Within the Bounds of the Law
Come to think of it, I wasn't entirely sure how much money I had either. I'd kept track up to a certain point. Once it crossed that line, I simply let it be.
I was just settling into a dubious sense of kinship when Tennessee shook his head.
"You and I aren't quite the same."
"...?"
"You earned yours with your own ability. All I did was inherit a piece of my grandfather's fortune."
"Did someone write a name on the money? However it was made..."
"It's different. Completely."
His tone left no room at all.
"Which is why the money I earn from here on will be rather special to me."
"..."
"It won't be a great deal... but I mean to work at it properly."
For a second I nearly got sentimental. The part about it not being a great deal yanked me straight back to earth.
"Anyway, I'll acquire Guccio with my own money."
"So you're buying my stake off me?"
"If you're all right with that."
"Shall we draw up a contract?"
If the word contract stuck in someone's throat, a partnership was out of the question. Take offense at the question itself, and you weren't fit to be a partner either. Fortunately, Tennessee and I were cool about that sort of thing.
"Of course we should."
"Okay. Then that's how we'll do it."
"Oh, and."
"...?"
"You're planning to take the Harris flagship as well, aren't you?"
I nodded.
"Then I'll handle that too. The Grosvenor way."
He still looked as if he had more to say.
"That one's a size. It won't be settled overnight."
I knew. That was precisely why we were building a luxury street and raising a whole new commercial district.
"Let me say this in advance. I have no intention of paying those people what they're worth."
"What?"
"I'm going to take it from them."
"...!"
At some point, Tennessee had begun to treat Harris as an enemy of the Grosvenor family.
"I don't want to give those people a single penny of my money."
"Same here."
"Then we're agreed?"
It wasn't exactly something I felt like stopping.
"Within the bounds the law allows. That's what you mean?"
He nodded.
I decided to take Tennessee at his word.
A middle-aged man with a camera was standing outside my room, in a baggy suit and blunt, practical sneakers. When he spotted me, he gave a small bow.
"Hello. You would be CEO Park Jihoon?"
"Yes, that's me."
"I'd like to request an interview."
Interview requests had been coming in fairly often lately, and more so since the Forbes piece. Naturally I had to turn them all down. I was about to do the same when the card he held out robbed me of every excuse.
The London Times... well, I suppose I have to.
Tennessee went into my room first. I stepped outside with the reporter, bought two warm lattes, and we made for a quiet bench.
"What are you curious about?"
"I heard you're creating a street with an entirely new concept."
"Ah, yes."
"And that Guccio is on the verge of being acquired."
He seemed to have a fair sense that I was involved across the whole of the business, while Tennessee had only lent his name. Then again, a London Times reporter would be. Their information would be considerable.
"You have a great many ventures. I came because I wanted to hear why, of all things, you've chosen to concentrate on fashion."
"That's a fresh question."
"...?"
"You're asking why I'm in the fashion business. Isn't that it?"
Interviews usually ran through the obvious. How much revenue. How the business would expand. Whether there was a way to bring in investment. And here he was, asking after a business philosophy no one else cared about. Truly worthy of the London Times, perhaps.
"I think the proper order is to start with why I began in Britain."
"Please do."
"At first it was very simple. I wondered what it would be like if the men of London dressed with a little more style."
"Style?"
A well-dressed Briton is, contrary to expectation, hard to come by. Maybe the banner of the Industrial Revolution still hangs over the place. Practicality ranks above design as the first virtue, and so most of the men you see on the street are in workwear, as if they had only stepped out to go to a job.
"Work matters, of course. You have to earn money if you're going to look after a household. That diligence deserves applause. Only..."
"...?"
"Wouldn't it be all right, one day a week, to dress up purely for yourself?"
"But even if you want to look sharp, you can't change overnight..."
"That's why I'm in fashion."
"For people who want to look good, but don't know how?"
"Exactly."
On weekdays you work for the company. On weekends you give yourself to the family. Fine. All of that is fine. Even so, one day—and if a whole day is too much, then at least half a day—ought to be spent on yourself. I only put it that way because I made menswear. In truth it was never a story about men or women alone.
"I do have a question, though."
"Yes?"
"CEO Park Jihoon, you're a teenager... How did you come to think that way? I find it genuinely puzzling."
"Ah, that."
I scratched my head.
"It came from watching my... my parents."
"Studying abroad must have made you feel all the more tender toward them."
"That's it. Exactly that. You've got it."
I gave an awkward laugh, and then he said it.
"Once the article runs, I imagine you'll be compared with Leona Harris quite a lot."
"...?"
"Anyone in a position to know already knows the two of you are at odds. Readers of an interview will compare you as a matter of course."
"That wasn't what I intended."
"Live decently, and you meet luck you never meant to find."
What kind of life had Harris lived? How do you live so that a person seeing me for the first time takes my side?
Anyway. I offered my hand with a pleasant smile.
"Please give my regards to President John Walter."
On the way back in, I stopped at the shop.
What would be good?
Tyrrells, which might as well have been potato chips. Walker Bread, a dead ringer for the butter-ring cookies I knew from home. Cadbury roll cake with real chocolate in it. And my choice?
Might as well eat whatever came out of Steve's company.
We'd even toured the factory. If I was buying, better to buy what I knew. I went back with both arms full of snacks and drinks.
The latch clicked. When I opened the door, Peter came over and took the load.
"You're back?"
Tennessee, by contrast, didn't so much as glance my way. I was wondering what that was about when Peter lowered his voice.
"He's been like that for thirty minutes."
"...?"
"You know Capsulemon. At first he was lukewarm, but the moment he missed a rare monster he completely lost it."
"So he got into it?"
"Into it, sure. That right there is closer to an obsession."
"And did he catch it?"
"No. He's still grinding."
"Then he can push the story and come back for it."
"No idea. He won't even listen."
Peter was shaking his head as if to say don't even start when Tennessee shot up from his seat. Not content with that, he threw a punch at empty air.
"What?"
"Did you get it?"
Only then did he seem to come back to himself. He sat down again as if nothing had happened. It wasn't until he'd filled the early dex that he finally looked sane.
"The graphics on this are a bit unusual."
"What is?"
I snorted.
"Unusual how?"
"Upgraded, I'd say. A whole level up."
"Yeah?"
"More than that... what is this machine?"
Tennessee pointed at the device hooked up to the television.
"It's the successor to the Family."
"...!"
"The Family is 8-bit. This is double that. 16-bit."
Unlike Tennessee, who was doing his best to swallow his shock, Peter's eyes went perfectly round. His face asked how on earth 16-bit could exist in this world. With a pair of game fanatics in front of me, I was rather enjoying the chance to explain.
"It isn't out yet. We issued units to the developers first. If you're going to test, you obviously need the actual hardware."
"N-not even out yet?"
Tennessee couldn't hold it in either.
"When's the official launch?"
"The end of this month."
"...!"
"Super Orlando and Capsulemon will ship as the launch titles."
An unreleased next-generation machine was sitting right in front of him. For Tennessee the game obsessive, of course his eyes were going to roll back in his head.
"This is completely insane."
"What is?"
"Never mind the character design. The difficulty curve, the monster matchups, even the timing of the item drops..."
Wait. He'd gotten so excited that the specialist knowledge poured out of him like a storm. Even he seemed to feel this wasn't quite right, and only blinked at me. Fine. I'd throw him a line.
"Becoming a shareholder really made you study, didn't it?"
"Right. What you said."
Tennessee seemed, at last, to have recovered his composure.
"I didn't play for long, but the immersion was definitely there."
"Do you want to keep going?"
"Well..."
I wanted an honest assessment. Capsulemon was going to be a colossal hit anyway, so what was I even anxious about?
Because I knocked history a little off its track.
Thanks to my opening the North American market early, Daisho's sales had exploded. Naturally they'd thrown themselves into developing the next machine, and the hardware had reached release earlier than history. There were other changes, too. On top of that—to put it simply, I was waiting on edge for Tennessee's answer.
"A proper verdict is still off-limits."
"What?"
"I won't know anything certain until I've cleared the ending."
He finished as if he were making a major announcement.
The three of us drank one Mad Bull apiece and stayed up the entire night. We barely touched the mountain of snacks I'd bought, locked on the game the whole time. And yet...
"The volume is huge. It's way too huge."
Peter went on, sounding amazed. I opened the monster dex and found it about a fifth full.
"Tennessee."
"...?"
"Do you really have to beat the whole thing before you can judge it?"
"Well, yeah?"
"You can just enjoy the moment. That's all."
He'd already pulled an all-nighter, and still he seized the controller again. Right. Did a review have to be spoken aloud? Play it this feverishly, and it was surely a masterpiece among masterpieces.
"Hey, you not sleepy?"
"I'm fine for now."
"Sorry, but I think we need to sleep."
"Already?"
Already, he says! Peter, from the look of him, was half asleep.
"Didn't you say we had to run the final test?"
"Actually, that finished a while ago."
"...?"
The end of the month was already next week. If they were still testing, it wouldn't make sense.
"Then why did you call me over?"
I just wanted to give him a present. That boy had run himself ragged on my account. I rubbed my sleepy eyes and opened the wardrobe, and the large box inside came into view.
"It's yours."
"What is it? This?"
"The Super Family that's about to launch. The first model produced anywhere in the world."
"What?"
"It's a commemoration, so I made a special request."
"So you're saying... this is—th-the first next-gen unit off the line?"
Excitement, probably. He was even stammering.
"See the signatures on the box?"
He swallowed hard.
"Every developer signed it."
"Is Hideo's signature there?"
"Here. The biggest one."
He clutched his head. Exaggerate a little, and it was the face of a man glad to have been born. One of the richest people in Europe, and still...
He's pleased. Then it was worth it.
I let a quiet smile rise.