Tokyo: Starting with taking on his wife's debts

The speaker was a tall woman in her thirties with a professional smile.

She had neat, short hair that reached her ears, wore a black business blazer over a white shirt with a turned-down collar, and a tight black pencil skirt that just went past her knees, revealing her straight legs in black stockings. She wore black high heels that were about five centimeters high, and her overall height was about 1.7 meters.

She identified herself as the lobby manager and didn't wear a name tag; everyone called her by her surname, Ms. Ezaki.

The last time Xiuming came with the card, she was the one who received him. Xiuming guessed the password several times but it was wrong, so she checked the name of the person who applied for the card.

"Nonsense, I'm pressed for time. Don't waste any more time. Just spend the 800 million yen and give me the best service within three hours."

"Oh dear, it's really unfortunate, Mr. Miyamoto has already reported this card lost." Ezaki spread his hands, looking helpless.

"Really?" Xiuming was taken aback. "Is he in the shop?"

If Ayako hadn't deliberately withheld the password last time, she would have already witnessed the massage techniques here. Today, her bald brother even reported the card lost.

Esaki maintained his professional smile: "We need to protect our guests' privacy."

"Okay! I'll come again next time." Hideaki was in a bad mood; he had to make Ayako work overtime tomorrow!

"You seem to have some money with you! Why don't you spend some?"

As Ezaki spoke, he gestured to the black briefcase that Hideaki had tucked under his left arm.

"This is my own money!" Xiuming clutched his black briefcase tightly and said irritably, "How can I spend my own money at a place like this? I'll come again tomorrow and book the one advertised on the billboard."

"Okay, Mr. Yamanaka, welcome back tomorrow." Ezaki maintained his professional smile.

Xiuming disliked her fake professional smile and asked, "Can you provide services? If so, I'll choose you tomorrow."

She seems to be a senior executive and shouldn't be personally involved. Could this statement have been an insult to her, making her unable to laugh?

Ezaki blinked, then covered his mouth and chuckled, "Mr. Yamanaka, you're quite the joker. The masseuses here are far more skilled than I am."

"Never mind then, I'll never come here again."

After saying this, Hideaki turned and left without waiting for the stunned Ezaki to respond.

Unless you have someone else's prepaid card, you won't feel bad spending other people's money, while you're using your own money for business investment.

It's only 8:30 now, it's way too early to take the tram to the central area.

Hideaki walked around with 60,000 yen in his pocket. Although he had accumulated a large number of flyers, he didn't spend a single penny.

The reason remains the same: it's my own money.

If you're spending your own money, you should do it properly.

Finally, we arrived at the pachinko parlor, which was called "New Paris." I wonder if it's related to that "Soap Paradise."

The entrance hall features a neon light screen displaying a colorful lottery winning animation, followed by a metal turnstile door.

At the glass counter in the currency exchange area, the money counting machine was making a whirring sound.

The gaming machines in the main gaming area are arranged in rows, and every time someone wins a prize, a giant screen plays exciting music and visual effects.

Xiuming considered that if he spent money to start practicing without having played with this before, he would definitely lose a lot of money.

It would be better to come over tomorrow at noon, target someone with terrible skills, and wait until they lose all their money. They'll be furious about their poor skills and desperately want to become a pinball master, so we can learn their skills from them.

Of course, learning this skill isn't for earning such a paltry sum.

Even the most skilled pinball machine player, who relies entirely on their luck and skill throughout the day, can only earn a maximum of 1 yen, even if they frantically operate the machine from morning till night.

What Xiuming needs to do is to personally experience the machine's operating performance so that when he invests in manufacturing it in the future, he can improve the machine's comfort level and prevent these gamblers from getting sick from exhaustion. After all, if they get sick from overwork, they won't be able to come!

The more sluggish the economy, the worse the quality of life for the general public, and the more irritable they become. Therefore, it is all the more necessary to find a place for them to release their emotions.

Moreover, pinball games can earn you a little money and are more entertaining than some lotteries. Unlike some places, where even scratch-off lottery tickets have a big prize, people there know which stack of tickets is in them.

I visited every pachinko parlor, noting down the machine models and manufacturers. I'll study them when I get back and figure out which manufacturer is worth getting involved with.

After all, many factories have gang involvement at this time. To avoid this, it's difficult and thankless to clash with them, and you can't be on good terms with them either, since next year is a period of strict crackdown, and you'll be implicated.

During the research, I saw a young man with a cast on his foot still playing marbles, which reminded me of Ayako's injured ankle. Before 10 o'clock, I left Kabukicho, found a hospital, and bought a pair of crutches at a nearby store that sells medical equipment. Wheelchairs were too expensive, and Ayako might sell more plush toys if she used crutches.

After all, it is human nature to always have compassion for the vulnerable.

After buying the cane, it was already eleven o'clock. Xiuming took his monthly pass and waited for the tram at the platform.

The Kabukicho area was still brightly lit and crowded with people.

I miscalculated. At this time, there were still crowds of people taking the tram, but it was at least better than at eight o'clock. Everyone without a seat could turn around freely, and there was some space.

The flashing neon lights outside the car window rushed past, and gangs of bikers on the street revved their motorcycles to the maximum, roaring as they overtook each other.

Once you arrive at the destination and lock onto the Tokyo Stock Exchange, if you want to short stocks, first focus your mind on which stock will fall the most. Then you need to consider whether you can borrow the stock that has fallen the most and sell it. You also need to consider whether the company that borrowed the stock will pay dividends to shareholders during the short-selling period, since if they really pay dividends, you'll have to pay them out of your own pocket.

Where would I get money?!

I wonder how much of the 230 million yen worth of stocks the person with the same name who committed suicide by jumping off a building still has left? The main question is whether they can sell them at all… I really don't want to be stuck with them…

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the carriage. Xiuming, who was standing in the back row, gazing at the receding neon lights outside the rear window in deep thought, was nudged from behind.

"Go! Go to the front!" A young man wearing a leather jacket and dyed yellow hair, who was less than Xiuming's shoulder tall, held his chin high, swung a butterfly knife in his hand, and exhaled the smell of smoke.

Behind the young man were two punks wielding switchblades, grinning at Xiuming.

In the middle of the three people standing in a triangular formation was a girl clutching a pink handbag, her head bowed and trembling. Her face was obscured by her black hair with bangs, so her appearance was unknown. However, she was dressed in a white knitted sweater with buttons on top, a brown plaid pleated skirt that just went past her knees, white stockings on her legs, and flat black leather shoes on her feet.

While he was speaking to Xiuming, the passengers in the back seats hurriedly grabbed their personal belongings, quickly got up, and squeezed past Xiuming, who was like a wall in the aisle, with their heads down and backs bent, to stand at the rear exit, seemingly wanting to get off at the next stop.

After entering the carriage, Xiuming would subconsciously scan everyone quickly. Although he couldn't remember them all, he would retain some impression of each person.

For example, that girl was very conspicuous because she was the receptionist at "Night Paris Soap Paradise" and had boarded the bus at the same stop as him.

These three energetic young men had just boarded at the previous stop, and their arrival caused the carriage to be more than half empty.

The bus driver, a man in his forties, glanced at the rearview mirror before continuing to drive, perhaps slowing down slightly for safety reasons.

With Xiuming's height, his head almost touched the top of the carriage. In his eyes, the three young men looked like chicks, super lightweight, weighing only about 100 pounds.

Judging from their clothes, attire, and youthful faces, they must be high school dropouts! The one at the front is the oldest, probably their leader, who dropped out of school a few years early.

That waiter is already a college graduate, and he has quite an appetite!

Xiuming grabbed the yellow-painted iron handrails on both sides with his left and right hands, adjusted his direction, and instantly raised his left foot to stomp down on Huang Mao's right shoulder, because Huang Mao had a knife in his right hand.

"Get out of here!" Hideaki muttered impatiently. "Why learn this? You're learning to be a pervert on the train... It's all because of people like you that otaku got framed."

Xiuming used a lot of force to stomp on Huang Mao's right shoulder and knock him to the ground, as a way to make an example of him.

"what!"

With a loud thud, Huang Mao lay on the carriage floor, clutching his right shoulder and letting out a bloodcurdling scream. His right shoulder was dislocated, and his right hand was also cut by the butterfly knife he was playing with, leaving a pool of blood.

The other two grinning young men froze instantly, their hands trembling, and one of them dropped his knife to the ground.

Xiuming gripped the handrail tightly, his waist and hips moving in unison. He lifted his feet off the ground in a crunch, swinging his long legs so that the soles of his feet, longer than their heads, stomped on their faces.

Because he was holding onto the handrail, he didn't put his entire body weight on them; he only kicked them down. His body slid half a meter along the carriage floor before he slammed his head into the seat leg, causing his nose to bleed profusely.

As Xiuming kicked them away, he quickly picked up the three small knives that had fallen to the ground and put them into his black briefcase.

The conflict ended quickly; the blond-haired man stopped clutching his right shoulder and instead clutched his bleeding right hand, howling in pain.

The two younger ones didn't get up either; they just lay on the carriage floor, blood streaming from their noses, pointing at Xiuming with fear in their eyes.

"You're not disabled, so why are you using crutches? Despicable!"

The waiter seemed stunned, tilting his head back, widening his eyes, and staring at Xiuming with his mouth half-open.

Besides the person involved, there were ten other passengers in the carriage who also seemed to be in a daze and remained silent.

Ding Dong!

The train announces: Kayabacho Station has arrived.

The driver looked in the rearview mirror and stepped on the brake.

"Excuse me." Xiuming looked down at the stunned waitress and waved his hand. "I'm getting off the bus."

Chapter 43 Do you live here too?

The waitress stood there, stunned, and didn't move.

Xiuming used the back of his hand to push her away from his shoulder.

"You have absolutely no sense of propriety, how can you be a waiter?"

Eri stumbled, and the pink women's handbag she was clutching fell to the ground. With a "clatter," a pink pencil case and a stack of grid paper with comics on it slid out of the bag. The grid paper was covered with many scribbled sketches.

The pink plastic pencil case lid was flung open, and pencils and erasers bounced on the tram floor like popping beans.

"ah!"

Eri knelt on the ground, whispering, and stuffed the scattered manga sketches into her bag.

Her face was flushed red with panic, as if she were scrambling for money, afraid of being seen by others.

This reminded Xiuming of those guys whose web browsing history was forcibly viewed.

There was a sketch sheet at Hideaki's feet. He turned his toes and gently pressed the sole of his shoe against the back of Eri's hand that she had just grabbed.

Then, under Eri's horrified gaze, he bent down, grabbed her slender wrist with one hand and moved it away, while using the other hand to pull the paper out from the sole of his shoe.

The sketches are like stick figures, mainly designed for visual appeal and panel layout; comic book sketches are all like this.

"Hey~ This looks interesting. I can already picture it. It's a hot-blooded battle theme, right?" Xiuming smiled at her, holding up the sketch.

Eri's horrified expression suddenly froze, a look of delight at finally finding a kindred spirit flashing in her eyes. Then she quickly lowered her head, blushed slightly, and gave a nasal "Mmm," before saying, "Thank you, Mr. Yamanaka. Um, could you give it back to me? I haven't finished drawing it yet. I can show it to you when I'm done."

In an instant, Xiuming thought of the anime industry, which was poised to explode in popularity in the next few years.

Eri Makimura has basic skills, but unfortunately I've never heard of her. It can only mean that she either changed careers, gave up, or went into the sex industry in poverty.

I have countless popular anime themes in my mind. Although I can't perfectly recreate them, I can still clearly recall the general plot and character designs if I think about them a little.

But to draw it, I'd need at least a year of hard work practicing the basics of comics. Maybe... I should just lock her up later!

Regarding stocks, it's only April 28th now, so June 1st would be the best time to short sell.

Recently, news and newspapers have been filled with reports of "major positive news for the stock market," such as "the government plans to use the power of the whole country to save the stock market." This has been overwhelming, making patriotic investors, who are often easily taken advantage of, very excited.

The influx of retail investors has artificially inflated the downward-sloping candlestick chart, which is currently trending slightly upwards. However, within a month, all the retail investors will be wiped out, potentially leading to a national credit crisis.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I like it too much," Hideaki said, handing her the scrap paper and helping her pick up pencils and erasers. "Ms. Makimura, which stop are you getting off at?"