RBCT Chapter 250 Micro Avalanche
Chapter 250 Micro Avalanche
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(Three chapters released today~)
Late May.
The dampness and sweltering heat of the plum rain season, mixed with low pressure from the Pacific Ocean, enveloped the entire Kanto Plain ahead of schedule.
Minato Ward, Tokyo. Inside the bedroom of a high-rise luxury apartment.
The heavy blackout curtains were drawn tightly shut, blocking out the harsh sunlight of two o'clock in the afternoon. The room was filled with a stuffy smell, a mixture of tobacco and fermented alcohol, from a place that hadn't been ventilated for a long time.
Watanabe, a former senior R&D engineer at Tokyo Optical & Precision, was sitting blankly on the unlit living room floor.
He wore a wrinkled cotton shirt, the buttons at the collar torn off, the hem casually draped over the expensive Persian wool carpet. Dark stubble covered his cheeks, his eyes were sunken, and his eyes were filled with extremely thick blood vessels.
Several payment reminders bearing the bright red seal of Fuji Bank were scattered beside him.
A 30-year mortgage of 100 million yen.
Just last month, on the eve of the Ministry of Finance issuing the "Total Quantity Regulation," Fuji Bank, in an attempt to cover up the massive bad debts it incurred during the stock market crash, forcibly intervened in the financial system of Tokyo Optical & Precision Machinery Co., Ltd. All the working capital on the company's books, intended for research and development, was withdrawn to fill the bottomless hole in the bank's credit department.
The company did not go bankrupt, but it became a zombie with only a skeleton left.
The top leadership issued a firm order to halt all costly projects. All cutting-edge core technology courses, including extreme ultraviolet (EUV) band, were disbanded on the spot.
Watanabe lost his annual salary of tens of millions of yen. Moreover, the liquidity crunch in the economic climate froze the entire headhunting market, with major technology and manufacturing companies frantically laying off employees and scaling back operations. No conglomerate could afford even 100 million yen in R&D funding to hire a technical team researching the fundamentals of optical lenses.
Watanabe's eyes were fixed on the dizzying string of zeros on the payment reminder.
That once-proud social status and stable income, faced with this stamped piece of paper, were like soap bubbles that would burst at the slightest touch. Next month, the court seal would be affixed to the door of this luxury apartment.
What should I do next?
Watanabe gripped his disheveled hair tightly with both hands, his nails almost digging into his scalp, and his whole body trembled uncontrollably.
Just two weeks ago, he made a promise to his parents in the countryside over a long-distance phone call. He said that when summer came, he would bring them to Tokyo and let them live in this luxury apartment overlooking the Tokyo Bay skyline.
His girlfriend of three years was urging him to go to the ward office to register their marriage. He even paid a deposit at a car dealership to reserve a brand-new red sports car as a surprise wedding gift for her.
All those beautiful visions, along with his dignity as a top engineer, were crushed into dust under the loan withdrawal orders from the Ministry of Finance and the bank.
The apartment's central air conditioning system emitted a low-frequency operating sound.
"rustle--"
The faint sound of paper rubbing echoed in the entryway.
Watanabe turned his head slowly.
From the shadows at the bottom of the door, a plain black envelope without a signature was slipped inside. The envelope lay quietly on the solid wood floor of the entryway, its edges gleaming matte in the dim light.
Ah... what is this? Another bill...?
Watanabe, supporting his numb legs, pressed his hands against the floor and stood up. He walked to the entryway, bent down, and picked up the envelope.
The opening was not sealed with glue.
He pulled out the documents inside.
Using the dim light filtering in from the corridor, Watanabe's gaze fell on the paper.
At the very top of the paper, his current mortgage loan account number at Fuji Bank was clearly printed, along with the total amount of outstanding principal and interest, accurate to the single digit.
Below are several lines of printed text.
Mr. Watanabe, you seem to be facing some trouble lately.
We are currently looking to fill some technical positions. We require your practical experience in extreme ultraviolet (EUV) thermal load simulation and special optical glass.
The company can offer you an opportunity.
[As long as you bring your technical solutions, successfully pass our professional assessment, and prove that you can create value for the company, the group will take over your negligible bad bank debt and retain a decent job and salary.]
[Tonight at 8 PM. Imperial Hotel, Chiyoda-ku, rooftop executive lounge. Bring your research manuscripts and prove your worth to us.]
From the bottom of the envelope, an anonymous invitation card with a gold-embossed serial number slipped out. The card fell onto the carpet with a dull thud.
Watanabe stared at the paper, his Adam's apple bobbing laboriously.
"Extreme ultraviolet band heat load simulation... Practical experience in special optical glass."
He silently chewed over these two obscure professional terms.
Before the core technology course was forcibly disbanded, he led five years of top-secret preliminary research in these two fields. Throughout Japan, the number of people who had actually handled that extreme ultraviolet special glass in a laboratory and built a complete thermal deformation model was extremely limited. Even within Tokyo Optical & Precision Machinery Co., Ltd., this technology was a top-level secret.
This was his last resort.
Now, the other party has revealed the most valuable knowledge in his mind with remarkable accuracy. They have even found out exactly which bank he owes how much money and what kind of desperate situation he is facing.
His gaze slowly moved down, landing on the last two paragraphs of the agreement.
[...The group will take full control of this insignificant bad bank debt under your name and retain a decent job and salary for you.]
[...Prove your worth to us.]
Watanabe gripped the thin piece of paper tightly.
A full 100 million yen. That was an astronomical debt that would break his back and lead to the court sealing his door.
But in those few lines of cold, printed text, this enormous sum of money, enough to ruin his life, was merely summed up as "a trivial scumbag."
The letter did not use the usual polite and conciliatory language of headhunter letters, nor did it painstakingly depict a grand vision of changing the world.
The message conveys only one meaning: equivalent exchange. Bring your skills to the assessment to prove you are still worth using, in exchange for a reward to settle your bad debts.
They really are high and mighty.
In the past, Watanabe would never have given such a letter a second glance; it was an insult to someone as a "highly skilled technical person" as he was.
But now...
So.
Is this a scam?
Watanabe's gaze swept over the collection notices on the coffee table, all bearing the bright red seal of Fuji Bank, and a bitter, sardonic smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He's burdened with a 100 million yen bad debt, and next month the court will throw him and his belongings onto the street. What con artist would be so foolish as to go to such lengths to set a trap for a penniless, insolvent man? He has absolutely nothing on him that anyone would want to swindle.
If the other party is trying to scam you out of your bill, then you should be extremely grateful.
He suddenly recalled some rumors circulating privately in the stagnant industry in recent weeks. It was said that a group of well-connected "black market headhunters" had emerged in the shadows, taking advantage of the wave of layoffs to poach technical personnel abandoned by established companies at extremely low prices.
It seems the rumors are true.
This recruitment method, which doesn't even dare to leave names, exudes a dangerous aura. But in this harsh winter when businesses are closing down and laying off workers all over Japan, those century-old factories that looked glamorous under the sun are sweeping them out like garbage in order to save their bank accounts.
He has lost everything now. Taking a step back means falling into an abyss.
This letter of unknown origin became the only lifeline he could grasp at the moment.
As long as I can pay off my debts, as long as I can maintain my dignity in Tokyo, and as long as I can continue to receive my salary, what difference does it make who I work for?
Watanabe took a deep breath.
He turned around and strode into the study.
He pulled open the heavy oak drawer. He pulled out a huge black canvas briefcase.
Watanabe stuffed all the optical design manuscripts he had accumulated over ten years, the data on the thickness tolerance of multilayer reflective films, and several extremely precious miniature drawings into his briefcase.
He zipped up his jacket and changed into a clean suit.
Carrying a heavy briefcase, Watanabe pushed open the apartment door and stepped into the quiet corridor.
His life is not over yet.