Chapter 578: The World’s Tallest Building

Monday, January 6, 1992.

Shibaura, Tokyo.

Just past seven in the morning, a thin veil of mist still drifted across the sea.

Masao Enomoto stood beside the railing near the pier, holding a can of hot coffee he had just bought from a convenience store in one hand, while tightly gripping his son’s hand with the other.

"Dad, do we need to walk further ahead?"

"No need, right here is fine."

Enomoto stopped, raised his head, and gazed toward the opposite shore of Tokyo Bay.

Ten-year-old Yuta Enomoto tilted his head up as well.

Then, his mouth slowly fell open.

"Whoa..."

Across the hazy winter morning sea, a pitch-black skyscraper stood quietly in Odaiba.

It was simply too conspicuous.

There were already quite a few high-rises along the coast of Tokyo Bay, and the Shibaura side had no shortage of office towers dozens or hundreds of meters tall. Yet those buildings, which usually looked quite imposing, now served as mere backdrops to that black tower in the distance.

Especially when viewed from this angle.

The tower rose straight upward until it seemed to merge with the low-hanging clouds in the distance. The neatly aligned dark glass on the exterior facade shimmered with a faint blue tint in the morning light, and though the white logo at the top was far away, it could still be faintly distinguished.

After staring for a long time, Yuta suddenly tugged hard on his father’s sleeve.

"Dad! Is that it?"

"Yeah."

Enomoto took a sip of his coffee.

"Saionji Tower."

"Is it really five hundred meters tall?"

"Of course it is."

"Taller than Tokyo Tower?"

"Much taller."

"What about the Tokyo Metropolitan Government building in Shinjuku?"

"Much taller than that, too."

Yuta tilted his head back and watched for a while longer, then suddenly turned around and asked with a face full of anticipation:

"So did you really work in there, Dad?"

"You little rascal."

Enomoto smiled at his son and reached out to ruffle his hair.

"How many times have I told you already?"

"But..."

Yuta was still gazing at the building, his eyes sparkling.

"Ryuichi at school said the richest person in Japan built it, and everyone who works inside is super amazing!"

"Well, he’s not wrong about that."

Enomoto thought for a moment and added:

"Still, someone had to haul the steel rebar and install the glass to build it, right? Otherwise, could those big shots sitting in offices make the tower grow all by itself?"

"So that means you’re super amazing too, Dad!"

"Of course I am."

Enomoto answered without hesitation.

However, after saying that, he fell silent.

This time last year, he hadn’t been in such high spirits.

To be precise, ever since the spring of 1990, life had been tough for Enomoto.

He had originally worked for a mid-sized construction contracting company, and after more than ten years of hard work, he had risen to the position of on-site foreman.

During the peak of the bubble economy, buildings were springing up everywhere across Tokyo.

The company had so many projects lined up that they couldn’t keep up, and his monthly overtime pay was higher than his base salary. Back then, his biggest worry was whether he should take out a loan to buy a condo of his own.

Then, in 1990, everything suddenly changed.

First, clients delayed their payments, then several construction sites shut down, and subsequently, banks refused to provide further financing.

By the time the company finally declared bankruptcy, Enomoto was owed over three months’ worth of wages.

The only silver lining in his misfortune was that he hadn’t taken on a mortgage.

Even so, life for his family of three did not become much easier.

During that period, what he dreaded most was his son coming home from school and asking why he hadn’t gone to work again that day.

His wife had made up plenty of excuses for him.

Vacation, site shutdowns, temporary company reshuffling...

Eventually, even Yuta stopped asking.

It wasn’t until the spring of last year that Enomoto found a job again through a labor mutual-aid association affiliated with Saionji.

At that time, the main structure of Saionji Tower was nearing completion, and a vast amount of interior partitioning, piping, and equipment installation work still required manpower.

Enomoto had brought several former colleagues along and joined the construction crew entering Odaiba.

In the beginning, he didn’t think there was anything special about it.

Work was work, after all.

Yet as the project gradually entered its final stages, things slowly proved to be different.

The engineers responsible for inspection and acceptance were far stricter than previous contractors; construction records had to be cross-checked item by item, and rework could not be glossed over.

Troublesome as it was, his wages were never delayed.

At the end of last year, the office zone he was responsible for finally passed inspection.

Before leaving the site that day, Enomoto specifically turned back to take a look.

The glass had already been installed.

The place that had once been piled high with materials and surrounded by scaffolding was now laid with clean carpet, brightly lit, and even the metallic trim on the walls was polished spotless.

He reached out to touch the partition wall that he had installed with his own hands.

Suddenly, he felt reluctant to leave.

"Dad?"

Yuta’s voice pulled him back to reality.

"Hm?"

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

Enomoto looked down and saw his son standing on tiptoe, trying his best to get a clearer view of the very top of the building.

He suddenly crouched down and lifted Yuta into his arms.

"Do you see over there?"

"Where?"

"Right around the upper-middle section of the tower, those floors where the glass color is slightly lighter."

Yuta squinted his eyes, straining to spot it.

"I see it!"

"There are several floors of offices around there. Dad helped install the partition walls and equipment rooms inside."

"Really?!"

"Really."

Yuta stared at those floors, his eyes full of admiration.

After a moment, he suddenly tilted his head up again, looking toward the very pinnacle of the tower.

"Dad, what about the very top?"

"The very top?"

Enomoto followed his son’s gaze.

"Dad never went up there. All the installation work up there was classified, handled entirely by their internal staff."

"I heard the top few floors are where the Saionji Group’s big shots work. Ordinary folks can’t go in."

"I see..."

Yuta nodded half-understandingly.

He stared at the high tower for a long time, then suddenly spoke with great seriousness:

"Dad, one day I’m definitely going to stand at the very top of Saionji Tower!"

Enomoto was taken aback for a second, then asked with amused curiosity:

"Why is that?"

"Because it’s the highest place in the whole world!"

Yuta excitedly reached out his hand, pointing at the distant spire.

"Standing up there, you must be able to see the whole Tokyo!"

"That won’t be easy, you know."

"It doesn’t matter!"

Yuta answered without the slightest hesitation.

"When I grow up, I’ll definitely become someone who can go up there!"

Looking at his son’s confident expression, Enomoto suddenly felt an indescribable emotion swell in his heart.

He had spent over a decade working on construction sites, and at his peak, he was merely a foreman in charge of a dozen workers.

But his son was still young.

His life was only just beginning.

"All right."

Enomoto shifted his son higher in his arms.

"Then Dad will be waiting."

He looked back toward the distant black tower and gently patted his son on the back.

"When you really do stand up there, don’t forget to tell Dad what Tokyo looks like from that high up."

"Mm! It’s a promise!"

"It’s a promise."

...

Eight-thirty in the morning.

The city news editorial room of a newspaper in Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo.

"Number one in the world?"

A greying editor lifted the manuscript in his hand and frowned at the young reporter standing before his desk.

"Are you sure there’s no problem with this headline?"

"Yes, senpai, absolutely no problem!"

The young reporter hurriedly pulled out another document from his folder.

"Look, this is the Sears Tower in Chicago at 442 meters. One World Trade Center in New York is 417 meters."

"Yet Saionji Tower in Odaiba reaches a full five hundred meters!"

As he spoke, he tapped his finger on the note at the very bottom.

"Moreover, the Saionji side has already publicized the final completed height, and it’s not the kind of publicity figure that cheats by including the length of the antenna spire!"

"That’s not what I was asking."

The editor put the material back onto the desk.

"What about Canada’s CN Tower?"

"That one... is a telecommunications and observation tower, not an office building in the conventional sense."

"And Tokyo Tower?"

"Same thing."

"Fine, then."

The editor picked up a red pen and drew a line through the original headline.

"Change ’World’s Tallest Structure’ to ’World’s Tallest Skyscraper’ for me."

The young reporter looked at the red line, feeling somewhat reluctant.

"But Chief, if you do that, the momentum is significantly weakened."

"Momentum?"

The editor looked up.

"If the Canadians send us a letter of protest tomorrow, will you reply to it on my behalf?"

"...."

"Besides, does this building even need us hyping it up?"

The editor picked up a photograph from the desk and placed it in front of the young reporter.

The photo was taken yesterday evening.

Just as the lights along the shores of Tokyo Bay were turning on, Saionji Tower was pitch-black overall, with only parts of the exterior office zones and the logo at the pinnacle illuminated.

The soaring tower occupied most of the frame.

The surrounding city, the piers, and the Rainbow Bridge under construction were all dwarfed to insignificance.

The editor examined it for a moment.

"Who took this picture?"

"Matsumoto-senpai from the photography department."

"It’s well shot."

He set the photo down and opened another draft.

"However, I think there is something else far more worth writing about than the architectural height."

"What?"

"The timing."

The editor picked up his red pen and circled a few characters at the beginning of the draft.

"Nineteen ninety-two."

"What about this timing?"

"How many corporate bankruptcy reports did you write last year?"

The young reporter paused.

"Well..."

"Twenty? Thirty?"

The editor counted for him.

"In December alone, our city department reported over a dozen. Then there are layoffs, halts on construction, debt disputes, and ordinary families who bought homes only to suddenly discover property values plummeting."

He pushed the photograph back to the center of the desk.

"Right now, the whole of Japan is scaling back investment. Banks are relentlessly pressing companies for debt repayment day in and day out, and real estate developers aren’t even willing to finish half-built buildings."

"Yet right at this moment, Saionji completed the world’s tallest skyscraper."

The young reporter followed his gaze toward the photograph, thoughtful.

"Indeed..."

"And this isn’t just an ordinary commercial building."

The editor flipped through the documents again.

"The group headquarters, computing center, energy facilities, underground parking, plus the subsidiary headquarters nearby... The money Saionji poured into Odaiba is likely far more than outside estimates."

"So you mean, Chief, that the focus should be on Saionji’s immense financial power?"

"Of course you must write about that."

The editor nodded.

"But you have to tell the readers why only they still dare to spend money like this."

"What other corporation hasn’t dreamed of building a skyscraper? The problem is, who still has the money to keep building?"

The young reporter fell deep into thought.

Meanwhile, the editor had already picked up the receiver and dialed the internal extension for the photography department.

"Hello, Matsumoto? Yesterday’s photo turned out great. But could you head down to Shibaura again today?"

He paused.

"Take more photos with people in them."

"Right, ordinary people. Workers, salarymen, passing families—any of them will do."

"I want readers to see how the people of Tokyo are actually looking at that building."

After hanging up the phone, the editor picked up the red pen again.

The young reporter was still standing in front of the desk.

"Chief."

"Hm?"

"Do you think this building can revitalize the Japanese economy?"

The editor looked up and glanced at him.

After a pause, he slowly shook his head.

"How could it be that easy?"

He lowered his head again.

"Still, at least there are still people who believe Tokyo is worth continuing to invest in."

...

At the same time, New York.

In a newsroom in Midtown Manhattan, several reporters were also discussing a fax that had arrived from Tokyo.

"Five hundred meters?"

A middle-aged reporter wearing glasses flipped the paper in his hand over and read it once more.

"Did they really pull it off?"

"Confirmed yesterday."

A colleague beside him placed a coffee cup onto the desk.

"Saionji Group. That Japanese company that caused quite a stir on Wall Street last year."

"I know Saionji."

The middle-aged reporter picked up the photograph.

"Aren’t they also building another headquarters in California?"

"That’s right. The planned height is roughly the same."

"Good Lord..."

He leaned back into his chair and looked down at the photograph again.

"Aren’t the Japanese strapped for cash right now?"

"Just because the Japanese are strapped for cash doesn’t mean Saionji is."

The colleague shrugged.

"Did you forget what they pulled off with Salomon Brothers last year?"

The middle-aged reporter didn’t reply.

He held up the photo again, comparing it against the view of Manhattan outside the window.

The Twin Towers of the World Trade Center stood at the southern end of the city.

Over the past few decades, New York and Chicago had always been the main players in the world skyscraper race. Whether in building height, financial capital, or multinational corporate headquarters, Americans were long accustomed to standing at the forefront of this arena.

Now, a Japanese enterprise had taken the record to Tokyo Bay.

He stared for a while, then suddenly laid down the photo.

"Call the Tokyo bureau."

"Ask about what?"

"Ask if they managed to secure press credentials for the ceremony."

"Didn’t we already receive an invitation?"

"Then tell them to send two more people."

The middle-aged reporter picked up a pen and added a line to the coverage schedule.

"Also, look into how far along Saionji’s project in California actually is."

He paused briefly.

"I have a feeling this won’t be the last time we report on this company building skyscrapers."