Prime Minister’s Office

7:20 AM

He wanted to sleep, just returned from the first in a set of guaranteed meetings. Yet he could not, the act impermissible to do so at the time. Immovable barrier put between his eyelids, such that they could not close no matter how much they tried. Quietly, he groaned.

Several staffers and assistants stood in front of and around him, confined to their side of his desk. The first, amongst the most senior that remained, began with some news. “By this time, Prime Minister, several flights have, as requested, taken off for maritime patrol and observations.”

A different voice followed soon after, dropping by with a date and time via a somewhat alarmed voice. “Prime Minister, Director Juichi, and Yaichiro have scheduled consecutive meetings on the coming Sunday at around midday.”

Then, a question. Different person, and yet in the same monotonous voice. “So Prime Minister, your next course of action?”

Prime Minister. He’d have to get accustomed to being called that, at least for the next few days if not for the next few weeks or months. He was only the acting, of course, but who was to say he couldn’t run for it in the party and subsequent national elections?

Shoichi would have almost turned a head. He readied himself to reply, yet was hesitant to answer, hesitant to so much as acknowledge the news—asking himself instead if the real Prime Minister Nobuharu was, in fact, present as he flinched. For all that had happened, there was barely any protocol—no guides or procedures they could, or had been, following. He needed breathing room in a rapidly sinking ship, something to lean upon in an increasingly exhausting journey. So patiently, his subordinates waited, ready to take on what he had.

There existed plenty of doubt or potential for, and plenty of distrust toward what Shoichi would do. Some of those amongst his subordinates right in front of him certainly subscribed to this notion, which Shoichi very nimbly took notice of, no matter how subtle they were. The hard-set jaws and bodily deflection away from him, as well as their eyes straying from his whenever he looked toward them, and only glances being the reply. Shoichi was certain that at least half of the men in front of him would be trouble. He couldn’t fault them in doing so, only having risen to his current state by misfortunate happenstance.

Taking his attention away from them, he looked down to his hands which he’d folded together on his lap. Shoichi found himself unable to start. Break it down first, then attack it, just as the years had taught him. But how would he do it this time? The ideas passed around in the meetings beforehand felt good to him, as though they’d approach the excellence he needed, but they were just ideas yet to be put into legislation. He’d have stroked his temple with what grub had accumulated under his nails were he any slower-witted.

And of course, everybody had something to input, every advisory committee and board possible with a conflicting opinion to the last. How was he to satisfy all of them and all the citizens of Japan without so greatly jeopardizing his position at the top? Prime opportunity to be so swiftly swiped from him. It was one of many striking questions he asked himself, where he knew the cost of his actions would either be an inability to do anything thanks to the bureaucrats or worst-case massive protests to dethrone him thanks to low approval.

Shoichi’s eyes rolled—spun—around in their sockets, panning the room for any help, any clues. Pots and paintings and tables and seats. Nothing worked without sacrificing something else significant, no way to weasel out in sight. Not until they laser-focused on a single misplaced object.

A pairing of domino tiles left discarded right by a bonsai tree, probably left behind from the night before and probably Hitoshi’s doing—always a fan of Western games. He could push over one domino, yes, and a cascade naturally would follow leading to a bill’s passing. So a thought came into his mind: how he could manipulate the order of the dominoes so that the cascade was shortened to as few as ten, as five, steps away. Should each fall be another sacrifice, how few falls could then be done?

In about an hour, he could easily have expected about half the phone calls that needed to be made had been made, and that all orders were already trickling down the system—to the bureaucrats where the real power was held—just as one would lubricate the gears of clockwork from top to bottom. In a week to a month, the first readings of a dozen or so bills. The ideas that were thrown around just beforehand were certainly good, but they’d need thought, and they needed more refinement. And a week, no less a month, was far too long and yet far too short to go through such volume.

So what about hedging it all on a singular bill? Unifying each of the ministries under the banner of a singular front to fight off the emergency. It wouldn’t be so comprehensive, but it’d be enough, and enough was what he needed for things to be done in the meantime. All for the sake of Japan.

One wrong move, one slip-up politically, and the bill’s failure would leave him with his only ammunition gone. Yet simultaneously, all he needed was one shot.

The specter of failure now hung above him, and at all times it would until the prospective bill’s fate was revealed.

In concluding that his thought process was sufficient, Shoichi turned back up and began to spit out orders, all after a whole minute had elapsed since asking. “Call up some experts and another cabinet assembly within the next hour; I want an advisory committee established beforehand if possible, but done after the assembly at the latest.” He barked like a mad dog, yet the others did not recoil. Rather, they listened, ears lined with every manner of critique to pick apart what he’d asked of them. “...and… get th- get the emergency board to assemble as well in the thir-” No, not the third room. It was far too small. “Second lower meeting room.”

All of the men on the other side of the hardwood table bowed, still somehow not yet exhausted, and left the room on the way to obey his directive to the letter.

Shoichi let away a long sigh, looking up at the only wall clock in the room set to JST. Seven thirty in the AM. By then, he was certain the whole of Japan was glued to their sets or acting on the earliest reports already. Something was awry, and they didn’t yet know why—their government seemingly yet to act so much as speak of. He’d have to address it, keep all calm and assure all was well. But to this point, had he taken the right path? Was it all still salvageable, and would the people be so open to assurances? Only time would tell, and very quickly it ran.

[~]

2nd Story Roundtable Conference Room, Kantei

7:32 AM

Third on the agenda was another of what would soon be much of the same.

But this time, he’d been hesitant about it.

The entirety of the Emergency Prevention and Advisory Board was already present in the room, Doctor Tamika at the forefront. Relatively young at thirty-eight yet streaked by gray and a nose that regressed inward. Her ID lanyard was conveniently tucked into her breast pocket, as always, so she was a recognizable enough figure in the government that Shoichi needed no extra mental work to identify her, ‘nor any of her colleagues on the board despite their more bland appearances.

Of all the dozens of prepared action plans she and her colleagues had come up with, be it extreme tsunamis to extreme earthquakes, hell, Mount Fuji erupting, they’d still never been so crazy to have thought what had happened could happen. Nobody expected it. Nobody could have.

Yet still, even if not a traditional disaster, it was still an emergency, and one they could work toward resolving.

The table for the show was round only in name, really four rectangular ones set into a much larger rectangle. With it came a standard set of equipment—non-distracting microphones, sheets of indiscernible paper that teetered the line of being for show and practical use, and tangled wiring down the middle at the floor. The Government on one side, the board on another.

Relatively few introductions were exchanged—they needn’t have so many as both parties had done countless times before, instead moving into the thicket of the problem at hand. Rudimentary inter-agency communiqués and hazy personal accounts were passed along a chain of hands toward Shoichi, and a pile of white quickly formed, only to probably never be toppled.

“So… the news, and what to make of it?” He almost spoke carefully, only to revert as he pushed as many of his words out of the door as he could after the first. Anxious. Strung. Tense. Whatever all the others were, he was sure that at that moment, what he felt was magnitudes more.

All of the board looked to their side, to their lead—Doctor Tamika. The distillation of hours of labor, dozens of sheets and books, fax toner, and telephone beeps, into a single meeting hopefully potent enough to put away the beast for now.

All were still blank, as though mentally crushed by the weight of such a ‘natural’ catastrophe as a single transfer.

“Certainly.” She spoke like routine—as a newscaster would to their audience—as if she’d been through these exact circumstances before. The holy trifecta of ‘C’s: cool, calm, and collected. And in repeating the process, there was no shine in her eyes, long gone.“First of all, at this hour, all aircraft have been successfully rerouted and grounded, with only two light aircraft and one commercial airliner non-reporting, as reported by the Transport Ministry. Moreso, the Maritime Safety Agency reports similar successes in recalling all ships to port with no reported exceptions.”

It was a miracle, and of the absolute kind for so many to have been successfully brought back. Save for three. Risk minimized and mitigated, but naught one still isn’t zero. The two light aircraft were marginal, to say the least, a maximum of ten lives at stake—nothing all too much considering that they were almost guaranteed to be corralled back within a matter of minutes—there was only so far a propellor could bring a plane. But the airliner? Who knew where, a singular disaster of excessive proportions waiting to spring into the record books as one of the worst in aviation history. Shoichi knew not of how to bring it back, but he knew why it needed to return, and he knew who knew how.

From a pensive mood, Shoichi asked, “And the Civil Aviation Bureau… they’re working toward… triangulating, or whatever it is, the location of these aircraft? And an airliner?”

Hitomaro, sat two seats to Tamika’s left, was first to respond. Nay, he was the only one that seemed eager to do so. “All preliminary efforts into doing so have been completed, and the search is in full swing in national boundaries—for the airliner, especially in a joint-MSA and NCAA effort, they report.”

A relief—the button he’d needed to press had long since been pressed. But the storm wasn’t over yet, nowhere near its eye. He needed to know what was at stake. And then the train derailed.

“But…,” Hitomaro would say.

It caused Shoichi’s eyes to shoot right up. But: the word he wasn’t supposed to say—the one conjunction that never meant any good. Never. Never! Shoichi didn’t exactly object, but he knew, just knew, that trouble was on its way, and so braced himself.

Still, Hitomaro continued with his routine. “The NCAA has reported that the flight took off with only enough fuel for their intended trip, so there is a high likelihood that they’ve crash landed—whether in the open ocean or on dry land, nobody knows.”

“And search efforts have been redirected there?”

“Er… Not for now…” Again, Shoichi’s concern only grew. “The issue they’ve come across is that, while normally these would be multi-nationally cooperative efforts, we’ve no foreign nations assisting, and it’d supposedly seem more as an intrusion on their national airspace.”

“What do we know of the plane?” Shoichi asked through pursed lips, layered interest shown. Shoichi needed to know, had to know, what sort of disaster could he expect.

“A Qianlima flight, QR Two-Eight-Seven, originally destined for Singapore… and a stopover at Manila…,” he’d read along the top, manifest in hand. “One of the last to take off at about two minutes past midnight.”

A chord was struck in Shoichi upon merely hearing the name. Qianlima. There was no doubt that the majority aboard were Chinese—the very type a certain somebody would be at his neck over, more so than any other. Shoichi needed absolutely no reminder of the hell their Ambassador would raise to get all of them back, safe and sound. He grew still, only able to ask himself many, many more questions.

Sent away a hair past midnight, and still not yet found. How far could it have gone in only seven hours? Surely the crew would have found Singapore to not be Singapore, and surely they would be on their way back by now?

“So, the board’s decision?” Shoichi asked without a second between him and Hitomaro. He hung himself back in his chair, head drooped like a droplet at the end of a leaf. There had to be some way out of this one, even if a relatively minor disaster to all that awaited.

“Beyond authorizing the MSA to expand their search areas into dangerously far maritime regions, all we can suggest is either holding out and hoping, or deploying the SDF with some risk involved—mainly drawn from unknowing what lurks out there and what hazards they may face, as opposed to a set of defined hazards.” Hitomaro’s speaking was stiff, and even in simply delivering the information, he wished to throw out an especially heavy sigh from between bared teeth. For the problem, there was no way out and no way in, as agreed by all the others. He was sure to emphasize any parts that made clear an expanded search would, for now, only risk more for the sake of some.

Their Prime Minister pinched his face together before a relief sent all the parts away again. He wanted to groan, to plead and beg and holler for the terrible joke to end, to tear open his gradually tightening chest for some relief. Instead, all he could do was deliver some bad news, no opportunity to begin with. No assurances or trust building.

Shoichi called to one of his auxiliaries, sat to his left, and by now was known to him by the name of Iwao-san. He had a simple objective for him in mind, with nearly nothing to pose an obstacle and no need for prior consultation in his mind. Building trust should all go well.

“Er…, Iwao-san, could you please contact the Embassy of the People’s Republic, and notify them of a potentially missing flight?” He asked quickly, and Iwao stood, bowed, and left in equal time. And even without him, the show went on.

As early as before Iwao had even gotten out of his chair, the approaching-senile Saneatsu added a remark with the slightest hint of anxiety for the results. Just as Shoichi had come back from the recoil of the first punch thrown, another was already in flight.

“While our national border integrity is expected to be maintained with relative ease from the efforts of the MSA and SDF,” he’d say, voice unassuming, “the NPA and Home Affairs ministry expect that internally, as there’s still plenty of potential for the situation to continue to deteriorate… Er…, food scarcity, nationwide mass layoffs, over encumberment of emergency services—these all approach a near guarantee, and especially so with citizen propensity to panic amidst the emergency the more things seem dire, so we could reasonably expect some significant spike in crime in the coming months.”

“The SDF can help the NPA, right? Per Minister Tomio’s idea…” Shoichi stroked at his temple, speaking in a tone equal parts dismissive and interested.

Drawing down from his full seated height, Saneatsu spoke with a tilted head. “Well…,” he began, as though hesitantly breaking news of terrible loss. “Another concern is that while the move in pre-emptively deploying SDF assets would help by miles in tackling the issue, they may be seen by some as too pre-emptive or brash with other options on the table, even borderline to outright establishment of martial law, by opposition groups. We’ve seen the sort of protest in the past, so it wouldn’t be so much of a stretch to think so.”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

It’d backfire, simply put. People noticed their sudden appearance—they weren’t stupid—and while their presence probably gave some semblance of order, it probably was also enough to cause paranoia and panic to rise tenfold. No cankerous riots or outright anarchy yet, but maybe enough reason to have helped tip people into invariably more radical beliefs of the type. So how to backpedal it just enough; better balance people’s trust in the system and its ability to keep everything in check. Hopefully, Tomio had a solution. For now, though, he was asking, nay, begging the board for guidance through the impossible.

“Could things be done by a two-tier system of law enforcement where the NPA fall upon the SDF if overwhelmed?”

Saneatsu rubbed his chin, then spoke without any pause as his hand lifted. His voice croaked, creaked, and jumped often, but for once it steered clear. “Easily so—we’ve already begun attempting to develop some program to better coordinate their efforts for some possible implementation, though it isn’t expected by both the NPA and Home Agency that any NPA administrations would be overwhelmed outside of major urban centers as the Tokyo Metropolitan Area.” Saneatsu rubbed his chin once more, then called back to one of the things that had thrown him into the conversation in the first place. “In this, those SDF deployments could come handy considering where they were sent, but…” Saneatsu paused. Whatever effect he aimed for beyond bringing some anxiety to Shoichi, he’d failed in doing so, and quite significantly at that.

“But?” Shoichi sent forward a relatively quiet addition, almost a curious mumble, accompanied by the ‘ra-ta-tat-tap’ of his shoe against the floorboards. Already, the second ‘but’ of the meeting, with more certainly to come. Saneatsu wasn’t supposed to say it, but there was no stopping the word’s use by this point, Shoichi had come to learn.

After maybe a second, even two, Saneatsu resumed elaborating with such speed and coherence that were what he’d said snipped together to remove the gap, none would be able to tell the difference. “Were they to be so much as slightly trigger-happy, it’d all be over for the Government. While they could be recalled, if their presence is maintained, their use would have to be extremely reserved, à la a two-tier system with some particularly strong limitations on the SDF.”

“When is the earliest a plan for this could be developed fully for implementation?”

“Either by tomorrow evening or the morning thereafter.” Saneatsu’s mouth twisted to a frown. “If more comprehensive, then by the end of the week at minimum, and only if considering this.”

Neutral news, but hopeful enough that something could be done. To him, it was enough to settle the topic for some other time. Though, some sense of weight arose in his arms upon hearing the timeframe, a week for one issue far too slow to react to anything. Maybe he’d just have to watch for now. His shoulders naturally slumped to relieve the weight, muttering silently to himself. None asked for elaboration from his part on what he’d mouthed.

The boat of their meeting had been sailing already for some time, and by then it had reached its second destination—a quick port of call to a fairly trivial non-issue. His body was quick to go back into motion from listening, relaxing somewhat as the boat set off for the next stretch of discussion.

Except… every time the Prime Minister had thought of the subject, thousands of rubber bands descended from nowhere upon him, falling into place around his chest. Now though, he’d have to power on through. Ignore the pain brought on by whatever anxieties, unknowing, or general loopy feelings he had toward the matter. Even if a key part, unignorable at the very least, in his line of work.

So with only vaguely renewed vigor, Shoichi asked plainly and bluntly. “Economy-wise then: how do we stop sailing down the proverbial gutter?”

Tamika partly shook her head; enough so for a cold chill to grip Shoichi’s fingers. What for, why for, did Tamika shake? Had they no answer—had Japan no answer to what was to come beyond acceptance? He went still with his ears open—focus put right toward hitting the brakes on all emotion, forbid fear wrangle and knead his mind into shape. Listen to what they had to say first, Shoichi. Listen first.

It wasn’t Tamika to speak though, instead being once more one of the others. Murakami Yuri. She twisted herself and twitched as if uncomfortable in her skin. Shoichi only asked why so?

On Yuri’s part, why so did aches run through her, and why so were none so intense as the one which caused her head to crumple? If she could, she’d have crawled into a ball and fallen asleep to the one place this terror couldn’t possibly look at her. Instead, she had to speak. To the Prime Minister, to the council, to the board and committee. With her hands folded in her lap, and in a tone as stiff as plastic, she spoke. “We’ve asked around—the Finance Ministry, the Bank, and several key Keiretsu already—and roughly compiled what they seem to want to do.”

Three of the five big players, good. Shoichi’s eyes narrowed somewhat, sickliness readily dissipating as he found himself only somewhat more eager to hear the news, even if it was guaranteed to be terrible. He found no initiative to ask, hoping that Yuri would pick up on what he wanted her to present—the responses of the three.

For a second’s delay, the room went quiet. Though it may have threatened to continue—into five, into ten—Yuri was quick to pick up, herself held back by

“Minister Kimitada and Governor Shintaro have claimed that all non-gold forex reserves will be next to worthless in coming times with skepticism over the value of what little gold are in reserve. Furthermore, Minister Kimitada, Katsuo, and Tsunesaburo have all made a plea for Japan’s introduction into new, foreign markets to try to make up for industry shortfall.”

“Subsequently, the bank is currently planning on much more extreme measures as much more aggressive quantitative easing programs through fiscal years ninety-nine to oh-two and more extensive, but calculated, printing operations. It should, in theory and in some part, fill up the treasury to keep spending going for some time.” In theory. Yuri didn’t look so sure, and while he was definitely asking for plenty more than was available, Shoichi couldn’t help but ask himself if there truly was a way out that they knew of. Even through his thoughts though, Yuri continued, “He seems to further wish to set up more expansive bond repurchase agreements with many of the Keiretsu to help keep them afloat, but to what degree we don’t know.”

To keep afloat. If not above water, not given a life preserver, a company would certainly look to even more layoffs to do so—unemployment. Danger. There truly would then be some too big to fail, if not by volume of currency held, by volume of manpower commanded. So who was first to go? And far too many untested policies they were pulling. He wouldn’t question the experts at the Bank, but now? Maybe this was a special case for skepticism.

“And this… quantitative easing, this helps? While I trust Governor Shintaro’s judgment, how so?” Shoichi asked with all the narrowness his old face could muster. He tried to bend his face back to neutrality, he did, but what was conscious was easily swept away by the unconscious. Swept away by such potency at that.

“Since people reasonably would halt their spending outright nationwide, savings will outweigh spending for a great period, and as the cash rate—”

Shoichi interrupted for a moment, two words piquing his interest. Similar enough to two others that the public was already enamored by them, that he just had to interrupt. “The cash rate… that’s the interest rate, right?”

“Yes… As it’s expected to reach practically rock bottom from these expected difficulties, the bank will attempt to stimulate some economic activity to keep as much above water as they can.” Yuri spoke quickly and gracefully, only pausing once, and only for a half-half-second—far shorter than any other would pause for. Shoichi found himself no space to breathe or think as her words mercilessly pounded, choked, and drowned him out. Still, she continued to explain, and with the same rhythmic consistency. “By taking a more direct role in purchasing assets and bonds from both commercial banks and the government, they’ll be raising asset prices and lowering their yields. Governor Shintaro is banking on it being enough to sedate things enough before anything comes crashing down to slow it all. While a great deal of debt will be taken on, it shouldn’t be something we can’t deal with into the future”

As Yuri continued, Shoichi found it a great challenge to try follow along—words he’d only partly heard and understood before being sifted through without any of the deliberate thinking he’d normally grant such speak. At least one of these things, he recalled, he’d had to do some conference on. Yet thinking hard, he hardly remembered any of the basics to it, let alone what it was that he’d spoken on. He understood, and yet he did not—only able to hold onto one thing: banking. Shintaro himself didn’t know, only betting—gambling with the whole nation. Inside, Shoichi shook his head—not in disgust ‘nor anger, not anguish ‘nor disappointment, but rather defeat.

Shoichi hadn’t too many objections. Especially not after his search for one had come back fruitless. He was unable to afford or understand most on the shelf, and so in full recognition of such a circumstance, instead he searched nearer the bottom. There, Shoichi found many—easy to understand and ask, and very likely the type the TV host type would be asking him soon enough. None so comprehensive to give him any real sense of scale or truth, but certainly answers that were easy enough to digest. The experts could argue on the bigger matters he hadn’t any understanding on.

He was jumpy to ask though, unable to meet Yuri with any eye contact as his vocal cords rang their grumbled tune. “Have they anything that isn’t set solely in theory?” Shoichi asked, compounding his mouth’s desertedness with another swallow.

“I apologize, Prime Minister, but we don’t—the circumstances are extreme enough that very few if any, conventional options would work to any significant effect by themselves—QE included, though it was the first and foremost policy action they informed me of. Moving past this, quantitative easing has been set to some practice before, albeit in extremely limited quantities by your predecessor.”

While he did sigh, Shoichi stumbled forward knowing that it worked to some extent—enough so that they could consider it. But what about the others’ opinions and plans? It was, after all, something of a team effort. “And the others…they’re aboard with this plan?”

“He’s on standby—the matter is monetary rather than fiscal, so the bank’s concern, though Minister Kimitada does approve. Director Juichi has yet to comment on the matter.” Yuri paused, pursing her lips. In the next part, she spoke with especially stilted dialogue. “On Minister Kimitada, he advises against outright bailouts unless absolutely necessary, being anything short of the Tsunefusa or SaYa banks to so much as appear to be heading under. In this, he’s endorsing the bond repos as well as more stringent intervention in financial markets, as is Director Juichi—both of whom are waiting for you to call on them to set things into action.”

Yuri once more paused, though for much longer. Once one second, now three. Three filled by awkward glances and awkward stares. She continued as if there never was a pause. “We would advise both meeting all three and approaching the foreign unknown somewhat more briskly, as things are currently on a timer. Furthermore, we do endorse the plans put forward by both the Finance Ministry and the Bank.”

Shoichi couldn’t help but let loose a single chuckle at it. It was more of the same—the Bank and Finance Ministry tying balloons onto a stagnant line to try to force it into floating upward. Now, the line was falling, and enough so that all they could do was tie even more balloons and pray.

“So what about the business end of things? I understand they won’t be in great shape, so what can be done for them?”

Another of the board rose to the challenge—Kamoto Takahashi, who teetered into his fifties, and was possessed by a part-combover-balding style. He spoke fluently and well with a minute tinge of Kyoto-ben that showed only in pronunciation.

“The Government should expect firms to commit to resolving massive redundancies in the coming weeks across all sectors—wages can further be expected to slump by… what… up to thirty percent? Fifty, even?” Takashi said partly rhetorically, upward inflections telling that he felt in some part unsure of what the words he’d said even meant. He asked not the others in the room, and certainly not the reader, but it also didn’t feel so much like he was interrogating himself. Instead, it seemed he asked no one and nothing in particular. “It’s your call, but we’d advise you to push forward revisions to the current unemployment scheme and some large subsidies be sent forward to households and firms in primary markets or of heavy weight in the economy.”

So who was safe, who was protected? Shoichi put it on a need-to-know basis. Was it those the nation would soon rely upon? Or was it the nation’s industry? Asking with a half-concentrated stare that shot along like a beam of light, Shoichi leaned forward. “Agricultural and manufacturing industries should be shielded though, right?”

“Unfortunately not… they’ll most likely face the brunt of the supply chains collapsing around them, so while they should be able to operate at some usual capacity… their ability to sustain production at any reasonable efficiency is doubtful at best...” Unsure, Takahashi began to waver. Small inflections that didn’t belong in microscopic but noticeable pitch shifts that made his Japanese sound as if spoken by a foreigner. In a moment he used to catch his breath, he noticed easily that the rest—Shoichi included—had caught on to his unusual manner of speech. Notwithstanding, he continued with only minor course correction, even if already deep into the territory of theoreticals he’d scour his brain over.

“...and even then, both are so little in number for critical resources that even were they sustainable, we believe they’d hold very little weight overall in the long run. While it’s true we do produce a majority of some products we consume, namely rice and fish, they only constitute a fraction of the nation’s caloric intake—a shortfall that SMEs and family-run businesses could never hope to manage fulfilling.”

Terrible, terrible! Too far then was their productivity, off by not simply miles, but magnitudes of miles, from being able to hold up the nation. They could not be the net to soften Japan’s fall.

Nervously, Shoichi piously looked toward the bigger fish, magnitudes too were they in scale to even the largest of SMEs. Though masters of industry, not agriculture, their sway and their trust was a grand reward he had to snatch away soon lest their own interests pry them away from his nation. So, he asked, “And the big businesses… the, er… the Keiretsu and their members—what of them can the board speak on?”

Takahashi replied promptly, broken down speech returned to a state of quasi-normality. He still stumbled and gave away a few ‘err…’s, but it was only natural with all the mounted pressure. The one thing though to catch Shoichi’s eye was Takahashi keeping his vision down, away from everyone and toward the wood of the table just before he spoke. “Well… we expect many of them to see themselves in freefall if they aren’t already.” Not good… “Suketomo is trying to schedule a discussion with you, as are the NKG—both are simply waiting on a day to meet with you.” Takahashi then ran through a line break, aware that Shoichi was still digesting his last.

“As for the others, we’ve no word yet, but it’s most likely that they’ll do the same very soon. We can’t say what they’ll do exactly past that. Ideally, however, there would be some form of a guaranteed doorway into the outside world for them to try and start… exploiting, and it’s probable all of them will demand this in some way, shape, or form.” So a chit-chat or two or three, and soon—a perfect opportunity to steal their interests, make it clear who they served: not their vaults, but Japan. Whose fading radiance would spell doom for them and their beloved consumers, all simply workers of a lady who was not to be disappointed at all costs. He noted Takahashi’s part aversion to the term exploit, however.

Rather neatly, Takahashi pulled back his verbal fist, and let it loose in short summation. Almost derisive was his tone that Shoichi nearly recessed into a ball in his seat. “Overall, it’ll be extremely hard for you to cultivate a business environment that’s in any way as friendly to them as the… old… one was.” Though as his verbal fist came into Shoichi’s ears, its velocity ground to a halt nearing the end—Takahashi slowed to his own inadvertent reminder. Emotion had been spilled, if only partly.

It took no asking for Tamika to wave economics issues as clear, whether by an exhausted advisory or dissipating will. He was done, though only partially—nowhere near halfway.

So to Shoichi, it was perfect! Into the next it was then. “What concerns should arise from the foreigner issue then?” He’d ask with a curious tone. Already, he saw a few—of feeding and housing, as were fresh in his memory.

“A… variety, so to say. We’re sure you’ve been briefed on the basics, and all we can say is that if you’re maneuvering through it politically to prevent career suicide, the issue is, just as last, is extraordinarily sensitive if not more so.” Tamika shrunk in on herself, a balled fist she’d laid on the table pulsing and palpitating rapidly.

With further hesitance, but no prodding to do so, she flew right into the meat of what she had to say. And straightforwardly she spoke as well. “There’s going to be protests from some side no matter what you do regarding this. Too little, and it’s the left that’ll be up in arms, and too much and the right will be marching on the streets.” She concluded, sure that her voice was clear, as was her message.

Already, it was far too obvious that any degree of tightening and clamping down on the people would net the entirety of his political opposition to grab at, and he needed no reminder of what had been brought about by the Eom Dae-Jung incident. It was a core part of what grew his early career! Immediately, he turned his head away from shining anywhere near so much as an indifferent, let alone outright hostile, view on the issue. But sympathy—what could arise then?

Knowing no better, if not feigning so, he asked. “So for a sympathetic response…”

“...you’ll be worrying most about opposing factions in the NDP and their supporters then,” Tamika completed for him. “Most likely the Social Reconstruction and New Way groups, and considering their sway, there’s no way around them. In a way, it could be cause for further disaster.”

Shoichi’s head lowered—his mind’s only coherent thoughts rounding to an attitude of ‘Ah. Them.’, with disinterest staining his gaze. Both would be problems. Both always had been problems; thorny pricks in his and his predecessor's backsides. And now, he couldn’t afford for them to continue being problems. By whichever means he’d managed to forget about them, he’d have to exile himself from that path. The nationalists were important and in no good way.

In combating them, there were options. There were always options, but never under such dire circumstances. He gave no thought to ask the grizzled lady, “And dealing with them, are there any ways?”

“They’ll be difficult: concessions would probably inflame those on the left. So, unless they get something out of whatever it is, or there’s a thoroughly good enough reason for them to back the policy, they’ll be a roadblock through and through. There’s no obvious way through this swamp, and while you could rely on leaping through loopholes and reinterpreting the law itself, there won’t be any good permanent solutions for now.” She warned sternly, voice nearly scalding as though scolding.

So, with his gut pounding at him that ‘this was it,’ Shoichi’s baggy, sagged, frosted-marbles-for-eyes blinked and shuddered a vacant stare away. All bad news. What could he have expected? He asked then, “Any general conclusions herefrom?”

“Forgive us, Prime Minister, for we haven’t had so much time in creating it,” Tamika would say without fuss, a passionate resolve burning in her eyes. “We’ve readied several possible basic frameworks for future policy action to be reviewed by you past this point—whatever the final product is will be released to the general public as a more easily consumable roadmap, but it should ultimately instill more confidence in the Government when sent out.”

To him though, it was but another gate for harsh critique of ‘his’ cabinet. Things would have to be done not just well then.

So, under Shoichi’s careful ear—every word analyzed alone, then with others, and then in context—Tamika gave her last. A parting message till they met again. “Overall are two things we strongly recommend be done with urgency.” Accentuating the importance of what she was to say, Tamika took a brief moment to separate her lines. “The board has unanimously agreed, and strongly advises, that the country be opened to whatever wider environment there is outside of Japan, and that furthermore you proclaim a state of emergency to the public—in this, utter disaster may be slowed.”

The effect was profound: profound enough that slowly, Shoichi nodded to Tamika’s words. In her eyes, in her voice, she—and all the others with her—feared what was to come. This, Shoichi saw clear as day. It was her plead; the board’s begging—that disaster could be not averted, but mitigated.

Soon though, a conference. The public beast demanded, and they didn’t quite enjoy waiting—happy with even basic remarks as his past had told him.