A mansion in the quiet residential district of Akasaka, Minato Ward, Tokyo. Hirose Takashi, the godfather of Japan’s premium wine import industry and founder of Enoteca, set down his heavy leather bag and stepped into the living room.
The global financial crisis had frozen Japan’s consumer market as well, but paradoxically, the wealthy were wandering in search of things more certain, more valuable—things that were genuine.
He still had not escaped the lingering impression of a wine he had tasted on his recent business trip to Napa Valley.
“Astra Vale.”
Hirose had heard the rumor that William Harlan of Harlan Estate—the emperor and pinnacle of Napa—had chosen silence instead of his famous barbed tongue. After barely managing to acquire a bottle at auction and experience it for himself, Hirose had shuddered on the spot.
Its taste, perfectly combining the elegance of Bordeaux with Napa’s explosive energy, convinced his senses, honed over more than twenty years of handling wine, that within the next decade it would surely ascend to the ranks of the world’s greatest cult wines.
“You’re home? I went to Matsuya Ginza today and bought something interesting.”
His wife, Michiko, greeted him with a bright expression. She was usually far removed from extravagance, but the shopping bag in her hand clearly bore the logo of Matsuya Department Store, known as the pride of Ginza.
“Matsuya? Was there a line in the food hall or something?”
“It wasn’t just a line. They were American cherries flown in by air, and people were buying them like mad. I barely managed to get three boxes myself. Oh, and this is the wine I bought with them.”
Hirose casually accepted the rosé-colored bottle of wine his wife handed him.
“Ceracia.”
The label struck him at once as simple and stylish. But what stole his gaze in an instant was the deep red card hanging around the neck of the wine bottle.
Hirose’s eyes narrowed at once. He immediately picked up the card. At the center of the card, with its weighty feel and elaborate gold-foil engraving, was the finely carved “Redwood” logo, stamped with unmistakable clarity.
“……Why is this here?”
Hirose’s voice trembled. Seeing her husband, who normally maintained his composure, react like that, Michiko asked in puzzlement.
“Why? That card, they said it’s a membership card they only give to people who bought the wine. Something about getting priority reservations later for limited-edition wines from this farm. The marketing is quite sophisticated, isn’t it?”
“Marketing or whatever… why is Redwood in Japan?”
Hirose held the card’s security hologram up to the light. Napa Valley’s closed-off cult wines were sold through “mailing lists” known only to those in the know.
Just getting your name on the list required years of waiting, and the right to be on that list itself could be traded for thousands of dollars.
He read the phrase written on the back of the card.
[Redwood Holdings Asia - Exclusive Allocation Access for VIP Members.]
“This logo… it’s the real Redwood. The winery of that very Brian Choi who made Astra Vale.”
“Brian Choi? Ah, I think the clerk mentioned him. Said he was a genius winemaker, maybe?”
Hirose let out a hollow laugh. Redwood, where even local magnates in Napa Valley lined up to receive an allocation, was quietly knocking on the door of the Japanese market through the absurd medium of cherries.
No, this was not merely knocking. It had already slipped its invitation into the pockets of Ginza’s wealthy class.
“Those Itochu bastards… what are they thinking? They brought in Redwood and left the distribution rights open? Don’t tell me they only brought in the cherries exclusively? Do they not really know what Redwood is?”
Hirose hurriedly sat on the living room sofa and opened the Ceracia his wife had bought. The moment the cork came out, the fresh scent of cherries filled the living room. As Hirose took a sip of the wine in his Riedel glass, his eyes widened once more.
“Ha, this is insane. They drew out a cherry wine with this much elegance? I was so obsessed with Astra Vale that I didn’t even look into their other wines… and this is supposed to be Redwood’s cheapest wine? At this level?”
It was not merely a sweet dessert fruit wine. This liquor, touched by the hands of the genius named Brian Choi, was the perfect sample demonstrating the potential held by the Redwood brand.
The general public who tasted the cherries would be intoxicated by their flavor, and experts like him would tremble at the vast possibilities hidden behind this wine.
Hirose turned the card over and checked the official website address. When he opened his laptop and entered the address, the website for “Redwood Holdings Asia,” still simple but designed with extreme luxury, appeared.
There, along with a reservation order system, was a single email address.
Hirose Takashi, called the pride of the Japanese wine industry, placed his hands on the keyboard. Japan was still caught in the illusion that French wine was supreme, but Hirose knew.
Redwood’s wines were by no means inferior to the major French domaines—wineries that directly owned their vineyards and took responsibility for every step from cultivation to vinification and bottling.
In particular, the manga “The Drops of God” had become an enormous hit, and the image of American Napa wines was rising. As time passed, their value was certain to climb.
[To: Redwood Holdings Asia From: Hirose Takashi (Enoteca Co., Ltd.)
- This is Hirose of Enoteca. I had the opportunity to taste your Astra Vale and was deeply impressed. By chance, at Matsuya Ginza, I received your red invitation.
I was greatly impressed by the concept of your VIP membership. If you have begun independent distribution within Japan, would Enoteca be able to do business with your company?
I hope to arrange a meeting as soon as possible. I will personally coordinate all schedules in Tokyo.]
There was strength in Hirose’s fingertips as he pressed the Enter key. At the thought that he might soon be going to America again, a smile drew itself across his lips before he realized it.
Lodi, California.
Three years ago, the young trees they had planted with pounding hearts and sweat on their brows had now grown well past Chloe’s height, stretching out branches that looked quite sturdy.
“Kyaaah! Brian! Look at this! They’re pears. Not fake ones—real pears are hanging here!”
Chloe cried out like a child as she pushed through the leaves. At the tips of the branches she pointed to, small, deep green fruits hung clustered together.
In the places where the splendid petals of the flowering season had fallen, the fruits that had formed shone brilliantly, each about the size of a large cherry.
“Oh my, how are you this cute? You’re all so wonderful.”
Chloe, overcome with emotion and even tearing up, reached out to touch the fruit, then stopped for fear she might damage it. In her eyes, instead of the fear she had held when she first started the pear farm, there was the pure joy of a farmer facing the fruits of life.
“They really grew beautifully. Their development is much better than I expected.”
When I said they were better than expected, I was not merely saying it. And Chloe knew the meaning of that better than anyone.
“I know… I’m so proud of them.”
To overcome that terrible cold damage, we had poured water without holding back, but in truth, it had not been good for the trees. Because it had been done solely to keep them alive, one corner of her heart had continued to ache.
And yet, when the time finally came for fruit to set, seeing the trees proudly bear fruit brought tears spilling down her cheeks.
As she wiped her tears with her sleeve, I silently stroked her shoulder. Then, after confirming that Chloe had calmed down a little, I spoke.
“Chloe, I know you’re happy, but from here on, it’s the time when you need a true farmer’s heart. We can’t leave them like this.”
“Hm?”
“See here?”
I stood beside Chloe and lifted one branch slightly. Five or six small pears were growing together in one spot.
“Ah…! We have to thin them out?”
“That’s right. The most important task right now is thinning. From mid-May to the end of the month, we can’t miss this window. Look, there are five or six pears hanging from one branch, right?
The tree divides the energy it has among these fruits, and if there are this many, they’ll all end up small and tasteless. On top of that, for a young tree in its third year, this weight is too much to bear, and the branch could break.”
Leaving only the strongest-looking central fruit, I cut away the remaining small fruits without mercy. Watching the little fruits drop to the ground with soft thuds, Chloe let out a pained cry.
“Uuung…! Brian, it’s such a waste! They all worked hard to grow too…”
“It hurts, but this is how you love a tree. You have to let it concentrate on one, so later it can become the big, sweet Niitaka pear we want. Usually, you leave only the prettiest one at intervals of twenty to twenty-five centimeters. Here, Chloe, you try.”
I placed the shears in Chloe’s hand and, standing behind her, overlapped my hand with hers. The trembling of the branch came through clearly to Chloe’s fingertips.
“This feels kind of romantic.”
“Ahem, focus…!”
“…Tch!”
“In the third year, they’re neither complete saplings nor mature trees, so this period is very, very important. You could say the next ten years are decided by what we do this year.”
“I get it.”
Holding Chloe’s pouting hand together with mine, I continued cutting branches as I spoke.
“If you take too much fruit in the third year, the tree will be ruined, but if you take too little, the harvest period gets delayed.”
“What’s the right amount, then?”
“About ten to twenty percent of the farm’s overall production target.”
“Oh… so it’s practically a test harvest?”
“Right. If we take about that much, the tree shape won’t be ruined, and productivity can rise steadily over the next ten years. That’s why we have to maintain about one or two fruits on each main branch, and around five to ten fruits per tree overall.”
“Got it.”
“And during this period, we also have to remove water sprouts. You know those useless branches sticking straight up toward the sky? They steal all the nutrients. We’re opening a path so sunlight can reach the fruit evenly. This work has to be done properly for the sugar content to explode in the fall.”
Following my guidance, Chloe began cutting carefully with the shears. At first she hesitated, but once she understood the principle of selection and concentration that I explained, her gaze became quite serious.
“I get it. Rather than trying to save everyone and losing them all, making the strongest child into the best is our farm’s way, right?”
“Correct. And lastly, from late May onward, we have to stake everything on disease and pest control. Around this time, pear rust and aphids run rampant.”
“Haa, aphids… They’d better not show up on my farm. I’ll burn them all to the ground.”
Her very first start in farming had been with aphids, so there was no way she would not know how important pest and disease prevention was. Of course, burning them all was just something she said out of feeling.
“That’s why we absolutely can’t let them appear on the farm, right? The skin of these young fruits is extremely delicate, so even a small wound will later make their commercial value plummet. That’s why we have to come and inspect them every day.”
“Mm.”
“Oh, we also have to check whether pollination went well. Until now, they were pollinated artificially or by the wind, but we still have to confirm whether there are any insufficient spots here and there. We also have to check for deformed fruit.”
“Okay.”
Up to the third year, they did not need much pollination, so we had not brought in bees, but starting next year, we would have to bring in bees just like Uncle Frederick’s almond farm. Only then would stable pollination be possible.
Like that, we spent about four hours walking around and organizing the fruit. Naturally, the two of us alone could not handle such a large farm, so even teaching the workers one by one took quite a lot of time.
By late afternoon, when my legs were starting to ache, the sun in the distance caught on the mountain ridge, and the sky flared red. As I stood there blankly looking at it, Chloe leaned her head against my shoulder.
“Thank you.”
“No need to thank me… You did well.”
As I patted Chloe’s shoulder and gazed at the red sunset, a call came in. When I answered the Redwood Winery phone, Warren’s voice came through.
“Master, we’ve received an interview request.”
“Huh? From where?”
“Well… they say it’s Korea?”