlling Land-Related Financing".

This administrative document, later known in economic history as "aggregate regulation," acted like a megaton-class financial nuclear bomb the moment it was implemented, precisely hitting the most vulnerable spot of Japan's real estate bubble.

All financial institutions are prohibited from increasing their lending to the real estate sector by more than the growth rate of their total loans.

A single official document.

This caused a magnitude 12 earthquake to hit the entire Japanese financial sector at the same time.

Within fifteen minutes of the news reaching the Seibu Group headquarters, chaos erupted completely.

The attitudes of the bank presidents, who had previously been completely obedient to Yoshiaki Tsutsumi, suddenly changed 180 degrees overnight.

They not only froze all new loans pending approval from the Seibu Group, but also began to frantically collect old debts from Seibu in an almost frenzied, wolf-like manner.

Yoshiaki Tsutsumi's prized perpetual motion machine of expansion was instantly brought to a standstill. Within just a few hours, his massive financial chain faced the abyss of complete collapse.

11:00 AM.

Seibu Group Headquarters, Chairman's Office.

The floor was littered with scattered emergency financial statements and smashed Kuko ware teacups.

Yoshiaki Tsutsumi braced himself tightly on the huge mahogany desk, his chest heaving violently.

The CFO and secretary stood five meters away, silent and trembling, not daring to even breathe.

Yoshiaki Tsutsumi's mind was filled with the collection notices from major banks after their change of heart, and the impending shutdown of dozens of his core real estate projects.

However, in this desperate and overwhelming situation, a detail he had almost forgotten suddenly slithered into his mind like a venomous snake.

He suddenly raised his head.

His face, which had been flushed with anger, instantly lost all color, turning into a horrifying ashen gray.

He remembered.

Two weeks ago, I heard those words from Yasuko Sawaguchi's side, as well as the warning from that Kyoto high monk.

"Anyone who comes into close contact with her before this inauspicious influence is neutralized will suffer significant financial losses, or even have their career foundation shaken and their business destroyed..."

A fine layer of cold sweat suddenly seeped out from Tsutsumi Yoshiaki's back.

I had just issued an ultimatum last night, forcing the other party to keep the appointment.

He hadn't even met Yasuko Sawaguchi yet!

However, today, less than twelve hours later, the Ministry of Finance's financial nuclear bomb has accurately hit its head, threatening to uproot its empire!

"Is this a coincidence...? No, there's no such perfect coincidence in this world!"

Tsutsumi Yoshiaki gripped the edge of the desk tightly, his knuckles white with extreme fear, and his voice trembled uncontrollably as he said, "I only had the thought of forcing him last night, and today Seibu's lifeline is severed..."

"If I really go to Hakone tomorrow night and actually run into that woman who exudes such a fierce aura..."

Before he could finish speaking, Yoshiaki Tsutsumi suddenly shivered.

For the first time in his life, he experienced what it meant to feel "goosebumps".

For a tycoon who spends eight figures annually on offerings to shrines and even calculates the time of day when buying land, there are some things that cannot be thought about too deeply, for thinking about them too deeply would lead to an abyss.

This unknown, seemingly divine, dimensional-reducing attack, like a heavy hammer, shattered Yoshiaki Tsutsumi's ideas.

Then, Yoshiaki Tsutsumi abruptly turned around, staring intently at his secretary, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping as he said, "The hot spring inn in Hakone tomorrow night—cancel it immediately!"

The secretary paused for a moment, clearly not keeping up with her boss's leap of thought.

At this critical juncture when the building is on the verge of collapse, shouldn't we deal with the bank's debt collection efforts first?

But the secretary still spoke up, saying, "But Chairman, that was a top-level clearance operation you personally instructed us to do. If we cancel it now, the penalty for breach of contract will be..."

"I said I'd cancel, so I'll cancel."

Yoshiaki Tsutsumi impatiently interrupted him, saying, "Also, go and inform Yamamoto that the dinner is canceled. From this day forward, the Seibu Group will sever all private ties with Yasuko Sawaguchi. I don't want to hear that woman's name again, nor do I want to be involved with her in any way. Understand?"

"Yes, I'll take care of it right away."

Although the secretary was full of doubts, seeing the boss's gloomy face, she could only bow immediately and quickly leave the office.

The huge office door closed again.

Yoshiaki Tsutsumi took a deep breath, his eyes sharpening once more. Compared to the bad luck that a female celebrity might bring, he now had a more fatal problem to solve.

Yoshiaki Tsutsumi strode back to his desk, picked up the red internal telephone, and dialed the number for the Finance and Accounting Headquarters.

"Compile all the collection limits sent by the banks today! In fifteen minutes, all executive directors at headquarters will convene an emergency meeting in Conference Room One!"

With a bang, Yoshiaki Tsutsumi slammed the phone down, his mind racing as he frantically calculated how to divest non-performing assets and stabilize the plummeting stock price.

It was evening in Ohara, Kyoto, in the guest room of a temple deep in the mountains.

Yasuko Sawaguchi took a deep breath, picked up her pager, borrowed the temple's landline under the pretext of needing it, and then dialed the paging service to leave a message.

As the call connected, the operator's mechanical voice read out the brief message left by the agent: "Seibu has cancelled tomorrow night's dinner. They indicated they will not contact you again. All clear, you are safe."

Hearing these words, Yasuko Sawaguchi held the microphone and felt her shoulders, which had been tense for half a month, collapse uncontrollably. Then she let out a long sigh.

She had no idea what kind of financial earthquake Tokyo was experiencing at that time; all she knew was that Kitahara Iwa's prediction had indeed come true.

Then Yasuko Sawaguchi gently put the microphone back in its place, walked back to the guest room, and pushed open half of the paper sliding door.

Outside the window, the dark fir forest was shrouded in twilight. The cold mountain wind, carrying the scent of earth and needles, rushed in, biting yet strangely real.

Yasuko Sawaguchi stood quietly by the window for a while, looking at the distant mountain shadows, and murmured something softly.

"Thank you, Kitahara-sensei."

"After this month-long retreat ends and I return to Tokyo... I must formally treat you to a meal this time, no matter what."

Meanwhile, in Tokyo, hundreds of kilometers away...

The desk lamp on Kitahara Iwa's desk emitted a quiet glow, and next to it sat a cup of black coffee that had long since gone cold.

He leaned slightly forward, holding a fountain pen, completely absorbed in the vast and brutal historical landscape depicted in "White Night".

As the pages turned, the ink continued to spread across the manuscript paper.