The plane's wheels kissed the tarmac at Tokyo airport, and a wave of anticipation hit me. No time to soak in the city's pulse—we headed straight to the hotel and crashed, jet lag pulling us under like a riptide.
---
**Next Day**
*Knock knock.*
"Come in," I called, my voice cutting through the morning haze.
Vinod and Sakshi slipped into the room. Sakshi, ever the silent shadow, glided toward the coffee maker, her movements precise, almost ritualistic. Vinod lingered by the door, hands clasped, waiting as I scanned the last page of my report.
"Sit down," I said, setting the papers aside.
Vinod settled into a chair, his posture stiff but attentive. "Vinod, I need you to set up a meeting with Kazuya Fukuyama from Sanwa Bank. If he's hard to pin down, feel free to mention my background."
Sakshi returned, placing two steaming cups of coffee on the table with a soft clink. She stepped back, her presence fading into the background as we sipped and traded small talk—market rumors, weather, nothing heavy. The coffee was bitter, grounding.
Vinod left with a nod, his mission clear. I turned to Sakshi. "Dress appropriately. We're going out."
"Okay, Master," she replied, her voice steady, unquestioning.
---
**An Hour Later**
I stepped out of my room and froze. Sakshi stood there, a vision in a sleek black one-piece dress that hugged her curves like it was tailored by the gods. She caught my glance and held it, a flicker of confidence in her eyes.
We hit a restaurant first, the kind with dim lighting and plates too pretty to eat. After lunch, we wandered into a high-end store. I'm no fashion guy—suits all look the same to me—so I let Sakshi take the lead. She picked out a couple of sharp suits and some casuals, her taste impeccable.
"Try something for yourself," I told her.
She hesitated, then dove in. First up: tight blue jeans and a white crop top. She stepped out of the fitting room, youthful energy radiating off her like sunlight. I gave a nod of approval, and her lips curved slightly.
Next, a short black skirt paired with a beige top—simple but striking. Finally, she slipped into a dress with a brown skirt and a sheer mesh upper, a solid top beneath keeping it classy. Sexy, elegant, untouchable. She twirled, seeking my reaction, and I couldn't help but smirk.
We hauled our bags back to the hotel. The day's chaos had drained me, and I collapsed into bed, the city's hum fading as sleep took over.
---
**Next Day**
"Young Master, Mr. Kazuya has agreed to meet us," Vinod said, his voice clipped with efficiency.
"Okay. Let's go."
The drive to Sanwa Bank was smooth, Tokyo's skyline a blur of steel and glass. The bank's headquarters loomed ahead—a 38-story monolith in the heart of the city's wealth. An employee escorted us through polished halls to a sleek office.
Kazuya Fukuyama stood to greet us, slim and sharp, his thinning hair doing little to dull the intensity in his eyes. "Mr. Anil, I've heard a lot about you. Seems it's all true," he said, a smile playing on his lips.
I returned the grin. "You're flattering me, Kazuya-san. I'm just glad to finally meet the legend behind Sanwa's recent growth. A core member of the founding families, no less. I should be the one ashamed."
He laughed, waving me to a seat. "Haha, Mr. Anil knows his stuff. So, what's this about? Why me?"
We sat, the air between us charged but easy. "Kazuya-san, I'll be blunt. I'm here to make friends. In Japan, I'm nobody. I need strong allies, and you're the one I want."
"Friends?" His smile sharpened. "That's no small ask."
"I know. That's why I'm here to prove my worth—with business." I leaned back, relaxed, my gaze steady.
His curiosity piqued. "What kind of business?"
"I want to short USD/JPY. I'm betting on the yen's rise and the dollar's fall."
Kazuya's brow arched. "Risky move. You're sure?"
"Dead sure. I'm putting up 50 million USD as principal. I'd like the maximum leverage you can offer."
He studied me, then nodded. "Alright. Fifty times leverage. Show me what you've got."
"Thank you," I said, sealing the deal with a handshake.
As we left, the weight of the gamble settled on my shoulders. Tokyo wasn't just a city—it was a battlefield. And I'd just drawn my sword.
.