November 20, 1988, 10:00 AM
Minato Ward, Shinbashi. Saionji Information System (SIS) Headquarters Building
The underground vault, which originally belonged to the Apex Group, had been completely remodeled. Behind the heavy blast-proof doors lay a pure space with constant temperature and humidity.
There were no windows here, and not even a hint of noise from the streets outside could be heard. There was only the low-frequency hum of hundreds of server fans, sounding like the breathing of a giant beast sleeping in the deep sea.
The floor used anti-static white raised panels, which, under the soft diffuse light from above, made the entire scene look like something out of a science fiction movie.
Shimomura Tsutomu was sunk into a black leather ergonomic chair. This chair had just been air-freighted from the United States. It was said to support the spine perfectly, so one's back wouldn't ache even after sitting for a whole day.
His fingers danced rapidly across the keyboard, the tapping sounds crisp and pleasant.
On the screen, green code flowed like a waterfall.
"Mr. Shimomura, open your mouth."
A soft, sweet voice sounded in his ear.
Shimomura Tsutomu's fingers didn't stop, and he subconsciously opened his mouth.
A Kyoho grape — peeled, seeded, and even with the thin layer of pulp fiber on the surface cleaned off — was gently placed into his mouth by two slender fingers.
The fingertips inadvertently brushed against his lips, carrying a hint of cool moisture.
Shimomura Tsutomu chewed twice. The grape was very sweet and full of juice.
He turned his head and glanced at the maid beside him, Sayuri.
She was wearing a well-tailored dark uniform, kneeling on a small round stool nearby, holding a silver tray. Seeing Shimomura Tsutomu look over, she tilted her head slightly and gave a bright, unguarded smile, her eyes curving into two crescent moons.
"Is it good? These were just shipped from Nagano. The kitchen specifically picked the ripest bunch."
Sayuri's voice carried a tone of sincere concern, as if she were taking care of a hard-working family member. She reached out and naturally tidied the slightly messy hoodie strings on Shimomura Tsutomu's sweatshirt.
"Do you want another?"
"...This kind of life is truly too decadent."
Shimomura Tsutomu mumbled indistinctly, his gaze returning to the screen.
"One more."
"Okay."
Sayuri responded happily and lowered her head to continue peeling grapes. Her movements were slow and meticulous, as if this grape were the most precious thing in her world.
Shimomura Tsutomu sighed and hit the Enter key.
He was writing a low-level protocol named "High-Frequency Routing Priority."
This code wasn't aggressive. It simply exploited a logic vulnerability in NTT switches: when a data packet was tagged with a specific "urgent" label, the switch prioritized it, thereby pushing aside the queuing requests of other ordinary users.
The cost was merely rerouting the ordinary users' requests through a long, interference-filled line, artificially creating a delay of about 500 milliseconds.
The freed-up bandwidth would be forcibly allocated to an encrypted dedicated channel.
It was like putting an ambulance sticker on yourself on a congested highway.
"Done."
Shimomura Tsutomu looked at the "Success" prompt popping up on the screen, grabbed the cola on the desk, and took a gulp.
"The VIP channel is set up. As long as the money is in place on that end, I can make even God wait in line at the door."
Sayuri didn't seem to understand what he was saying, but she immediately handed him a warm, damp towel.
"Thank you for your hard work. Would you like to take a break? I've learned a new massage technique. It's very good for the cervical spine."
Shimomura Tsutomu looked at her expectant eyes. The words of refusal got stuck in his throat and finally turned into a helpless nod.
"Fine... just ten minutes."
He leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and felt the pressure of those hands on his shoulders.
Comfortable. So comfortable.
This kind of life, where everything was provided for you and someone looked at you with admiration while you wrote code, was simply a hacker's ultimate dream.
As for the world outside? Who cares.
Outside the glass wall, two security personnel stood with their hands behind their backs, looking straight ahead.
Top floor, CEO's office
The huge floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of Shinbashi and even half of Ginza. Sunlight pierced through the clouds, spilling onto the polished marble floor and reflecting a cold light.
Saionji Masato sat behind a large mahogany desk. Today he was wearing a charcoal-gray three-piece suit, his tie tied meticulously, and the lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses were polished bright.
Opposite him sat two white men with high noses and deep eyes.
They were Davis, the head of Goldman Sachs' Tokyo branch, and his chief technical advisor, Smith.
Two terminals were placed side-by-side on the desk. On the left was a standard QUICK market terminal, connected to NTT's public data network (DDX-P). On the right was a modified Sun workstation, connected to SIS's dedicated fiber-optic network.
"Gentlemen, please look."
Masato lifted his wrist, glanced at his watch, then pressed the remote control, simultaneously starting the real-time refresh on both screens.
The wall clock struck exactly 10:30 AM. The peak trading period for the Tokyo Stock Exchange.
Both screens displayed the real-time trend chart of the Nikkei 225 index.
On the SIS terminal on the right, the index suddenly jumped: from 29,448.00 to 29,450.15.
Davis stared at the screen on the right, then quickly turned his head to look at the QUICK terminal on the left.
It still showed 29,448.00.
One second.
One point five seconds.
Only after 1.5 seconds did the numbers on the left screen jump sluggishly, updating to 29,450.15.
The conference room fell into a brief, dead silence, leaving only the sound of Davis's fingers unconsciously tapping on the desk.
Smith snapped off his glasses and leaned forward, his eyes, which had been scrutinizing, now staring fixedly at the interface behind the SIS terminal.
"This is illogical."
Smith's voice carried a questioning tone.
"NTT's DDX-P network is already the fastest packet-switching network currently available. The theoretical delay should be within 500 milliseconds. How could you be a full 1.5 seconds faster? Unless you've installed a direct line in the Tokyo Stock Exchange's server room."
"We don't have a direct line. That would be non-compliant."
Masato picked up his coffee cup, his tone steady.
"NTT's network architecture has serious routing redundancy. A data packet coming out of Kabutocho has to pass through at least three local exchanges, undergo three protocol handshakes and error-correction checks, before it reaches your terminal."
He put down the cup and drew a straight line on the desk with his finger.
"Whereas SIS's network has stripped away all non-essential application layer protocols. We've rewritten the router's low-level forwarding logic, allowing data packets to undergo only physical layer transparent transmission without logical verification. Simply put, we've abandoned 'error correction' in exchange for 'speed.'"
"Abandoning error correction?" Smith frowned. "Then how do you control the packet loss rate?"
"Financial data is high-frequency stream data," Masato answered calmly. "As long as the latest quote for the next second arrives, the lost packet from the previous second is meaningless. We don't need integrity. What we need is real-time performance."
Smith was stunned for a moment, then quickly ran this logic through his mind.
A few seconds later, he looked up, his gaze changed.
"A genius madman..." he murmured under his breath. "Discarding TCP's handshake confirmation and directly using UDP broadcast mode for financial data pushes... You're using the network like a telegraph."
Davis, who had been silent, didn't care about the technical details. As a greedy banker, all he saw in that 1.5-second time difference was mountains of US dollars.
"A 1.5-second information asymmetry window."
Davis stared at Masato, his blue eyes flashing with sharp light.
"Mr. Saionji, you should know what this means."
"Of course." Masato pushed up his glasses. "It means that between the index futures market in Osaka and the spot market in Tokyo, there exists a massive, risk-free arbitrage space."
"When the spot price in Tokyo changes, I have 1.5 seconds to place an order in advance before the futures market in Osaka reacts," Davis calculated rapidly. "If it's programmatic trading, this 1.5 seconds is enough for us to complete three rounds of high-frequency arbitrage."
This isn't just fast.
This is a god's-eye view. This is betting after seeing the hole cards.
"Give me a quote."
Davis took a deep breath, no longer hiding his desire.
"A monthly rent of one hundred million yen."
Masato held up one finger, his tone brooking no argument.
"Additionally, for every transaction completed through this channel, we will take a technical service fee of five basis points."
"Five basis points? That's higher than the exchange's commission!" Davis's brow furrowed. "This will severely compress our arbitrage space."
"You can refuse."
Masato picked up the remote on the desk and directly cut the power to the right screen.
The numbers representing the "future" vanished instantly, and the screen turned pitch black.
"The head of Salomon Brothers' arbitrage department is coming at 2:00 PM. I think they would be very interested in the proposal of 'monopolizing the price difference between Osaka and Tokyo.'"
Davis looked at the darkened screen.
He knew very well that if Salomon Brothers got this system and Goldman Sachs didn't, then in every trading day to follow, Goldman's traders would be blind, only able to eat the dust behind Salomon Brothers and pick up the leftover orders that had already been chewed through.
In this zero-sum game market, a technological generational gap is a dimensional strike.
"No need to look for Salomon."
Davis pulled a fountain pen from his suit's inner pocket and quickly signed his name on the contract.
"Exclusivity agreement. I want you to guarantee that the highest priority of this line can only be provided to Goldman Sachs."
Masato smiled slightly and took out his seal from the drawer.
"SIS only recognizes money, not people. As long as you can afford the so-called 'VIP priority fee,' your data packets will always be at the very front of the line."
Davis gritted his teeth: "Deal."
After the Goldman Sachs people left
The side door of the office slid open silently.
Saionji Satsuki walked out. She was holding a cup of steaming black tea, her steps light, making no sound on the thick wool carpet.
Masato quickly stood up, straightened his lapels, and handed over the contract that was just signed, its ink not yet dry.
"Young Lady, Goldman Sachs has signed. The first prepayment will be credited tomorrow morning at 9:00 AM."
Satsuki took the contract. She didn't look closely at the terms, her gaze merely sweeping over the scrawled English signature on the last page and the specific amount.
"Mhm."
She closed the folder and tossed it back onto the desk with a light thud.
"Ten minutes faster than expected."
Satsuki walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
Outside, the afternoon sun was a bit dazzling. The streets of Shinbashi were bustling with traffic, and the dome of the National Diet Building was faintly visible in the haze in the distance.
"Uncle Masato."
Satsuki took a sip of black tea. Her gaze didn't linger on the pedestrians below, but was instead cast toward the direction of Kasumigaseki.
"Nagatacho has been very noisy lately, hasn't it?"
Masato was a bit puzzled as to why the Young Lady would ask him these questions, but he still answered quickly.
"Yes." Masato stood half a step behind her. "The deliberations on the consumption tax bill have entered a critical stage, and the voices of the opposition are very loud."
"Let them argue."
Satsuki turned around, leaning her back against the cool glass.
"As long as this line is still running, as long as data is still flowing, no matter how loudly they argue, in the end they'll still have to use our network to send faxes."
She stopped talking about those boring politics and changed the subject.
"How is the one in the basement?"
"Very quiet."
Masato pushed up his glasses, his tone steady.
"Miss Sayuri just brought him lunch. He went to sleep after eating. He hasn't made a fuss about going out, nor has he made any requests regarding the outside world."
"That's good."
Satsuki lowered her eyelids, looking at the tea stalks bobbing in her cup.
"Watch the door. Don't let other 'stray cats' slip in, and don't let him get out."
"Yes."
Satsuki put down her teacup.
"Then I'm going back to school. I have a home economics class this afternoon."
She picked up her schoolbag and pushed the door to leave, just like an ordinary high school girl who had only come to her father's company to deliver some documents.