Tokyo, 1991: Starting as a bank clerk

Chapter 15 Nomura's Awakening

Kiryu Yaya's gaze swept over the three options, then he let out a soft sigh.

Chihaya Yuri is ready to turn around.

Just then, he took a step toward Kenichiro Nomura.

Chihaya Yuri noticed his movement, her eyebrows twitched slightly, and she stopped walking.

Kiryu Yaya knelt down in front of Nomura Kenichiro.

"President Nomura."

His voice wasn't loud, but in the quiet warehouse, every word was clear.

Kenichiro Nomura's shoulders trembled slightly as he slowly raised his face.

The face looked exceptionally old under the harsh fluorescent lights of the warehouse, with a few strands of gray hair clinging to his forehead, whether from sweat or the dampness of the warehouse, it was hard to tell.

His eyes were red, but there were no tears.

His lips moved a few times, as if he wanted to say a lot, but in the end he didn't say anything.

At this moment, his resentment and anger clearly outweighed his guilt.

Kiryu Yaya looked into his eyes:

"You're kneeling here today, feeling like the sky has fallen, feeling like the bank has blocked your last resort, right?"

Nomura's lips moved, but he didn't make a sound.

But his eyes answered; a sting of pain, as if he had been told the truth, flashed in his cloudy eyes before dimming again.

"But think about it carefully. If we hadn't noticed today, if Chihaya and I had just gone through the motions and stamped your application, do you think that would have been saving you?"

Nomura was stunned.

He was stunned not because the words were so powerful, but because no one had ever said such a thing to him before.

Kiryu Yaya didn't give him time to think:

"No, that's pushing you into an even deeper pit."

"How much do you owe right now? Besides the 87 million from the bank, you also have consumer finance loans, probably tens of millions?"

"Okay, I'll give you thirty million today. Use this money to fill the current hole, pay the suppliers, and pay next month's salaries. And then what?"

and then.

After those three words were spoken, the warehouse fell silent for a moment.

"Can your order profits cover this new debt? Can your inventory turnover generate cash within thirty days? Can you find buyers for your unsold specialty steel before the rainy season?"

Nomura's face gradually turned ashen.

Inch by inch, the color drained from his face, starting on his forehead, then down to his cheeks and chin. With each question Kiryu asked, the color on his face faded further.

"You can't do it."

Kiryu Yaya gave him the answer:

"You should be glad that Section Chief Chihaya and I saw through your accounts today. Be glad your lies didn't work."

"Because if we lend you this money today, tomorrow you won't just owe 118 million, but this new debt plus interest. And the day after tomorrow? The day after tomorrow it could be a number that will bankrupt you and leave you with no way to recover. By then, you won't even have the chance to kneel here."

Nomura's breathing became rapid, his chest heaving violently, as if he had been pulled out of the water.

Kiryu Yaya stood up, looked down at him, and his tone finally softened slightly:

"President Nomura, I'd like to speak frankly to you from the bank's perspective."

"Banks are not charities, but they are certainly not executioners. Our job is not to throw money at anyone in trouble, nor to shut down anyone at risk."

"Our mission is to invest money in places that can truly generate value, to get factories running, to ensure workers have food to eat, and to keep the economic lifeline of society flowing."

"But if I put money into a hole that is destined to collapse, I'm not helping you, I'm harming you, I'm harming the bank, and I'm harming society."

He raised his hand and pointed in the direction of the factory building outside.

The machines were still roaring there, and the sound of each press falling was like a heartbeat, muffled and rhythmic.

The workers were still engrossed in their work, their figures in blue overalls moving back and forth among the machine tools. Occasionally, someone would look up at the warehouse and then quickly look down again.

For those people in the factory, today was just an ordinary day. They knew nothing yet.

"Look back at those workers. They've worked for you for so many years, putting their families' livelihoods on your shoulders. If you get this money today, hold on for three months, and then completely collapse, do you think they'll thank you for holding on for those extra three months?"

"No. These extra three months or less make no difference to their lives. So, President Nomura, don't use your employees as an excuse to run away from reality. Please face your company, face the market, and face yourself!"

Nomura's Adam's apple bobbed, and his eyes finally welled up with tears.

Kiryu Yaya took a step forward, extended a hand, and patted him on the shoulder.

That touch, neither too light nor too heavy, felt like a rope thrown to someone stuck in the mud.

"President Nomura, bowing won't solve anything."

"What you need to do now is not to beg the bank for a loan, but to muster the courage to stand up. First, face the mess you have in your hands, clear out what needs to be cleared out, restructure what needs to be restructured, and talk to the suppliers who need to talk. Squeeze out the abscess, expose the wound. It will definitely hurt, but you can only heal after you've gone through the pain."

"Let's resolve the current predicament first. Then, we can think of new solutions."

Nomura looked up at him, her eyes blurred with tears.

Kiryu Yaya's face showed neither condescending charity nor detached indifference.

That was the expression of someone who had truly weathered storms and witnessed others rise from the ashes.

He withdrew his hand, straightened up, and then handed over his business card:

"I'm looking forward to the day when I can work with President Nomura again."

The warehouse was quiet for a moment.

The fluorescent lights hummed, and the fans whirred as they blew the labels.

Kenichiro Nomura knelt on the ground, looking at the name of Yaya Kiryu on the business card, and tears finally fell.

He took the business card, then slowly, very slowly, supported himself on his knees, pressing his forehead to the ground:

"I know what to do..."

"Kiryu-san, Section Chief Chihaya... thank you."

"Thanks……"

……

[World line converging - branch three selected]

The skill "The Manager's Obsession" has been unlocked.

[This skill, when actively used, allows one to perceive the true thoughts of the business owner.]

[Can be used once a day]

Kiryu Yaya leaned back in the passenger seat, looking at the system notification in front of him, the scene in the warehouse flashing through his mind.

He was no stranger to President Nomura's disheveled state.

The car drove out of the Fuji Metal Industries factory area and slowly merged into the narrow and congested roads of Higashi-Osaka.

The workshops and warehouses on both sides of the road receded one after another, their faded signs and corrugated iron fences fading into the distance, with the occasional truck carrying steel pipes rumbling past.

Chihaya Yuri gripped the steering wheel, driving quietly, letting the low hum of the engine fill the brief silence in the car.

About half a minute later, Chihaya Yuri turned her head and glanced at Kiryu Yaya.

"Kiryu-kun."

"Yes."

"What you said in the warehouse just now didn't sound like something a newcomer would say."

Kiryu Yaya turned his head slightly to look at her.

Her profile was reflected in the car window, her features sharp and clean, but the sunlight streaming in from the angle of the glass softened the edges of that profile slightly.

Chihaya Yuri's gaze had returned to the road ahead:

"Banks are not charities, but they are not executioners either."

She repeated it softly:

"I spent six years in the financing review department, working my way up from a regular employee to department head. I've met many clients and heard a lot of so-called business management theories. But very few people can explain the essence of this job so clearly in one sentence."

The traffic light ahead is red.

Chihaya Yuri lightly applied the brakes, and the dark blue Toyota came to a smooth stop.

"To be honest," Chihaya Yuri said, looking at the traffic light without turning her head, "you surprised me a bit today."

Her tone remained calm, but Kiryuu Yaya could tell that this was the highest praise Chihaya Yuri could give.

He didn't reply immediately, but just looked through the windshield at the slowly flowing river below the embankment.

Gray water, crooked willow trees, low factory buildings, chimneys, utility poles, and old warehouses in the distance.

The scenery of eastern Osaka before him strangely overlapped with a winter from a certain year in his memory.

"Chihaya-sensei," he began slowly, his voice slightly lower than before, "those words weren't anything special. If I had to pinpoint anything special about them..."

Kiryu Yaya paused for a moment after saying this.

"All I can say is that I've experienced that feeling."

Chihaya Yuri lowered her left hand from the steering wheel and placed it next to the gearshift lever.

She didn't press for answers or interrupt.

But this gesture itself is a sign of quiet.

So Kiryu Yaya continued speaking.

"My father's name is Kiryu Seiichiro."

"In 1986, he ran a small metal processing plant in Osaka. It had fewer than thirty employees and produced stamped and cut automotive parts. It wasn't a large operation, but in its best years, the plant could run 24 hours a day and still not finish all its orders."

The traffic light hasn't changed.

This red light seems unusually long.

The wind blowing from the river slipped in through the cracks in the car window, brushing against the hair on his forehead.

"I visited the factory a few times when I was a child. It was incredibly hot in the summer. Once the machines were running, the whole workshop felt like a metal oven. There were metal shavings everywhere on the floor, and the workers wore dark blue overalls with sweat dripping down their arms and necks. My father would always be standing next to the machines, smoking a cigarette and talking to people while holding blueprints. At that time, I thought he was incredibly capable, as if he could solve any problem."

As he said this, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

That wasn't laughter; it was more like a corner of an old page that hadn't been turned in so long being gently lifted by the wind.

"Later, the Plaza Accord was signed. The yen appreciated, and the costs for export companies went up all at once. Large factories cut costs first, and the first to be cut were small and medium-sized downstream supporting factories like my father's."

"Orders decreased by 60% in one quarter."

"Customers who used to deliver on time every week are now delaying. New mold projects that were promised are also being canceled one after another. The warehouse is piling up with more and more semi-finished products, but we're not getting any cash."

The traffic light turned green.

Chihaya Yuri released the brakes, and the car slid off again.

A small truck was slowly blocking the lane ahead, with a faded "Safety First" sticker on its rear.

Chihaya Yuri didn't rush to overtake, but simply followed steadily behind.

"At that time, my father refused to admit defeat."

Kiryu Yaya continued:

"He always said that this was only temporary, and that orders would come back once this period was over. To keep the factory afloat, he first used the company's working capital to cover labor costs, then he delayed payments to suppliers, and later he started discounting commercial bills."

"He thought that with just a little more time, he could turn the situation around."

"But running a business like this isn't always something you can get through with sheer willpower. Once a gap appears, it's like a crack in glass; it may look connected on the surface, but inside it's actually breaking apart inch by inch."

Chihaya Yuri's fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel.

She knew exactly what every word Kiryu Yaya said meant.

Working capital, overdue payment, bill discounting, and additional collateral.

Every step is not a sudden death.

Every step is a step closer to death.

"That autumn," Kiryu Yaya said slowly, "he applied for an additional loan from the bank. He used his family's house as collateral, and the bank approved it."

"Then, less than a month later, when the situation became even more difficult—"

"The bank has withdrawn its loans."

The carriage suddenly fell silent.

It wasn't that there was no sound; rather, even the sounds of the engine and the tires rubbing against the road seemed to recede into the distance in that instant.

"Qi Chao."

Kiryu Yaya looked out the window, his tone calm to the point of being almost indifferent:

"The house was frozen, it couldn't be freely bought or sold, and it was almost impossible to use it for financing. At that time, I didn't understand what these terms meant. I only remember that my father came home less and less often, my mother's insomnia became more and more severe, and I could always hear the phone downstairs ringing non-stop at night."

"The supplier has started coming to our door."

"The bills are due soon, and the people chasing payment come three times a day. Some are relatively polite, but others just bang on the table at the door and say they'll block the machines in the factory if they don't get paid."

"My father still won't tell the truth. When he sees me, he'll pretend nothing's wrong and ask me how my mock exams went or if I want to eat the new fried chicken from the bento shop."

Kiryu Yaya's gaze fell on a crooked willow tree on the opposite bank of the river.

The willow branches drooped over the water, swaying in the wind.

"That day was a Friday."

"When I came home from school and opened the door, the house was unusually quiet."

"My mother would usually be in the kitchen preparing dinner at this time, and even when the atmosphere at home was at its worst, there would at least be the smell of miso soup in the pot. But that day there was nothing there. The entryway was cold, and the lights weren't even on."

He paused for a moment.

The dimly lit corridor, the stairs, and the damp smell seeping from the cracks in the door seemed to reappear before my eyes.

I went upstairs and opened the bathroom door.

Below the riverbank, the gray water flowed silently, carrying away the last bit of pale light at noon in April.

"The water in the bathtub was red."

My father is dead.