SWDnovel Chapter 73 White Box and Black Blade
Chapter 73 White Box and Black Blade
February 28, 1988, Tokyo.
Marunouchi, the president's office at the headquarters of Saionji Industrial.
Although the central air conditioning in the room kept the temperature at a comfortable 22 degrees Celsius, there was still a lingering sense of restlessness in the air.
Tadashi Yanai sat on the sofa, leaning forward, clutching a long-term weather forecast issued by the Japan Meteorological Agency tightly in his hand.
His face looked even worse than the weather outside the window.
"Miss Saionji, this won't do. Absolutely not."
Tadashi Yanai pushed up his black-rimmed glasses, his eyes behind the lenses filled with anxiety.
"I've seen the latest weather map. This year's cold snap will last a long time. In early March, the average temperature in Tokyo may only be five degrees Celsius, and it may even freeze at night."
He suddenly stood up and paced back and forth on the expensive Persian carpet.
"In this kind of weather, why would our Shibuya flagship store put short-sleeved T-shirts in the most conspicuous position?"
"That's suicide. Nobody would buy a thin piece of cotton when they're shivering."
He stopped in front of Satsuki, raising his voice a few decibels.
"Customers will think we're crazy when they walk in. They'll think this store is completely insincere and is just trying to fool them with its summer inventory."
Satsuki sat behind her large desk, fiddling with a shopping bag that had just been delivered and had a red square logo printed on it.
She wore a dark gray cashmere cardigan over a simple white turtleneck, and slumped into the leather chair, making her appear exceptionally petite.
Faced with Tadashi Yanai's questioning, she did not rush to refute it, but simply took out a piece of clothing from the cardboard box at her feet.
It was a gray crew neck sweatshirt.
The fabric is thick and feels heavy in your hand. There is a classic V-shaped antiperspirant design at the neckline, and the ribbed cuffs and hem are tight yet elastic.
"President Yanai, do you know what young people in Shibuya admire most these days?"
Satsuki tossed the hoodie to Yanai Tadashi.
Tadashi Yanai caught it instinctively. It was warm to the touch, with the texture of cotton that had undergone a special washing process, rough yet with a reassuring weight.
"What do you worship? Brand names? DC brands?" Tadashi Yanai frowned.
"No, no, no. That happened last year."
Satsuki stood up and walked to the row of sample clothes racks.
"They worship 'America'."
"Not the kind of American elites who wear suits and work in office buildings. Rather, it's the kind of American college students who drive convertibles under the California sun or hurry through the Harvard campus with books in their hands."
"That's called 'Amekaji' (American casual style)."
Satsuki took a pair of dark blue straight-leg jeans from the shelf and tossed them next to her sweatshirt.
"In this chilly spring, young people don't need an expensive, but not warm, silk shirt. What they need is an outfit that makes them look like a 'comfortable American.'"
She pointed to the hoodie in Tadashi Yanai's hand.
"That's the answer."
"Heavyweight fleece-lined sweatshirt. The inner lining is thick fleece, which is windproof and warm. Even in five-degree weather, just wear this and put on a bomber jacket or denim jacket on top, and it will be warm enough."
Tadashi Yanai touched the inside of the hoodie. Indeed, the fine fleece felt very warm.
"But... what does this have to do with the T-shirts we're trying to sell?" Tadashi Yanai was still puzzled. "We have hundreds of thousands of short-sleeved shirts piled up in our warehouse."
"That's the art of matching."
Satsuki walked up to Yanai, took the hoodie, and pulled out a white crew neck T-shirt from the box.
She skillfully slipped the T-shirt under her sweatshirt.
Then, she deliberately tugged at the hem of her sweatshirt, letting about two centimeters of the hem of the white T-shirt underneath show.
I adjusted the collar again, making the white ribbed trim clearly visible on the gray sweatshirt collar.
"look."
Satsuki pointed to that level.
"If you don't wear this white T-shirt, this sweatshirt is just an ordinary 'sportswear,' unfashionable, boring, like pajamas you wear at home."
"But, as long as this sliver of white is revealed..."
"This is what 'layering' means."
"This shows that the person wearing the clothes knows how to coordinate outfits and pays attention to details. This seemingly casual exposure is precisely the essence of American casual style."
"That's what dressing up is all about, not just throwing on clothes and calling it a day."
Yanai stared at the two-centimeter white border.
Although it's just a small detail, this drab gray hoodie instantly came to life.
"We want to tell our customers: T-shirts aren't just for summer."
Satsuki's voice had a seductive quality.
"We want customers to feel that it is 'underwear,' 'accessory,' or a consumable."
"In this season, T-shirts are meant to be worn underneath. They're there to prevent sweatshirts from scratching the skin, to absorb sweat, and also for that little bit of white detail at the neckline and hem."
"The hoodie is 2900 yen. The jeans are 2900 yen. And this white T-shirt, which is the perfect finishing touch..."
Satsuki extended one finger.
"Only 1000 yen (opening special price)."
"For less than 7,000 yen, you can buy a complete set of the most authentic 'Shibuya street style.' But across the street in Palco, that amount of money is only enough to buy a scarf."
Tadashi Yanai's eyes slowly brightened.
He quickly visualized the scene in his mind.
Inside the pure white store, mannequins wore layered outfits. A huge poster proclaimed "Layering Life."
This not only solved the sales problem for T-shirts, but also boosted sales of higher-priced sweatshirts and jeans.
"clever……"
Tadashi Yanai muttered to himself.
"By leveraging the visual 'necessity' of the product, they've transformed off-season items into everyday necessities. And the price... in Tokyo, where the economy is overheated and prices are skyrocketing, it's a breath of fresh air."
"More than just a breath of fresh air."
Satsuki corrected.
"It's a torrent."
"President Yanai, how's the renovation progressing?"
Upon hearing this, Tadashi Yanai perked up.
"It's basically finished. The 'white box' effect, as you requested, is truly stunning."
He took out several photos of the scene from his briefcase.
In the photo, all the previously complex partitions have been removed. The four walls have been painted pure white, and the ceiling is densely packed with high-brightness fluorescent tubes, illuminating the entire space as brightly as an operating room, without a single shadow.
The shelves are custom-made, floor-to-ceiling white grid cabinets.
Countless brightly colored hoodies and T-shirts, folded into perfect squares, filled an entire wall. Red, yellow, blue, green… the impact of those colors, set against a pure white background, appeared both extremely forceful and extremely rational. (This part can be directly referenced from the interior design of a real Uniqlo store.)
They abandoned unnecessary decorations and the fake smiles of sales assistants.
Only the product itself.
"This is UNIQLO."
Tadashi Yanai looked at the photo, his voice trembling.
"A unique clothing warehouse. We've taken this concept to its extreme."
"very good."
Satsuki nodded in satisfaction.
"GG has already been rolled out. All Seibu Railway stations will have our posters on tomorrow."
"The poster will only feature a white T-shirt and a huge price tag: 1000 Yen."
Tadashi Yanai took a deep breath and carefully put the photo away.
He looked at the girl in front of him, who was only a teenager.
If he is the shell of Uniqlo, then she is the soul of Uniqlo.
"I understand. I will adjust the display plan immediately and bundle the hoodies and T-shirts together for display."
Tadashi Yanai stood up and bowed deeply.
"Well then, I'll go back to the store and keep an eye on things. It's opening in a few days, and I'm worried about the new employees."
"Go."
Satsuki waved her hand.
"Let Tokyo see what 'rational madness' really is."
Yanai Tadashi turned and left, his steps hurried. The anxiety he had shown upon arriving was gone, replaced by a resolute determination as he prepared to go to the battlefield.
As the heavy oak doors of the office slowly closed, the bustling, commercial atmosphere was shut out.
The room fell silent.
Satsuki turned her swivel chair around and looked out at the gloomy sky.
"The literary part is over."
She murmured to herself, her fingers tapping lightly on the armrest.
"It's time for Wu Jiao to make his appearance."
……
Five minutes later.
The hidden door on the side of the office slid open silently.
A chilling aura instantly filled the warm room as the man entered.
Dojima Iwao.
He wore a perfectly tailored dark gray tactical suit. The suit was specially designed with subtle room for movement in the shoulders and armpits, so as not to appear bulky, but to perfectly accentuate his granite-like physique.
He wore an air-tube headset and a tiny, black Saionji family crest badge on his collar.
But that's not the most concerning thing.
What's most intriguing are the seven people following behind him.
Fujita Tsuyoshi, and six other retainers and their sons.
A month ago, they were a group of classical samurai dressed in kendo uniforms, their faces etched with the message "I will commit seppuku to serve my country," exuding a stiffness that seemed out of place in modern society.
And now.
They filed in, their steps as light as cats.
Fujita walked at the front. He had cut his hair short, sporting a neat buzz cut. The habit of subconsciously reaching for the hilt of a sword that wasn't actually at his waist was gone. His hands hung naturally at his sides—the quickest place to draw a gun or a club.
The seven people quickly dispersed the moment they entered the room.
Instead of standing in a row like before, they naturally occupied key points in the room according to standard CQB (Close Quarters Battle) tactical positions: windowsills, doorways, and blind spots.
Their eyes changed too.
It was no longer the kind of blind loyalty that stared directly at the ruler, filled with passion and fanaticism.
Or rather... that loyalty was suppressed deep within his heart.
Instead, a detached yet wary gaze prevailed.
It's like... the look in a hunting dog's eyes.
"Young Miss".
Dojima Iwao walked to the desk, and instead of giving that outdated military salute, he nodded slightly.
He was no longer a soldier under that corrupt system, but a cog in the machine, ready to enforce the Saionji family's order through violence.
"SA Security Department, the main family's direct security force, handover complete."
He stepped aside, making way for Fujita Tsuyoshi behind him.
"Basic tactical maneuvers, emergency evacuation routes, and counter-surveillance identification have all been assessed. Although they still need to accumulate practical experience, they already possess the ability to operate independently in routine security missions."
Dojima Iwao's voice remained cold and hard, but it wasn't hard to hear the instructor's approval in his tone.
"While they're not perfect yet, at least now they know how to use their brains to block bullets instead of their chests."
Satsuki put down her teacup, stood up, walked around the desk, and stood in front of the group of people.
She scrutinized Fujita Tsuyoshi.
"Just."
"exist."
Fujita Tsuyoshi's voice was deep and powerful, without the slightest hesitation.
"How does it feel?"
"It feels..." Fujita paused, his gaze sweeping over a reflective spot on the building across the street from his window, his body tensing slightly, "It feels like the world used to be two-dimensional. Now, the world is three-dimensional."
"Before, I could only see my opponent's eyes. Now, I can see the wind direction, the light, and the escape routes."
Satsuki smiled.
"very good."
"It seems that Minister Dojima is indeed a good teacher. He has stripped away the 'vain skin' that you all have on you."
She reached out and straightened Fujita's suit collar.
"From today onward, you will return to my side. Remember, your mission is not to kill the enemy, but to keep me alive."
"yes!"
The seven responded in unison and bowed their heads to Satsuki.
Dojima Yan watched this scene, a subtle smile curving his lips.
He took a step forward and pulled a black tactical tablet (split plate) from his pocket.
"Now that the defense system has been built, the next agenda item is threat elimination."
"The Special Duties Section is fully prepared and on high alert. We are ready to receive your inspection at any time."
"review?"
Satsuki walked back to the table, took out a document that had been prepared in advance from the drawer, and threw it on the table.
That's the latest intelligence summary about the "Black Dragon Society".
"I don't like watching performances on the playground."
Satsuki's fingers tapped lightly on the document.
"Real combat is the best test."
Dojima Iwao picked up the document and opened it.
His eyes swept quickly across the photos and maps.
The photo shows an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the port area, where several black right-wing propaganda vehicles (street propaganda vehicles) are parked. Several tattooed yakuza members are sitting together smoking and playing cards, with several barrels of what appears to be gasoline and a loudspeaker piled up next to them.
"That old guy named Onizuka seems really interested in our Uniqlo opening. He's prepared these cars and horns, wanting to give us a 'big gift' on opening day." Satsuki's voice was soft, but chilling. "He even wants to stir things up."
Dojima Yan looked at the oil drums in the photo, a barely perceptible hint of contempt flashing in his eyes.
"What a low-level intimidation tactic."
He tucked the folder under his arm and straightened his black leather gloves.
"Please give your instructions, Miss."
"Clean it up."
Satsuki turned around and looked out the window at the dazzling Tokyo night view.
"I want those cars to be scrap metal. I want that warehouse to be so deserted after tonight that no one will dare to go in again."
She paused, then held up one finger.
"However, there are two requirements."
"First, it has to be non-lethal. I don't want tomorrow morning's headlines to be 'Massacre in the streets of Tokyo.' I don't want to see corpses or large areas of blood."
"Second, a silent operation. It's a port area; although it's remote, there are still residents. I don't want to hear any gunshots, nor do I want the Metropolitan Police Department calling me."
"Is it possible?"
Dojima Yan looked at the photos of those reckless thugs and a barely perceptible sneer appeared on his lips.
"certainly."
He raised his wrist and glanced at the worn military watch.
"I'll make them regret not staying in bed tonight before they even realize what's happening."
Dojima Iwao took a step back and bowed slightly.
"Then, I'll take my leave."
After saying that, he turned and left.
The movements were swift and clean, the black trench coat drawing a sharp arc in the air.
Inside the office, only Satsuki and her seven guards remained.
Fujita stood in the shadows, watching the direction Dojima Yuki had gone, his fingers tightening slightly around the sword sheath. It was a martial artist's instinctive reaction to another kind of pure power, a mixture of fear and a hint of unspeakable envy.
But soon, he regained his composure and refocused his gaze on every high vantage point outside the window.
Satsuki sat back down in her chair, picked up the slightly cooled cup of black tea, and took a small sip.
"alright."
Looking out at the dark night sky, she seemed to already see the silent hunt about to unfold in the distant port area.
"The hunting dogs have been released."
"Dojima Iwao, is your sword still sharp?"