HPDBC Chapter 51 Containers
Chapter 51 Containers
(Thanks to "Amazing March" for the expert certification! Thanks to "Jia Bei Li Meng" for the 20 consecutive update reminders! Here's an extra chapter~)
In September 1987, the lingering summer heat in Tokyo was still quite scorching.
Setagaya Ward, Shimokitazawa.
This is another mecca for young people in Tokyo, but unlike the sophisticated, expensive, and capitalist-sounding trend of Shibuya, Shimokitazawa is more like a labyrinth full of everyday life and chaotic beauty. Second-hand vintage clothing stores, underground theaters, and independent record stores are crammed into narrow alleys, and the air is filled with the aroma of curry rice and the unique dusty smell of old clothes.
"Clang—Clang—"
Trains on the Odakyu Line roared past with tremendous wind pressure, the rhythm of their wheels hitting the rails causing the ground to tremble slightly.
On a triangular patch of wasteland right next to the railway rail fence, the rusty bicycles and old furniture that were once piled up have now been cleaned up.
Instead, there were five huge shipping containers painted a bright lemon yellow.
They resembled a haphazardly discarded set of Lego bricks on this gray wasteland. A simple black logo was painted on the side of the container.
SA KARAOKE BOX
There were no neon lights, no hostesses, not even a proper entrance. Only a part-time college student in a uniform sat behind a folding table, idly swatting mosquitoes.
"Hey, Tanaka, are you sure this is the place?"
On the narrow gravel road, four college students carrying guitar cases and backpacks were walking along, their feet sinking into the gravel.
Kenta, walking at the very back, hunched his shoulders, looking utterly unwilling.
He was a typical late Showa era "introvert" (a person with an introverted personality). In college, what he feared most was the "second party" after club gatherings—going to Snark to sing.
Those Snarks with their red velvet sofas were his nightmare. The heavily made-up proprietress would shove the microphone into his hand, the drunken uncle next to him would leer at the girls in the line, and when his off-key singing started, the awkward silence made him want to dig a hole and bury himself on the spot.
"This is it! I heard it's a newly opened shop, and it's super cheap!"
The boy in the lead pointed to the shipping containers.
"Only 1000 yen per hour, no matter how many people are in the party! And there's no minimum charge; you can even bring your own drinks!"
"Containers?" Kenta looked at the metal boxes, a little apprehensive. "Can you sing in these? Won't you suffocate in them?"
"Why not give it a try? It's right next to the station anyway."
Without a word, Kenta was dragged to the folding table by his friends.
"Four people, one hour."
"Okay. Box number three."
The part-time worker took the money, handed them a basket full of coins (for the coin-operated karaoke machine) and two microphones, and then pointed to the back.
"Um... you can buy drinks from the vending machine over there. The toilet is outside, that blue portable toilet."
It's really rudimentary.
Kenta thought to himself, "This is what I'm complaining about."
They walked to container number three and opened the heavy iron door, which looked like a cold storage door.
"Squeak—"
The door opened.
A cool, refreshing breeze swept over me.
Kenta was somewhat surprised. There was actually a powerful air conditioner installed inside.
Step into the box.
The space wasn't large, maybe only the size of six or seven tatami mats. The walls were covered with cheap but brightly colored sound-absorbing foam, and in the middle was a U-shaped leather sofa with a simple small coffee table in front of it.
At the far end was a television set mounted on the wall, below which sat an old-fashioned coin-operated karaoke machine and two huge speakers.
"Bang!"
The iron gate closed.
All sounds vanished instantly.
The deafening sounds of trams, cicadas, and passersby talking outside were all blocked out by this thick sheet metal and soundproofing material.
The world was so quiet that only the whooshing sound of the air conditioner vents could be heard.
Wow! This soundproofing is really good!
The boy in the lead shouted, his voice even echoing in the small space.
"In this locked room, even if you scream your lungs out, no one will hear you, right?"
A strange sense of security rose in Kenta's heart.
There was no proprietress, no drunkards, and no strangers.
They were just the four of them.
This is a private, isolated island that belongs entirely to them.
"Hurry, hurry! I want to sing a BOØWY song!"
The friends excitedly began flipping through the thick song request book and inserting coins into the machine.
Music started playing.
Because of the small space, the sound system was surprisingly good, with the deep bass resonating so strongly that it made my chest ache.
Several people took turns belting out a few rock songs, and the atmosphere became lively.
"Kenta! It's your turn!"
The microphone was handed to Kenta.
"I...I can't..." Kenta instinctively tried to push the microphone back. "I really can't sing..."
"Stop talking nonsense! There are no outsiders here!"
His friend requested a song for him, "Red Pea Flower" by Seiko Matsuda.
This is a slow song, and it was a must-sing song at social gatherings back then.
The prelude begins.
Kenta gripped the microphone, his palms sweating. Looking at the lyrics flashing on the screen, his throat tightened, unable to find the right moment to strike the beat.
"Red...red..."
He sang two lines, completely off-key, and his voice trembled as if he were crying.
Although his friends didn't laugh, their barely suppressed amusement made Kenta blush to the roots of his ears.
"Huh? What's this?"
A girl sitting next to the karaoke machine suddenly noticed an extra red button on the machine.
A handwritten label is affixed to the button: Guide Vocal (Guide Vocal/Trial Run).
"Singing in chorus? Did someone teach you to sing?"
The girl pressed it out of curiosity.
next second.
A female voice suddenly cut in from the originally thin accompaniment in the speaker.
"The swings on the shore are swaying..."
Kenta was stunned.
That voice.
It's not as cloyingly sweet as Seiko Matsuda's voice, nor is it like the mechanical, electronically synthesized voice in karaoke videos.
It was a very clean, steady voice with a slightly husky, grainy quality.
It doesn't have flashy high notes or complicated coloratura. It's like an older sister sitting next to you, gently humming a tune, holding your hand, and telling you where the next note should land.
That firm pitch was like an invisible rope, instantly pulling Kenta's runaway voice back.
Kenta subconsciously started singing along with that voice.
"The swings on the shore are swaying..."
This time, he didn't sing off-key.
The woman's voice was like a gentle undertone, supporting his originally thin voice. Even if he occasionally sang a wrong note, the woman's voice would immediately pull him back, making him feel no panic of "facing the accompaniment alone".
The song ended.
"Clap clap clap!"
The friends applauded.
"Kenta! You sang really well this time!"
"Whose voice is that for the lead singer? It sounds so soothing."
"I don't think I've heard of this singer before. Is it a cover song?"
Kenta held the microphone, watching the screen display the ending.
For the first time, he felt that singing was not a form of punishment, but a way to vent his emotions.
Inside this box, which was only wrapped in sheet metal and soundproofing cotton, and accompanied by the voice of an unfamiliar woman, he found a long-lost sense of freedom.
"Please...play one more song for me."
Kenta blushed and said softly.
"I want to sing Nakamori Akina's song."
……
At the same time.
Marunouchi, headquarters of Saionji Industrial.
The large conference table was piled high with heavy canvas bags.
"Splash—"
Endo untied the rope of a bag and poured its contents onto the table.
Countless 100-yen coins poured out, like a silver river, crashing against the mahogany table with a crisp, melodious metallic sound.
"This is the weekly transaction record for the pilot project in Shimokitazawa."
Itakura stood to the side, holding a data report in his hand, his face showing an expression that was both excited and incredulous.
"Five containers, operating for 12 hours a day (unmanned equipment is not mature enough to operate 24 hours a day)."
"Average table turnover rate...100%."
"In other words, as long as the door is open, there will always be people inside. On weekends, you even have to queue outside."
Endo looked at the coins, pushed up his reading glasses, and frowned slightly.
"They're all coins..."
As a former CFO who had managed hundreds of millions of dollars in cash flow, he looked down on this kind of business that was full of "small change".
"President, isn't this business... a bit too tedious? Just to collect these coins, we have to hire two security guards to escort them, and we also have to exchange them at the bank. And..."
Endo pointed to the report.
"Although the table turnover rate is high, the average order value is too low. It's only 1000 yen per hour. After a month, five boxes will only earn a little over a million yen."
"This amount of money isn't even as much as the cost of drinks we make in that building in Akasaka for a whole day."
Shuichi sat in the main seat, not saying a word, just staring blankly at the coins.
"That's not how you do it."
Satsuki sat next to Shuichi, fiddling with a 100-yen coin that was still warm from her body.
"The Pink Building in Akasaka makes money from the 'rich.' Although that market is extremely profitable, the ceiling is very low. There are only tens of thousands of women in all of Tokyo who can afford a 15,000 yen afternoon tea."
"But this..."
Satsuki stood the coin upright on the table and flicked it gently.
The coin spun around, forming a silver sphere under the light.
"This makes money off 'everyone'."
"That plot of land in Shimokitazawa is only 50 tsubo (approximately 33 square meters). Because it's close to the railway tracks, it's noisy, and its shape is triangular, so even a two-story house can't be built on it. The previous owner treated it as wasteland and had to pay a landholding tax every year."
"How much did we pay to buy it?"
"Five million yen," Endo replied.
"Yes. The land was worth five million, plus five second-hand shipping containers and renovations, the total cost was less than ten million."
"It now generates one million in cash flow every month. The annual return rate is over 100%."
Satsuki's fingers pressed down on the spinning coin.
"And this is only five boxes."
She stood up and walked to the huge map of Tokyo on the wall.
The map is covered with hundreds of red dots.
"Look at these red dots."
"These are all 'junk lands' that we acquired at low prices through various channels throughout the year. They're located under high-voltage lines, beside railway tracks, at the end of dead ends, under overpasses..."
"These lands are worthless in the eyes of traditional real estate developers."
"But what if we just scatter these tin boxes down?"
"Five hundred, one thousand, ten thousand..."
Satsuki turned around and looked at Endo, who was dumbfounded.
"When these coins accumulate into a sea, it becomes the most terrifying cash cow in all of Japan."
"And, more importantly..."
Satsuki took another report from Itakura.
"This is a customer feedback form."
"90% of our customers mentioned the 'guided singing function.' They said that the voice made them feel at ease and gave them the confidence to sing."
"Sachiko has only recorded less than twenty songs, and she already has this kind of effect."
Itakura nodded vigorously: "Yes! There are even people who specifically asked who that voice is, wanting to buy her tapes."
Shuichi took the report and looked at the praise written in childish handwriting.
"It seems we really have struck gold."
"Shuichi sighed."
"However, Satsuki, there's only one problem now."
"What?"
"It's too small-scale. Although Shimokitazawa is packed, it's still a subculture. The general public still finds this kind of 'singing inside shipping containers' a bit strange, and even thinks it's something only delinquents do."
"really."
Satsuki sat back down in her chair.
"The flame is still too small."
We need a gust of wind.
"A gust of wind that can spread the concept of 'loneliness' throughout Japan, making everyone think that 'hiding away and singing alone' is a cool and normal thing."
She looked out the window.
The September sky was somewhat gloomy, with clouds rolling around.
"No rush."
Satsuki said calmly.
"The wind is already on its way."
"Until then, Itakura, let Sachiko continue recording. Expand the song library to one hundred songs."
"Endo, tell the factory to speed up the conversion of the shipping containers. Fill the warehouse first."
"When that opportunity comes."
"We want to spread these yellow tin boxes like dandelions throughout every corner of Tokyo overnight."
The meeting room fell silent.
The only sound was the clattering of coins as Endo tidied up the table.
That is the most primitive, the most trivial, yet the most authentic voice of wealth.
Inside that tin box in Shimokitazawa, an introverted boy named Kenta was closing his eyes and, following the voice of an unknown woman, roaring out the most repressed high note of his youth.
The spark has been ignited, the east wind is coming, and we await the time when it will spread like wildfire.