chsdbacks Chapter 141 Blind Spots of Rationality
Chapter 141 Blind Spots of Rationality
December 5, 1988.
Azabu-Juban, Minato Ward, Tokyo.
Winter rain, mixed with fine ice pellets, pattered against the heavy copper roof of "The Club." The damp, cold air was kept out by the tightly sealed windows, and the only sounds inside were the crackling of birch wood burning in the fireplace and the very faint hum of the air purifier.
The lighting in the cigar room on the second floor was dim and ambiguous.
Ichiro Osawa sat in a deep red leather sofa, a freshly cut Cohiba cigarette between his fingers. He didn't light it, but rather twirled the expensive cigarette with some impatience, his gaze occasionally drifting towards the television in the corner.
The screen is showing a live broadcast of the congressional deliberations.
In the footage, several opposition lawmakers are walking towards the ballot box with extremely slow steps. They pause for several seconds after each step, employing a delaying tactic known as the "bull pace" employed by the opposition.
The parliament building was in an uproar, filled with shouts and curses.
"His approval rating has fallen below 15%."
Ichiro Osawa finally lit his cigar. The bluish-gray smoke rose, obscuring his ambitious face.
"The Takeshita faction is in complete chaos. Watanabe and his old cronies are plotting in the ryotei every day, trying to find a scapegoat. But I think this ship is leaking everywhere."
He turned his head and looked at the girl sitting opposite him.
Satsuki Saionji was wearing the winter uniform of Seika Academy, with a tartan wool shawl draped over her shoulders. She held a cup of warm black tea in her hand, her expression serene, as if the collapsing regime on television had nothing to do with her.
"If the captain were still alive, the ship wouldn't have sunk so quickly."
Satsuki gently blew on the steam rising from the surface of the tea.
"But the captain is also human. Humans will calculate gains and losses."
"Calculations?" Osawa frowned. "You mean Takeshita Noboru?"
"He is a typical Showa-era politician."
Satsuki put down her teacup, and the porcelain dish made a crisp sound.
"He values balance, the exchange of interests, and the continuation of factions. For him, politics is a business. And as with any business, there's a limit to how much he can lose."
She stretched out her slender fingers and drew a line in the air.
"Recruit's fire has already reached his eyebrows. Aoki Ihei is dead, and the Special Investigation Department is still digging into his backyard. Add to that this consumption tax bill that's going to offend the entire nation of Japan..."
Satsuki smiled slightly, but there was no warmth in that smile.
"In this situation, the cost of pushing through the bill would be the demise of the entire Takeshita faction. But abandoning the bill and resigning would only cost him his political life."
"If you had to choose, which one would you pick?"
Osawa Ichiro paused for a moment. He took a deep drag on his cigar, the embers flickering.
As a political animal, he quickly ran through the calculations in his mind.
If Takeshita Noboru forces through the bill, the Liberal Democratic Party will suffer a crushing defeat in next year's House of Councillors election, and the Takeshita faction will become the target of public criticism, and may even split.
If Takeshita Noboru were to announce his resignation now in exchange for the opposition party ceasing its pursuit of the Recruit scandal and simultaneously abolishing the consumption tax bill... then the Takeshita faction's strength as the largest faction within the party could still be preserved.
Where there is life, there is hope.
This is the most rational choice.
It is also the only option.
"He will back out."
Ichiro Osawa exhaled a puff of smoke, his tone resolute.
"He's a smart man. A smart man won't risk his life for a game he can't win."
"That's exactly right."
Satsuki nodded.
"Once he announces his resignation, a huge power vacuum will emerge within the faction. The young members of parliament who still rely on elections for their livelihoods are in dire need of a new leader, a reformer with a clean image who is untainted by corruption."
She looked at Daze with clear eyes.
"Mr. Osawa, your chance has come."
Osawa Ichiro's fingers trembled slightly.
He stood up and walked to the window. The rain outside was pouring down, blurring the Tokyo night view.
In the reflection of the glass, he saw his own face, filled with desire.
"I have contacted thirty young lawmakers."
Daze's voice was deep, filled with barely suppressed excitement.
"As soon as Takeshita Noboru gives the word, we will immediately speak out and demand a 'reform within the party.' At that time, I will be the one to carry this banner."
Satsuki sat on the sofa, watching that figure from behind.
Everything is proceeding according to the script.
Everyone is rational. Everyone is calculating their own interests. In this world made up of numbers and exchanges, as long as the right variables are input, the inevitable result can be obtained.
Takeshita Noboru was an old fox; he knew when to cut his tail and save his life.
"Then congratulations in advance, future...leader."
Satsuki raised her teacup and gently gestured to Osawa's retreating figure.
……
At the same time.
Chiyoda Ward, Nagata Town.
The official residence of the Prime Minister.
This is an old-style Western-style house built in the early Showa era. Its red brick exterior looks particularly eerie on rainy nights. It is said that the "February 26 Incident" took place here, and the corridors are perpetually filled with a lingering musty smell.
The overhead light was off in the study on the second floor.
Only one desk lamp was lit at the corner of the desk, its light confined to a small area of the desk.
Takeshita Noboru sat alone in a high-backed chair.
His wool cardigan was pilling and the cuffs were badly worn. This elderly man, who held the highest power in Japan, looked at that moment like any other retired employee about to be laid off.
The table was a mess, piled with reports, newspaper summaries, and several photos of opposition members fighting and grabbing microphones in Parliament.
Amidst this pile of messy documents, there was a black velvet box.
Takeshita Noboru stretched out his withered hand and slowly opened the box.
There was a fountain pen lying inside.
The pen barrel is made of black celluloid, worn smooth by years of use. A line of small characters is engraved on the cap, but due to its age, the gold paint has worn away, leaving only a faint dent.
That was a gift from Aoki Itaru thirty years ago.
Back then, they were all young, traveling around in the countryside of Shimane Prefecture for even a single vote, giving speeches in the back of trucks, and drinking with voters in izakayas.
"Prime Minister...please use this pen to sign the document that will change this country."
Aoki's voice still seemed to echo in my ears.
Takeshita Noboru picked up the pen.
The pen was cool and heavy.
He took a piece of velvet cloth from the drawer and slowly and carefully wiped the pen barrel.
Once. Twice.
His movements were slow and mechanical, like an old man wiping his own tombstone.
The rain outside the window was loud, pattering against the glass.
Footsteps sounded outside the study door. It was the secretary pacing back and forth, probably holding a letter of recommendation from party bigwigs urging him to "suspend the tax law and prioritize quelling the scandal," or a respectable "draft of resignation statement."
Takeshita Noboru ignored him.
He pulled out a document that had been prepared long ago from the bottom of the pile of documents—"Final Resolution on the Consumption Tax Bill".
On the last page, the signature area is a stark blank.
Noboru Takeshita took off the cap of his pen.
The pen tip hovers on the paper.
one second.
two seconds.
His hands began to tremble slightly.
If we sign it, we will be making an enemy of all of Japan and dragging the entire Takeshita faction into the abyss.
But... if the consumption tax bill cannot be passed, what will become of the country's future?
Two of his predecessors have already suffered crushing defeats against this bill, with Prime Minister Ohira even dying from exhaustion during his election campaign. Is this consumption tax bill truly a "death trap"? Now he's in his third term; if he continues to fail…
He recalled the vow he made to his best friend, and the spirited self he once was.
Where should Japan go from here?
The ink clung to the tip of the pen, teetering precariously.
"Clatter".
Finally, the pen slipped from his limp fingers, fell onto the table, rolled twice, and came to rest on the edge of the document.
No signature was given.
The old man slumped back in his chair, disappearing into the shadows.
He stared at the ceiling, his eyes clouded, like a dried-up well.
On this stormy night, the man who held the highest power in Japan looked so weak and so vulnerable.
It's like a candle that's about to burn out.
Thunder rumbled outside the window.
It masked the barely audible sigh coming from the study.