pjbooks Chapter 70 The Only Survivor
Chapter 70 The Only Survivor
Inside the Yamato Shoji office in Shinjuku's Kabukicho district, the air was so thick it was suffocating.
Three televisions were on at the same time, with the volume turned up to the maximum, but it still couldn't drown out the incessant sirens of ambulances outside the window.
On the screen, the candlestick chart representing the Nikkei average is plunging downwards at an almost vertical angle.
[February 26th Breaking News: The Nikkei index suffered a historic plunge, falling more than 1500 points in a single day and closing below the 33000 mark.]
The Ministry of Finance announced stricter controls on total real estate financing, leading to panic selling in many areas.
Team leader Gao Shan slumped in the genuine leather boss's chair that originally belonged to the president, the cigarette in his hand burning down to the filter and scalding his fingers, but he was completely unaware.
Just half an hour ago, a branch president of the "Far East Association" next door jumped off the roof of the building across the street.
The man who was waving money around in a nightclub yesterday and boasting about buying a golf course in Hawaii landed with a dull thud, like a ripe watermelon being smashed on a concrete floor.
"Team leader..."
The younger brother pushed open the door, his face pale, holding a stack of phone records. "The bank just called again, urging us to pay the interest on those plots of land we have... Also, many people in the next group are looking for ways to borrow money to replenish their land reserves, and they're offering 5% interest."
"Borrow my ass!"
Gao Shan snapped back to reality, stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray overflowing with ashtray butts, and yelled, "Tell the men below, anyone who dares to lend money at this time, I'll chop off their hand! Anyone who lends money now is dead!"
He shakily pulled a bankbook from the inner pocket of his coat.
That's a Citibank dollar passbook.
As he turned the pages, the long string of numbers on the page now seemed to gleam with a sacred golden light in his eyes.
Two months ago, on that festive Christmas Eve, if he hadn't inexplicably listened to Kitahara Shin's words, if he had gone all-in on the stock market like that deadbeat next door, or bought those worthless plots of land that are now impossible to sell...
He's probably downstairs now, waiting to be collected by someone.
Cold sweat instantly soaked through my vest.
It wasn't because of the heat, but because of the extreme fear of surviving a catastrophe.
He felt like the sole survivor of a shipwreck, clinging to the only life raft, watching the much larger ships around him disintegrate in the giant waves and be swallowed by the whirlpools.
"That man..."
Gao Shan swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing violently.
He remembered the young actor standing on the street, calmly looking at the electronic screen.
At the time, I thought he was exaggerating.
It now seems that those eyes had long seen through the true nature of this crazy market.
"The phone! Bring me the phone!"
Gao Shan took a deep breath, trying to calm his wildly beating heart; his voice was a little hoarse.
……
Fuji Television, Studio 3.
Lunch break.
The staff members gathered in twos and threes to eat their lunch boxes, and without exception, their topic of conversation was the stock market crash of the day.
"Oh no, my wife has invested all her secret savings, and now she's completely trapped."
"I heard another brokerage branch was vandalized?"
This anxiety spread like a virus on the set.
Kitahara Shin sat alone in a folding chair in the corner, holding the standard Makunouchi bento in his hand.
He picked up a piece of tamagoyaki and put it in his mouth.
It was still cold, and sickeningly sweet.
But he ate very calmly.
The mobile phone placed next to him started vibrating.
Kitahara Shin glanced at the caller ID, unsurprised.
"Feed".
"Brother Kitahara... no, Mr. Kitahara."
The sound of Gaoshan came through the receiver.
Although he tried his best to suppress it, a slight tremor could still be heard. "Did you see that? It really fell. Old Tanaka from the next group just jumped down. In this whole area... I'm probably the only one still able to sit down and call you."
Kitahara Shin swallowed the food in his mouth and took a sip of oolong tea.
"It's good that you're alright." He said calmly, as if chatting casually. "At times like this, being able to get a good night's sleep is more important than anything else."
"Yes... I'm so grateful to you for letting me exchange for US dollars."
Takayama sighed deeply, his tone filled with genuine gratitude and admiration. "I, Takayama, am a rough man and don't understand economics, but I do understand the meaning of a life-saving grace. Mr. Kitahara, are you free tonight? I'd like to invite you to a simple meal at 'Kyubei' in Ginza or 'Kikunoi' in Akasaka to thank you in person."
This is the highest level of courtesy that gangsters can offer, not for any other reason than to repay this favor.
Kitahara Shin smiled and looked at Suzuki Honami, who was touching up her makeup not far away.
"Team Leader Gaoshan, I appreciate your kind gesture."
His voice was gentle, yet it carried an uncompromising pragmatism. "But I'm in the eye of the storm right now. You know how difficult those paparazzi from FRIDAY are to deal with. If they photograph me drinking and chatting with the team leader from Yamato Trading in Ginza, my 'pure love drama male lead' persona will be ruined."
"Ah...that's true."
Gao Shan was stunned for a moment, then realized, "I was being inconsiderate. You're a big star now, it's really inconvenient for you to associate with people like us."
"There will be plenty of opportunities to eat out in the future."
Kitahara Shin switched hands to hold the phone. "Keep that money safe. Don't rush to buy at the bottom. This is just the first wave; the real winter is yet to come. Having cash on hand will give you confidence if I need your help in the future."
"Understood."
Takayama was a smart man, and he understood the meaning behind Kitahara Shin's words. It wasn't a rejection of contact, but rather a way of burying the relationship deeper and for a longer period.
He held the phone and nodded solemnly:
"Rest assured, I will safeguard the money. From now on, no matter when, as long as you, Mr. Kitahara, say the word, Yamato Trading will never refuse."
"Okay, that's settled then."
The phone hangs up.
Kitahara Shin closed the cell phone and put it back in his trench coat pocket.
He picked up his chopsticks again and took the remaining piece of cold fried chicken.
The staff around were still sighing and looking worried about the index dropping by several thousand points.
No one knows how important a nail this male protagonist, sitting in the corner eating cold food, has just planted in that collapsing capitalist world.
"Kitahara-kun, get ready, the next scene is between you and Rika in the park."
The assistant director shouted through a megaphone.
"They're here."
Kitahara Shin swallowed the last mouthful of rice and casually tossed the lunchbox into a trash bag.
He stood up and walked toward the set, unbuttoning his trench coat to reveal his signature slightly wrinkled white shirt underneath.
The spotlight came on, and the blinding white light instantly shut out the anxious chatter around them.
Within this halo, there's no need to worry about stock prices or interest rates.
"Suzuki-san, is your movement aimed this way?"
He adopted his usual mild accent and walked toward the female lead who was already waiting on the bench.