Maxim tugged at the shirt stuck to his chest and back, and walked into a sheltered area under a huge neon sign at the entrance of a building, where there was a black wooden door without a handle, with a covered metal peephole about 1.6 to 1.7 meters off the ground.
He knocked on the door and then looked out at the colorful street, where the uneven puddles on the ground reflected the neon lights. Maxim gazed blankly for a while, then looked down at his leather shoes, which had lost much of their shine.
"This is Gucci!" he muttered under his breath. "I specially prepared a good outfit to come to this damn place, and now it's ruined!"
At this moment, a rustling sound came from behind the door, and the metal cover was opened, revealing a wary eye that stared at Maxim for a long time before slamming shut again.
Maxim sighed helplessly. Soon, he noticed a hand-painted sign hanging inconspicuously beside the door. On a white background, several prominent red English words were written: "Japanese Only." Below were a few lines of Japanese, presumably conveying the same message.
"What a damn weather!" Maxim cursed again, feeling a bit uneasy, wondering if he had come to the wrong place.
After all, such warning signs were common on the streets of Tokyo, and this country was not exactly welcoming to foreigners.
Maxim was an American living in Japan, from Minnesota, who graduated from Cornell University, a famous private university in the United States. Later, an alumnus offered him a job in Japan, so he came here.
However, his workplace was in Kobe, quite a distance from Tokyo. This time, his alumnus and boss called him to Tokyo, saying there was something important to discuss. He boarded the Shinkansen and rushed to Tokyo without delay.
This was Shibuya, Tokyo, where the streets were filled with neon lights and schoolgirls waiting for dates. Occasionally, a few teenagers dressed in bizarre outfits walked by, known as "visual kei," the enthusiasts of Japanese rock culture.
In later years, this peculiar style spread to China, sparking a trend called "non-mainstream" among some teenagers, but much of the original essence was lost, leaving only heavily made-up faces and extremely exaggerated hairstyles.
Kabukicho was originally intended to be a cultural center, concentrating traditional Japanese theaters, as the name "Kabukicho" suggests. In traditional Japanese performances, geishas wore white powder on their faces, had nauseatingly red lips, and sang incomprehensible songs in traditional kimonos, holding a folding fan. For Maxim, these were unbearable, but some older Japanese clients still enjoyed inviting him to watch them, making him feel worse than dead.
However, the current Kabukicho had nothing to do with its original purpose. It had become a massive red-light district, spanning 20 blocks, filled with dim alleys and dazzling neon signs. Every night, millions of customers roamed the area. It was a center for adult entertainment, where Japanese men often stopped for a few drinks after work. Numerous strip clubs, bars, massage parlors, and brothels were crowded with people, and the streets were bustling with traffic.
Maxim had been in Japan for four years, but he still couldn't speak a complete sentence in Japanese, except for English. Fortunately, he had a Japanese colleague with good English skills, which allowed for normal communication.
Maxim came to Japan in 1985, during the yen's appreciation, when countless dollars flowed into the Japanese market. At that time, American institutions in Japan urgently needed a large number of talents. Maxim, having just graduated from university, came to Japan and became a trader for a small hedge fund.
Hedge funds like the one he worked for were as numerous as cattle in Japan. Before the Nikkei Index, there were few hedging tools, and their profits were not significant. However, with the super-strong Japanese stock market and the significant appreciation of the yen, their fund's assets had exceeded $50 million.
After a while, as Maxim felt a bit cold, he was about to find a place to drink some sake when a voice came from behind the peephole again. A bright green eye appeared in his field of vision. The eye blinked at Maxim, the peephole closed, and then several locks were sequentially opened. When the door opened, a muscular figure appeared in front of him, his boss, Jim Watson.
Jim was dressed simply and neatly, in dark black casual pants and shiny leather shoes, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his hairy arms. He must have rushed over right after work, as his shirt and tie still had wrinkles.
Beside him was a Japanese man wearing sunglasses, who looked quite small next to the two tall white men. However, Maxim noticed a long, clawed dragon tattoo on his open chest, which made him tense.
In Japan, people with tattoos were not to be provoked, the first lesson he learned upon arriving. Especially those with full-body tattoos, it was best to turn and walk away if encountered. Maxim was in Kobe, close to Osaka, the headquarters of the largest yakuza group in Japan, the Yamaguchi-gumi.
Speaking of the famous Yamaguchi-gumi, they were well-known to everyone. The 1980s were their peak period. After the two "Osaka Wars" and the "Yamai Resistance," the Yamaguchi-gumi extended their influence into various industries in Japan. Even the largest Japanese conglomerates had to submit to the yakuza's power.
Jim noticed the fear in Maxim's eyes and patted the Japanese man's shoulder with a hint of pride, explaining in broken Japanese, "My friend."
Upon hearing Jim's explanation, the man's furrowed brows relaxed, and he let out a dismissive snort as a greeting.
Walking up the thickly carpeted stairs, as they reached the last step, a wave of heat hit them. Maxim stopped, gripping his hands tightly, and began to observe the strange scene before him.
It was a long room, decorated like a subway car, about 20 meters long, with seats and vertical metal poles on both sides, and handles on top. Women dressed in office attire, carrying briefcases, stood below, holding the handles and swaying, mimicking the posture of being on a subway.
Around the metal poles were young girls in various school uniforms, carrying backpacks, chatting loudly as if discussing a pretty dress or a new cosmetic product.
Sitting in the seats were about twenty men, mostly middle-aged. They stared intently at the women, their eyes filled with an indescribable look. Maxim understood the look in men's eyes; it was raw desire.
Soon, a man stood up from his seat and approached a woman in office attire. Without a word, he reached out and touched her, his other hand circling her slim waist.
"This is sexual harassment!" Maxim frowned, but swallowed the words that were about to come out. The woman endured silently, her face showing a mix of resistance and acceptance.
"This is a sexual harassment club. Everything you see is just a performance!" Jim explained calmly, seeing the expression on Maxim's face. "Let's go inside; there's nothing to see here!"
"Nothing to see?" Maxim muttered, following Jim. This scene had already exceeded his understanding. In his twenty-something years, he had never seen anything like it, and it was quite an eye-opener.
"Tokyo is great!" He thought, recalling his small office in Kobe.
Passing through the crowd, they arrived at a bar. Two women in bikinis bowed in unison, saying, "Welcome!" Maxim instinctively bowed back, his eyes fixed on the deep cleavage of the hostesses.
The bar was small but luxurious, with a wide variety of drinks behind it. A bartender was mixing drinks, tossing the shaker high into the air, then quickly transferring it behind his back, and tossing it again, creating a dazzling display.
On the other side of the bar were six tables, all occupied. Many people were watching the bartender intently, and this simple flair bartending surprised Maxim.
The room was a bit dark, and not far away was a dance floor where a DJ with headphones was playing loud electronic music. Several girls in revealing outfits were dancing wildly.
However, they were far from the dance floor, so the noise was less intense. Jim led Maxim to a table farthest from the bar, where two men were sitting, one a tall white man, the other a short Japanese man.
"You must be the capable assistant Jim mentioned!" The tall man stood up, wearing a professional smile. He had messy blond hair, bright eyes, and slightly yellow teeth, a result of excessive smoking and drinking.
What caught Maxim's attention was his silk shirt, clearly custom-made, and his heavy accent, which sounded more British than American.
"Surely you know why you were called here?" The short Japanese man shook Maxim's hand and said impatiently.
"Why?" Maxim was taken aback, a bit confused.
"Of course, to short Japan and raid Tokyo!" Jim laughed, his words causing the British man and the Japanese man to burst into laughter.
"Short Japan? Raid Tokyo?" Maxim's face showed shock. He patted his ears, fearing he had misheard. (Note: "Raid Tokyo" is a book about hedge fund operations, and some of the scenarios are borrowed here. However, their main battles were with Nick Leeson in Barings and Li Ka-shing's PCCW, not the focus of my book. Finally, special thanks to the generous support of reader Fangge!)