Reborn in Tokyo: From Heiress to Global Tycoon

Chapter 5 The Canary in the Cage

In late April in Tokyo, the sticky humidity in the air had finally dissipated somewhat. The cherry blossom season was coming to an end, and the roadside drains were piled with wet, blackened petals, like the remnants of some kind of splendor.

A black Nissan President sedan slowly drove through the quiet streets of Bunkyo Ward, the sound of its tires rolling over the asphalt muffled and monotonous. Dark curtains hung in the windows, isolating the interior from the noise of the outside world.

Satsuki sat in the back row with a half-century-old crocodile skin backpack on her lap.

She turned her head slightly and looked out through the gap in the curtains.

The massive wrought-iron, ornately carved gate before us was slowly sliding open to both sides. On the gateposts, the gilded characters "Private St. Hua Girls' Academy" gleamed with a reserved light in the sunlight.

This is not a school.

For Satsuki, who had seen her way through the world of fame and fortune in her previous life, this place was the most prestigious socialite training school in all of Japan, a training ground for political marriages, and a miniature arena for power struggles.

"Young Miss, we've arrived."

The driver brought the car to a smooth stop, and the butler, Fujita, wearing white gloves, opened the car door for her.

Satsuki took a deep breath and adjusted her facial muscles.

The cold, detached soul belonging to the Wall Street vulture instantly subsided, and the face that emerged was that of the only daughter of the Saionji family, who had just lost her mother and looked somewhat pitiful.

She stepped out of the car.

The area was filled with all sorts of luxury cars. Most were Mercedes-Benz S-Class, BMW 7 Series, and even a few Rolls-Royces. In comparison, the Saionji family's well-maintained but outdated Nissan looked rather shabby.

"Those are people from the Saionji family, right?"

"I heard her mother just passed away last week..."

"How pitiful, I heard that Duke Saionji's business hasn't been doing too well lately..."

Whispers arose from the surroundings. The girls, dressed in the same dark blue sailor uniforms, gathered in twos and threes, covering their mouths with feather fans or handkerchiefs, their eyes filled with a mixture of pity, curiosity, and a certain secret sense of superiority.

Satsuki kept her eyes straight ahead. Her head was slightly lowered, her hands clasped over her abdomen, and her steps were precisely measured. A black ribbon bound her long, black hair, which swayed gently with each step.

She didn't even need to speak; her mere demeanor, seemingly passed down from the Heian period, made the girls around her, who were still loudly discussing whether to go to Hawaii or Paris for their vacation, seem rather noisy.

Regardless of the era, a tragic tone is always the best camouflage.

Stepping into the classroom of Class 1-A, the air was filled with a mixture of expensive perfume and chalk dust.

The seating arrangement in the classroom is quite interesting.

On the side by the window, most of the people sitting were descendants of old Chinese families who came from prominent backgrounds but kept a low profile. The stationery they used were mostly fountain pens passed down from their elders, and their schoolbags were also old-fashioned leather goods with some wear and tear.

The side closest to the corridor and in the middle was occupied by "New Money." These were the daughters of construction magnates, electronics tycoons, and even pachinko parlor owners who had become wealthy during Japan's economic boom. Their pencil cases were made of the latest sequined material, their backpacks were adorned with flashy charms bought from Harajuku, and they talked about the latest idols and designer bags.

The difference is clear.

Satsuki walked to her seat—the second-to-last row by the window. It was an excellent observation spot, inconspicuous yet offering a panoramic view of the entire classroom.

She put down her schoolbag, took out a paperback novel without a cover, and quietly opened it.

But hidden by the pages of the book, her peripheral vision was rapidly scanning every "target" in the classroom.

The girl with glasses sitting in the front row is the second daughter of the Director of the Budget Bureau of the Ministry of Finance. If you want to know where the national budget is going, she is the best starting point.

The girl on the right, showing off her new watch to someone, is the niece of the managing director of Mitsui Bank. Although she's only a distant relative, she still gets a lot of information about credit trends.

And that short-haired girl sleeping on the table... is she a family member of a high-ranking police officer?

Satsuki's brain quickly labeled these 12-year-old girls: [A-level intelligence source], [B-level potential stock], and [C-level junk asset].

Just as she was engrossed in the pleasure of "asset valuation," a shadow fell on her book pages.

"Oh my, isn't this Saionji-kun?"

A sharp, high-pitched voice, clearly provocative, rang out.

Satsuki slowly raised her head.

Standing before her was a slightly chubby girl with dark skin. She wore a gold watch, which was extremely rare for that era, on her wrist, and her school uniform skirt seemed to have been deliberately shortened. She exuded an aura of "I'm rich."

Masami Okura. Her family made their fortune in concrete and land reclamation projects; a typical nouveau riche.

On the eve of this bubble economy, those in the construction industry were indeed richer than those in the textile industry, and much richer.

"I heard your family is having a funeral recently? That's so unfortunate." Masami Okura said, but a gloating smile was on her face. "No wonder you're all dressed in black, it just makes you look...unlucky."

Her henchmen behind her burst into laughter in unison.

The air in the classroom froze instantly. The girls from the old aristocratic side frowned, thinking that Okura was too ill-mannered; while the girls from the new zaibatsu side watched the scene with great interest, wanting to see how this duke's daughter would embarrass herself.

Satsuki closed the book with a gentle touch, as if stroking a feather.

She didn't stand up, but simply tilted her head slightly and looked at Masami Okura with her calm eyes.

"Hello, Mr. Okura."

Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly to every corner of the classroom. There was no anger in her tone; instead, it carried the tolerance of an elder towards a younger person.

"Thank you for your concern. However, this is my mother's favorite hairband, not something unlucky."

Masami Okura hadn't expected Satsuki to be so calm; she felt like she'd punched a pillow. But this disregard only fueled her anger.

She crossed her arms and scoffed condescendingly, "Tch, what's with the high and mighty act. I heard from Dad that your Saionji family's factory is laying off workers. What era are we living in? Still clinging to those old looms. If you don't mind, my dad's company is hiring cleaners, maybe..."

"Okura-kun."

Satsuki interrupted her softly.

She took out a clean white handkerchief from her pocket, gently covered her mouth and nose, and smiled apologetically.

"Excuse me, could you please... take a step back?"

Masami Okura was taken aback: "What?"

"The smell of you." Satsuki's voice remained gentle, as if she were discussing the weather. "That smell is so... 'full of energy.' It reminds me of a construction site where cement is being poured, the smell of people sweating and working hard for a living. It's truly admirable."

She paused, her gaze lingering on Masami Okura's gold watch for a second before looking away, as if even a second glance would sting her eyes.

"However, this is a classroom after all, and the ventilation isn't very good. The overly 'strong' industrial smell might make everyone feel a bit...choked."

The entire room fell silent.

Two seconds later, someone couldn't help but burst out laughing.

Immediately afterwards, soft laughter spread through the classroom like a contagious disease.

"The smell of cement... haha..."

"The smell of sweating from hard work..."

"Are you saying she smells earthy?"

Masami Okura's face instantly turned a deep purplish-red. Of course, she understood that this was an insult, calling her "the daughter of a construction worker" and implying that she reeked of an indelible nouveau riche vulgarity.

What's most infuriating is that Satsuki didn't use the word "dirty" once throughout the entire story; she even used positive terms like "full of vitality" and "worthy of respect."

If she gets angry now, it will only confirm the accusations that she is "rude" and "uncultured".

"You...you..." Okura Masami pointed at Satsuki, her fingers trembling, her gold watch clicking.

Satsuki, however, no longer looked at her.

She reopened the book, her profile glowing white in the sunlight, like the most exquisite porcelain doll in a shop window.

"And, Okura-kun."

She glanced at the words on the page and casually added the final blow:

"The watch strap is a bit loose. Although that material is shiny, it can easily breed bacteria if it doesn't fit well against the skin. This is for your health."

That sentence was like a resounding slap in the face.

In true high society, bespoke tailoring is common sense. A loose watch strap implies that it was a purchased product, or that it was deliberately bought too large to show off. This is not just unfashionable, but a synonym for "cheap."

Masami Okura felt like the gazes of those around her were pricking her like needles. Her pride in her wealth seemed utterly worthless in the face of Satsuki's casual words.

She stomped her foot hard, turned around, and rushed out of the classroom.

"What the hell! What's with the attitude!"

As her disheveled figure disappeared through the doorway, the atmosphere in the classroom subtly shifted.

Those who had previously looked down on the Saionji family now harbored a hint of apprehension in their eyes. Meanwhile, the girls from the former aristocratic families cast approving glances at Satsuki—although the Saionji family was no longer wealthy (relatively speaking), their ingrained arrogance and sharp tongue remained undiminished.

Satsuki sensed the change in the gazes around her, and a barely perceptible smile appeared on her lips.

She turned a page of the book, but couldn't absorb a single word.

"Okura Construction..." she murmured the name to herself.

If she remembered correctly, the Okura family made their fortune through high-leverage loans on land reclamation projects in Chiba Prefecture. Those projects had financial chains as fragile as paper.

Once the Plaza Accord comes, the appreciation of the yen will reduce the cost of imported raw materials, but the subsequent bursting of the bubble will cause land prices to collapse.

"Let you run wild for a few days first."

Satsuki's fingers gently traced the edge of the book's pages.

"When that time comes, I'll show you what the real 'smell of cement' is."