I Became the Rich Second-Generation Villain

Half an hour later.

Lawson Headquarters, Osaki, Shinagawa Ward.

Evening rain poured; water snaked along the glass curtain wall of the Lawson headquarters building, twisting the neon lights outside into a bizarre mosaic of colors.

Inside the 12th-floor conference room, smoke filled the air.

The central air conditioning emitted a strained, low hum, yet it couldn't dispel the heavy scent of anxious tobacco from the room.

A group of middle-aged men in white shirts, their ties long since loosened, huddled around the long table. Their eyes were bloodshot, their gazes fixed intently on the fax machine in the center of the table that had just stopped running.

The air was thick with the faint burnt smell unique to thermal paper.

Whirrr—

The crisp sound of the paper cutter falling sounded.

It was a copy of the final contract just faxed over from President Nakauchi.

The Procurement Director's eyes swept hurriedly across the page, and his pupils contracted sharply, as if he had just witnessed a terrifying sight.

"This… This is suicide! How could the President sign such a thing?" The Procurement Director's voice was parched and full of disbelief.

The Managing Director, sitting at the head of the table, did not answer immediately. He slowly removed his glasses, pulled a chamois cloth from his suit pocket, and began to wipe the fog from the lenses.

"This is life-saving medicine," the Managing Director stated icily. "Just 10 minutes ago, in a ryotei in Akasaka, President Nakauchi approved it with his personal seal."

"Life-saving? This is poison!" The Procurement Director bolted upright, his chair letting out a shrill scream against the floor. He waved the fax paper, his finger stabbing violently at Clause 4. "'Fully integrate into the S-Food supply chain and progressively shut down Lawson's own Saitama distribution center'… Managing Director, do you understand what this means?"

The Procurement Director looked around at his silent colleagues, his voice trembling with fear.

"Fresh food is the heart of our convenience stores. If we dismantle our own factories, dismiss our contracted farmers, and hand this heart over to the House of Saionji… What if they cut off supplies one day? What if they suddenly hike prices next year?

"We won't even have bargaining chips! Because we will have already crippled our own capabilities, there is no going back! What will Lawson sell then? Air?"

The conference room fell into a dead silence. Everyone understood the Procurement Director's point—distribution channels were king. Whoever controlled the source of goods controlled the pricing power. Handing over one's distribution channel was tantamount to thrusting one's neck into someone else's noose.

"And this! This 'Data Sharing Agreement'!" The Procurement Director pointed almost hysterically at another page. "We have to install a 'black box' system developed by Shimomura Tsutomu? By doing that, the House of Saionji will know better than us what should be sold tomorrow; we'll become puppets standing behind its counters!"

Bang!

The Managing Director slammed his palm down on the table, causing the nearby coffee mug to jump and black liquid to splash across the snow-white documents.

"Shut up!" The Managing Director stood up, his shadow stretching long against the wall. He pulled another fax from his briefcase—a copy of a cashier's check—and hurled it ruthlessly at the Procurement Director's face. "You think I don't know it's poison? But do you have any idea how desperate the Daiei Group is right now?"

The paper fluttered down.

The long string of zeros upon it looked particularly grotesque under the fluorescent lights.

¥1,000,000,000.

One billion yen.

"This is just the down payment. There's also a three-month payment window." The Managing Director's voice was low, carrying a hint of desperate clarity. "Not paying for goods for three months means billions in cash flow will appear in Lawson's hands out of thin air. Most of this money will be immediately drained by the Daiei Group to fill the holes in its real estate ventures, but…"

The Managing Director walked up to the Procurement Director, staring intently into his eyes.

Meanwhile, the Procurement Director stared at the check, his throat feeling as if it were blocked; his raised hand slumped down powerlessly.

He finally understood.

This wasn't just an unfavorable partnership but an outright acquisition.

Although the House of Saionji hadn't taken a single share of Lawson's stock, by controlling the supply (the stomach), monopolizing the data (the brain), and holding hostage the cash flow (the blood), they had completely hollowed out the company.

"With this money, we can survive." The Managing Director leaned forward against the table, his gaze scanning the room, his tone echoing a mournful pragmatism. "We can open more stores. We might even be able to drag that damned 7-Eleven down from its pedestal…though we won't be using our own bullets."

The Managing Director turned around and walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window.

Outside the window, Tokyo Tower flickered with a red glow through the rainy mist. In the distance, countless blue-and-white Lawson signs shone on the late-night streets, like stars scattered across the city.

The Managing Director looked at those signs, sighing in a complicated tone, "From today on, forget about President Nakauchi's retail philosophy. As long as the House of Saionji is the one signing this supply sheet, we must obey them."

In the reflection of the glass window, the Managing Director saw his own eyes—filled with desire, yet brimming with servility.

"Starting tonight, this company no longer belongs to Nakauchi, nor to Daiei.

"Its surname is now Saionji."

The next morning, 8:00 AM.

The Shuto Expressway (Metropolitan/Capital Expressway).

The torrential rain of last night had ceased, but Tokyo's sky remained gloomy, with ashen clouds hanging low, pressing down upon the crown of this steel forest. The roads were still wet, and the standing water made a monotonous splashing sound as it was crushed beneath an endless procession of wheels.

A black Nissan President sedan merged into the rush hour traffic.

In the back seat, Satsuki held a cup of hot black tea, her gaze fixed on the television mounted behind the front passenger seat.

Though the screen was only five inches and the image was jittery, the live morning financial news remained clearly visible.

"…Breaking news: Lawson, a subsidiary of the Daiei Group, issued a joint announcement early this morning, declaring a strategic partnership with S-Food under Saionji Industries…"

The scene switched. Nakauchi Isao's highly aggressive face appeared on the screen; even in a static news photo, the ambition in his eyes was palpable.

The anchor's voice continued:

"Influenced by this major positive news, stocks related to the Daiei Group and Saionji Industries performed actively in pre-market trading. Analysts believe this is a milestone event in the integration of Japan's retail supply chain…"

Click.

Satsuki pressed the remote.

The screen instantly went dark, reflecting only her calm, somewhat indifferent face.

"It seems the market likes this story very much."

Satsuki set aside the remote and looked out the window at the fleeing streetscape.

In the front, Fujita Tsuyoshi glanced at the rearview mirror and reported, "Ojou-sama, both FamilyMart and Lawson have been secured. In the entire Kanto region, only 7-Eleven is still holding out. Suzuki Toshifumi-san… Will he bow his head?"

The car emerged from a tunnel, the light flickering across the interior.

Satsuki turned her head toward the window.

Rainwater traced streaks across the glass.

The city was weeping.

"He has no choice," Satsuki muttered, her fingers nonchalantly sliding across the fogged-up window.

In truth, in this gargantuan chess game covering the entire Tokyo convenience store industry, the only one truly standing behind Satsuki from start to finish was the invincible "Seibu Emperor."

FamilyMart thought she had an alliance with Lawson; Lawson thought she had the full backing of Seibu Retail.

She clearly held only a single thread named "Tsutsumi Yoshiaki," yet by exploiting the information vacuum and mutual distrust between these giants, she had woven an airtight, massive web out of thin air.

Now, this web was complete.

"When the air grows thin, even a god will fall to his knees from suffocation."

Satsuki drew a circle on the fog-covered window.

That circle happened to encompass the direction of Chiyoda Ward in the distance, specifically the location of 7-Eleven's headquarters.

"Tsuyoshi."

"Yes, Ojou-sama," Tsuyoshi answered.

"It is time to reel the net in."

The car entered a tunnel.

Dim yellow lights flashed across the roof; in the interplay of light and shadow, a cold and pleasant curve appeared at the corners of Satsuki's mouth.

Having eaten its fill, the spider silently skittered toward its last prey.

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