mchenry-crisis.org Chapter 195 Class Customization and Catering to Demands
Chapter 195 Class Customization and Catering to Demands
October 13, 1989.
Nikkei Average: 30,120 points
There are only two days left until the official opening of Niseko's "Gokurakukan".
It was six in the morning. The microclimate circulation system inside the enormous dome was operating smoothly, and the low-frequency sound of airflow echoed very faintly in the spacious bedroom. Satsuki opened her eyes in the sun-scented silk bedding.
Hmm...where am I? Oh right...Hokkaido...
She rubbed her eyes, threw back the covers, and stepped barefoot onto the warm, smooth North American black walnut floor. The wood's delicate grain conformed to her soles, transmitting the preset 24-degree warmth of the temperature control system. She casually extended her index finger and pressed the electric curtain control button on the brass panel. "Buzz—" With a soft hum of the silent motor, the heavy blackout curtains smoothly retracted to both sides along the curved track.
This spot is located at the very top of the hourglass-shaped main building, where it merges seamlessly with the surrounding glass dome. This highest point in the entire Gokurakukan complex is housed in a top-tier observation suite exclusively for members of the Saionji Temple. Through the 360-degree panoramic curved glass, the Hokkaido morning light is breathtakingly revealed.
At the horizon, a bright orange sun struggled to break free from the thick rain clouds. Thousands of golden rays pierced straight through the swirling snow and struck the snow-capped peak of Mount Yotei in the distance, refracting a dazzling pink-gold halo.
Snow-capped mountains, a bright candle in the southern sky.
On the outside of the specially heated glass, the accumulated snow melts rapidly under the combined impact of sunlight and the high internal temperature, turning into fine streams of water that meander down the curved glass. Standing at the highest point of this man-made wonder, below lies a man-made rainforest and miniature city with a constant temperature of 28 degrees Celsius and lush vegetation; beyond the glass lies a frozen wasteland of minus ten degrees Celsius and howling winds. The immense power of capital to forcibly alter seasons and latitudes is vividly embodied in the interplay of light and shadow at sunrise.
Satsuki stared blankly at the scenery, her mind unusually empty. Only when the sun had completely risen did she look away and walk into the washroom.
Fifteen minutes later, she changed into a soft, beige cashmere loungewear without any elaborate embellishments. The moisture evaporated from her slightly damp hair.
Push open the heavy wooden door of the bedroom and walk towards the spacious living room on the outside.
Shuichi had gotten up early. He was wearing a dark gray silk morning robe and sat alone at a round table by the window. He held a cup of still-steaming black coffee in his hand, his gaze fixed on the massive and intricate sand table-like layout beneath his feet through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Good morning, Father.
Satsuki pulled out the velvet armchair opposite her and sat down.
"Good morning." Xiu put down his bone china cup. "Did you sleep well last night? Is the room too dry with the constant temperature system?"
"A little." Satsuki picked up the warm water that had been prepared on the table and moistened her slightly hoarse, nasal voice. "But the soundproofing is impeccable. You can't hear the loud wind and snow outside at all."
"That's good. Early winter in Hokkaido always makes people's throats dry, so I just asked Fujita to turn up the humidifier's power." Shuichi leaned back in his velvet chair.
The very faint sound of a cart wheel rolling came from the direction of the kitchen.
Two maids pushed a food cart covered with a clean white linen sheet to the table and skillfully laid out the breakfast in front of the two men.
"Let's eat something juicy first." Shuichi looked at the sliced Furano melon on the plate. The flesh was a vibrant orange-red, with tiny water droplets clinging to the skin from the refrigerator. "It was just air-freighted over yesterday; they say it's the freshest batch from the greenhouse."
Satsuki picked up a silver fork, cut off a small piece of melon, and put it in her mouth.
The sweet juice spreads across the tip of the tongue.
"It's very sweet." She swallowed the fruit and gently dabbed her lips with a cotton napkin. "It's juicier than the ones I had in Tokyo last week."
"After all, it's the place of origin."
Xiu reached out and took a golden-brown, crispy French croissant, gently breaking it open with both hands. Crumbs of pastry fell onto the porcelain plate, releasing a rich, buttery aroma. He put a small piece of bread in his mouth, then picked up the glass of freshly squeezed Juanzha milk from the local ranch that morning (it had been properly pasteurized).
"This milk definitely tastes richer than the ones I ordered in Tokyo, and there's even a very thin layer of oil floating on top," Shuichi commented after taking a sip. "Milk, even if it's air-freighted, can never compare to drinking it directly in its country of origin."
"That means the ranch's silage ratio is pretty good." Satsuki used a knife and fork to cut the remaining melon into even small pieces. "When we get back, I can remind President Hayakawa to give the person in charge there a bonus."
The father and daughter enjoyed their breakfast happily, chatting about trivial daily matters.
Xiu smiled. He looked past the rising steam from the cup and down to the vast snowfield outside the window, its edges gilded by the morning light.
"Looking down from this height, the commercial streets, the beach, and the employees preparing for the opening all look like miniature models."
He looked down through the floor-to-ceiling window and sighed softly.
"Human creations look like toys at this moment."
"For you sitting in this room, they do indeed have the characteristics of toys."
After finishing the last piece of melon, Satsuki placed the silver fork flat on the edge of the porcelain plate.
"Hehehehe... (Here, a wealthy person's laughter)"
Shuichi looked at Satsuki with a broad smile. To him, a thousand compliments from others couldn't compare to a single compliment from his own daughter.
During a pleasant breakfast time, the clock hands quietly slid towards eight o'clock.
A steady series of footsteps came from outside the double walnut doors of the living room.
The old butler, Fujita, stopped two steps away from the door. He bowed slightly, and his voice came through the half-open door clearly.
"Master, Miss. Mr. Kurokawa and his team have arrived at the private reception room outside and are waiting."
Xiu put down his milk glass and took a clean white napkin to wipe his hands.
"Understood. Please ask them to have a seat and serve tea."
"Yes." Fujita withdrew silently.
Shuichi stood up and walked towards the spacious walk-in closet on the inside.
Fifteen minutes later.
The heavy soundproof door to the private living area was pushed open.
Shuichi had changed into a dark gray bespoke suit, his tie perfectly tied, completely shedding his morning laziness and regaining the impeccable authority of a tycoon patriarch.
Satsuki followed beside him. She had changed into a finely textured off-white turtleneck cashmere sweater, layered under a loose-fitting camel-colored knitted cardigan without any stiff cut, and wore soft, flat lambskin shoes. Her young body was wrapped in extremely loose fabric, and there wasn't a single sharp line that symbolized power on her body.
But when she walked side by side with Xiu, the imposing aura emanating from her very bones, requiring no external adornment, naturally spread outwards with her steady steps.
The father and daughter walked through an inner corridor covered with a thick wool carpet and pushed open a brass-handled door that connected to the outer area.
This is a circular panoramic reception room with an area of over 200 square meters. The private central elevator is located on the outermost side of the reception room.
Architect Kisho Kurokawa, dressed in a pure black trench coat with his signature long gray scarf casually wrapped around his neck, stood quietly in front of the floor-to-ceiling window with two assistants, waiting.
Hearing the dull sound of the door opening, Kurokawa turned around and bowed slightly.
"Ms. Saionji, President Shuichi. Good morning."
"How was your stay last night? Were you satisfied with the breathing of this 'creature'?"
His eyes held a well-hidden fervor.
This year was truly the most enjoyable year of his work. There was no other reason than that the Saionji family's budget was truly limitless.
To be honest, he felt that he would never find a client who was so willing to spend money again in his life, or even in his next life.
"A truly perfect masterpiece, Mr. Kurokawa."
Xiuyi walked to the leather sofa in the reception area and nodded in greeting.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the three stood side by side in front of the panoramic glass at the far end of the reception room, looking down at the entire resort's perimeter.
Sunlight pierced through the clouds and shone on the snowfield outside the giant dome.
Kisho Kurokawa raised his hand and pointed to the vast villa complex that radiated outwards from the outer edge of the dome, following the contour lines of the gentle slope of the snowfield.
"The core of 'metabolism' lies in the fact that architecture must grow and integrate organically with its surrounding environment, just like a cell."
Kurokawa's voice echoed in the empty living room, carrying a strong sense of artistic idealism.
"To perfectly blend into the local undulating terrain, none of the 500 buildings were constructed using standardized prefabricated templates. The firm's team created individual, site-specific designs for every elevation difference and every gap in the trees. Each villa has a unique orientation and spatial structure."
He ran his fingers along the snow-covered rooftops.
"The exterior walls are uniformly covered with locally sourced light-colored logs and rough stone. While maintaining visual unity, they also contain individual differences. They cling to the snowfield, like settlements naturally nurtured by this land, protecting the central main structure..."
Kurokawa spoke at length about his proud architectural aesthetics and symbiotic philosophy.
Satsuki listened quietly.
However, besides its artistic value, she values its commercial value even more.
These 500 unique buildings form a huge filter covering the entire Japanese middle class.
During this period of euphoria when the Nikkei average index broke through 35,000 points and national confidence swelled to its peak, the pockets of trading company employees, middle-level bureaucrats, and small business owners were stuffed with rapidly increasing year-end bonuses and stock dividends.
They desperately want to escape cramped public housing and narrow izakayas. They urgently need an extremely expensive and scarce form of consumption to prove to the world their upward social mobility.
The base price for the villas on the outskirts has been raised to between 300,000 and 500,000 yen per night.
In this crazy era where even hailing a taxi on the street requires waving tens of thousands of yen in cash, low prices only make people feel their vanity is damaged. The high threshold, coupled with the customized marketing gimmick of "each building is unique", precisely hits the critical point of the psychological defenses of these nouveau riche.
Bringing your wife and children to this far north for a weekend can easily burn through between one million and one and a half million yen with just two nights' accommodation, plus the exorbitant dining and casino expenses inside the dome.
This number perfectly corresponds to the generous bonus a business elite receives for an entire quarter during the bubble period.
They poured three months of their hard-earned money into buying the illusion of being a "private estate lord," a lifestyle unattainable in Tokyo and unique to their own taste.
In this day and age, ordinary people have so much wealth that they might as well let the Saionji family "kindly" keep it safe for them for now.
"Look over there," Kisho Kurokawa's words interrupted Satsuki's deduction.
He pointed to a shady area, far from the bustling dome, hidden several kilometers away in a primeval fir forest. Due to the terrain and the density of the trees, the area appeared extremely secluded in the sunlight.
"Kure-no-sato"
Kurokawa's tone carried an almost reverent solemnity. With the aid of binoculars, thirty low-lying wooden houses built with charred cedar planks and black volcanic rock were hidden among the snow and fir trees.
"This is the ultimate 'binary opposition'."
"The central dome represents the secular revelry of humanity altering the seasons. The Hidden Village represents the natural symbiosis of returning to the origin."
Kurokawa turned around and looked at Shuichi and Satsuki.
"All modern facilities within the Hidden Village will be concealed (not that they will be absent). On the surface, only traditional stone fireplaces and floor-to-ceiling windows facing the snowscape will be preserved inside. Over time, the building's facade will peel away, become covered in moss, and eventually become completely part of the forest."
Satsuki put down her binoculars.
She gazed at that silent place, which Kurokawa had hailed as his spiritual home.
In the funnel of class reaping, these thirty simple wooden houses stand at the very top. To the elites who hold the reins of the nation and are accustomed to looking down on the masses, the constant-temperature beach and casino within the central dome seem too noisy and cheap.
The kind of happiness that can be bought with several months' salary cannot satisfy their thirst for privilege. What they need is the freedom to be "unseen" and the arrogance to look down on everyone else.
This wooden cabin in the snow provides a sense of physical isolation. There is no noise from outsiders, no prying eyes from company employees. Behind the seemingly simple cedar planks, there is a dedicated butler team on call 24/7, a private menu from a Michelin three-star chef, and a fleet of helicopters that can be mobilized at any time via encrypted lines.
This implicit privilege caters to the secret needs of old money and top politicians.
The physical separation of movement and stillness.
The space is in opposition to the vulgar and the refined.
The entire harvesting loop of the Paradise Pavilion, viewed from above this morning, presents a beautifully structured and perfectly functioning architecture.
The guided tour concluded. Kisho Kurokawa and his assistant retreated to the suite's reception area, quietly organizing the agenda documents for tomorrow's ribbon-cutting ceremony.
Satsuki stood alone in front of the panoramic curved glass.
Her gaze swept over the five hundred unique villas and the unfathomable fir forest, taking in the entire magnificent man-made spectacle.
The massive complex of buildings sprawls across the wilderness of Hokkaido, consuming enormous amounts of electricity and heavy oil to maintain its extravagant appearance.
It was luxurious enough, stunning enough, and enough to dominate the headlines of all major media outlets in Japan at its opening ceremony two days later.
This kind of "peak upon completion" heavy asset miracle was ultimately to cater to the needs of Emperor Seibu.
The sun finally broke through the clouds.
The dazzling sunlight pierced through the crisp air, striking the special glass shell of the main building directly. Reflected by the intricate polygonal facets, this enormous glass dome, perched in the center of the snowfield, radiated a mesmerizing golden halo.
This enormous crystal ball, encompassing both revelry and silence, and precisely catering to the desires of all social classes, lies quietly dormant in the snow and wind of the North, waiting to reveal its magic to the world.