“Boss, that’s the reception party sent by Japan’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Industrial Bank. Just as they say, the Japanese are astonishing when it comes to protocol. The man in front seems to be their representative.”
The moment Henry gave a slight nod, one of the reception party—a middle-aged man—sprang forward as if he had been waiting for that very cue, and bowed deeply before Henry, bending at the waist until his body nearly formed a right angle.
“Welcome, Mr. Devenzer! You must be weary from your long journey. It is an infinite honor to receive you here in Japan.”
“Pleased to meet you. I didn’t expect you to come all the way out to greet me.”
Even at Henry’s perfunctory reply, the middle-aged man’s face was clearly filled with emotion.
“We received strict instructions from Ambassador Togo. For your convenience, all preparations have already been made so that your temporary immigration inspection can be completed in the car. There is no need for you to pass through the troublesome terminal; we will escort you directly to the Hotel Yokura in the city center.”
Whether this was Japan’s characteristic excessive protocol, or the weight carried by the name “Devenzer,” he could not tell, but the treatment was certainly impeccable. Henry stepped straight from the red-carpeted runway into the plush back seat of a Century.
The car door closed with a heavy thud, and the noise and heat outside were instantly cut off. Watching his immigration procedures end with nothing more than signing a few documents handed to him by an attendant, Henry once again felt the reality of his own position.
‘This is ridiculously convenient. So this is why people can’t give up money and power.’
Memories of his previous life flashed through Henry’s mind. The exhausting process of getting off an economy seat where he could barely stretch his knees, standing in an endless immigration line, and loitering in front of a conveyor belt to retrieve his luggage had been deleted wholesale. All Henry had to do was sink into the soft back seat of a Century.
As he listened to Gilberto briefly brief him on tomorrow’s schedule inside the car, Henry took in the Tokyo of 1979 flowing past outside the window. It did not yet have the dense forest of skyscrapers it would in the future, but it was more than enough to feel the enormous foot traffic and unique vitality of a great metropolis.
After the six Toyota Centuries had driven in formation for a little over two hours, even young Henry—despite having rested well in first class—was beginning to feel tired. Around then, the car arrived at the Hotel Yokura, located on a hill in Akasaka, Minato Ward.
As soon as the sedan door opened, employees neatly dressed in kimono bent their knees to welcome Henry, and the manager practically rushed out in his socks to attach himself to Henry’s side and personally attend to him. The place Henry was led to was the hotel’s top-floor “Presidential Suite.” When its massive door opened, the first thing to greet Henry was not the lavish decorations, but the smoothly polished natural wooden entryway.
“Excuse me, Mr. Devenzer. In keeping with Japanese tradition, we have prepared this space so that you may remove your shoes and stay in comfort.”
At the manager’s polite explanation, Henry paused for a moment. Having grown used to life in America, wearing shoes indoors had somehow become natural to him. Of course, because of habits from his previous life, he still preferred indoor slippers rather than walking into a room in dress shoes.
Henry untied his shoes and kicked them off.
Cool air wound between his toes, freed from the tightness of handmade leather shoes. As he took a step, the strange yet soft sensation of premium tatami mixed with carpet traveled up through the soles of his feet.
‘It’s been a really long time since this…’
While Jay and Jeston from the security team busily moved about to check the interior for wiretaps and security issues, Henry crossed the living room with light steps. The sensation of the floor wrapping soundlessly around the soles of his feet felt both familiar and unfamiliar, which was rather pleasant.
As he looked around the living room, overwhelming splendor entered his eyes, to the point that even a single vase seemed like the work of some unknown master artist. Yet it failed to draw Henry’s attention. Loosening his tie slightly, Henry stopped in the middle of the living room and admired the Tokyo nightscape spread out beyond the window.
“Not bad.”
After living as a Devenzer for the past two months, such vast spaces and luxuries had become part of his daily life, so the first impression to slip out was not “amazing,” but rather “not bad” or “decent.” If it had been him in his previous life, he would have made a fuss, calling it an honor for his family, taking photos of every corner of the hotel room and stuffing them into a gallery he would never look at again.
“According to our inspection, the scale is large, but there were no abnormalities. Jeston and I will unpack in the guest room within the suite. If anything comes up, please call us anytime, Boss.”
“You two worked hard too, so get some rest. Let’s have dinner together in a bit.”
The rich scent of hinoki cypress permeating the room tickled his nose, and when he looked outside from the window, he could clearly see embassies of various countries lined up in a row, and Tokyo Tower burning red between them. Only when he faced that exotic scenery did the fact that he had arrived in Japan finally feel more real to Henry.
‘Let’s invade the archipelago!’
After finishing the dinner brought up by room service with Jay and Jeston, he took a quick shower. Perhaps because of the time difference, Henry tossed and turned until dawn before falling asleep late, and only began his schedule in earnest the following afternoon.
“All the heads of the commercial banks, including Mitsubishi, are gathering… They must be absolutely desperate to get their hands on me.”
Henry smiled faintly as he buttoned up a light linen shirt in front of the mirror. Gilberto, who had been explaining the schedule beside him, still wore a displeased expression.
“Boss, it’s exactly as the think tank analyzed. The Japanese aren’t fools either. Everyone knows the Japanese government is leaving the yen weak because of the aftermath of the second oil shock and for export competitiveness. The current value of the yen is by no means its lowest point. That’s why they’re being so proactive. They’re certain they can make at least ten percent just by sitting still.”
“Gilberto, my mind hasn’t changed. If not for this kind of ‘delicious bait,’ would they really roll up their sleeves and step forward? Do you think it will be easy to acquire and manage companies in Japan, where we have no influence at all? We only barely managed to find a professional business interpreter recently.”
“That’s because you announced your advance into Japan without any warning, Boss. Haa…”
Looking in the mirror, Henry felt satisfied with his outfit of black slacks and a bright linen shirt, then spoke firmly to Gilberto.
“Trust me. This is business where we absolutely won’t lose. Now, let’s go.”
The languid afternoon sunlight had faded, and the streets of Tokyo were slowly being dyed with brilliant neon signs. Henry settled into the back seat of a Toyota Century and headed toward the outskirts of Tokyo.
At six in the evening, the car stopped before a stately Japanese-style residence surrounded by dense woods—a top-class ryokan. At the entrance, executives who held sway over Japan’s financial world, including those from Mitsubishi, Sumitomo, and Fuji, stood in a line waiting for Henry.
Perhaps thanks to the excessively warm welcome at the airport yesterday and the continued deference at the hotel, Henry had now grown rather used to such treatment, and calmly exchanged greetings with them. One thing was peculiar: while the other banks had sent working-level executives, Mitsubishi alone had its bank president personally come out to greet him.
The elites he met in Japan spoke English, however awkward their pronunciation.
Once he grew accustomed to their distinctive accent, communication was not especially difficult, and since he had brought along a competent interpreter as well, Henry led the conversation. In truth, the only Japanese he knew consisted of a few words such as “yamete,” learned through the “audiovisual education” of his previous life, so he had no choice but to rely on English.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Henry Devenzer.”
“Welcome, Mr. Devenzer. It is an honor that you have graced us with your precious presence from so far away. Please, come inside. The other bank presidents are waiting within.”
Mitsubishi Bank President Yamada Kenichi personally led the way. Along the corridor, women neatly dressed in kimono stood in a row and bowed their heads. Thinking this must be an extension of omotenashi, the essence of Japanese hospitality, he was walking along when President Yamada suddenly stopped and whispered discreetly into Henry’s ear.
[Omotenashi = a Japanese expression referring to hospitality or service]
“Among those standing here, is there perhaps any woman who catches your eye?”
“Uh. What?! Mm. Give me a moment.”
Caught off guard by the question, Henry feigned composure as he looked over the women who had passed by like background scenery one by one. The heavy makeup characteristic of 1979 was a little old-fashioned, but their underlying looks were all high caliber. Perhaps because of his forced abstinence until now, the moment the thought, “Wouldn’t a Japanese woman be all right?” crossed his mind, an honest physical reaction pushed tautly against the front of his trousers.
‘Do I finally get to loosen my belt? Time to unwrap the 20-centimeter magnum?’
Henry cheered inwardly, but outwardly maintained the expression of a nobleman with an exceedingly serious and discerning eye. Yet where had the wariness he had shown when pushing Diana away on the plane gone? Before Japan’s uniquely orderly hospitality, Henry’s safety-first principle quietly lowered its head.
‘Right, Japan is an island country, so it should be a bit different from America. It’s an East Asian country where gays aren’t even treated like people! On top of that, given Japan’s level of public health(?) at this time, it should be much cleaner than America. Above all, these are girls President Yamada prepared personally. Surely he wouldn’t mix in a bomb, would he?’
Vague expectation and instincts on the verge of explosion paralyzed Henry’s reason. After taking some time to look over the women standing in a row, he singled out two with contrasting charms.
One was petite and had a youthful baby face, but beyond the silhouette of her kimono, he could sense a voluptuous figure—the typical baby-faced glamour type. Since choosing only one felt regrettable, and asking outright seemed like it might damage his dignity, he also pointed to the woman standing beside her, a slender type with sharp, catlike features.
“I’ll take those two.”
“Hoho, Mr. Devenzer. Your eye is truly keen. Miyazaki on the left hides astonishing jewels beneath the appearance of an innocent female college student, while Natsuki on the right is an actress who stands at the pinnacle with the cold charisma of a former model. You have caught both Japan’s purity and sensuality at once!”
President Yamada’s sly flattery continued. As if they had arranged it beforehand, the two chosen women blushed shyly and pressed close to either side of Henry. When the faint scent of powder drifting from them tickled his nose, Henry’s mind went momentarily blank.
The thought, “Actresses, huh? This really is the peak of capitalism,” surged up in him, and he badly wanted to look over the other women once again as well. But thinking of his family’s dignity, Henry had no choice but to move on without lingering.
The place he was guided to was a traditional Japanese tatami room.
Beyond a long row of wooden tables, the seat of honor was his. Those waiting in the room with bowed heads were all, without exception, as influential in Japan’s financial world as President Yamada—that is, old men. Elderly men with hair streaked white were standing and waiting, showing the highest degree of respect they could offer to a foreign leader so young he was practically green.
This excessive courtesy felt a little burdensome, but Henry fortunately did not lose his composure, mentally telling himself, ‘I’m an American now. Forget Confucian seniority.’
‘These old men are probably acting like this because they see a dollar piggy bank (= me), but it doesn’t feel bad. It’s a scene I never could have imagined back when I was an assistant manager in 2026.’
Henry also naturally headed toward the seat of honor, returned their greetings with a slight bow, and gracefully accepted the business cards the old men offered him. Only then did he finally sit in the seat that overwhelmed everyone present. As Miyazaki and Natsuki, seated naturally on either side of Henry, prepared to pour him drinks, a pleased yet relaxed smile settled on Henry’s lips.