ryethenovel Chapter 88 The Economics of Curry Rice
Chapter 88 The Economics of Curry Rice
Beneath the massive steel dome, hundreds of high-pressure sodium lamps illuminated the 5,000-square-meter warehousing and processing center with crystal clarity, making even the dust particles floating in the air clearly visible.
"Boom!"
It wasn't the sound of tractor engines outside; the sounds here were more monotonous, dense, and rhythmic. It was the friction of conveyor belt rubber rollers and the muffled thuds of tons of crops rolling and colliding on metal tracks.
Kohei Otsuka took off his mud-stained work jacket and casually put on a white lab coat, leaving the buttons undone to reveal a flannel shirt stained with oil underneath. He didn't take off his dirty baseball cap either, the brim pulled low, obscuring half his face.
He stood in front of the 100-meter-long automated sorting line, arms crossed, staring at the brown objects moving rapidly along the conveyor belt.
Amid the roar of the machines, his brow furrowed deeper and deeper.
A rough, large hand suddenly reached out and precisely grabbed a huge potato from the moving conveyor belt. (Please do not imitate this; it is not compliant with regulations.)
Otsuka vigorously rubbed the potato's skin with his calloused thumb, removing the loose dirt and revealing a rough, net-like brown skin. He then brought the potato to his nose and took a deep sniff.
It lacked the earthy smell of damp soil, instead possessing a musty, dry aroma characteristic of something that had been transported long distances.
It is April now.
The permafrost in the Tokachi Plain has only just thawed, and the seed potatoes were planted yesterday. Nothing could possibly grow on this land; not even a weed has sprouted yet.
Otsuka's heart skipped a beat.
When Hayakawa first approached him, he confidently promised to build a "pure Hokkaido agricultural empire" and conquer Tokyo with the products of this black soil. But now, the things rolling on the conveyor belt are clearly a slap in the face to him.
Have I been scammed again?
Just like how we were fooled by those bureaucrats of the agricultural cooperatives who talked nonsense back then, these capitalists from Tokyo are actually just trying to use the "Hokkaido" shell to do something else entirely.
A surge of anger at being fooled welled up in his chest.
Otsuka suddenly turned around, his cloudy yet sharp eyes not looking at Satsuki standing on the high place, but piercing straight at President Hayakawa behind him.
"President Hayakawa."
His voice was low and somewhat hoarse.
Do you think I'm senile?
"Snapped!"
He slammed the potato down hard on the stainless steel inspection table, making a crisp sound. The potato rolled a few times on the smooth surface and came to rest beside Hayakawa.
"This is 'Roebuck'."
Otsuka pointed to the potato that was shaped like an elongated oval, his finger trembling slightly, his tone frighteningly serious.
"It has a rough skin, shallow eyes, and extremely high starch content. This is the most common variety in Idaho or Washington state. We don't grow this at all in Hokkaido."
He took a step closer, staring into Hayakawa's evasive eyes.
"When I first joined the company, you told me that you wanted to revitalize Tokachi's agriculture and make Hokkaido's potatoes available throughout Japan. I believed you, which is why I risked my reputation to work for you."
"But now? Where did this thing come from?"
Otsuka's eyes were full of disappointment and questioning.
"If you want me to help you slap on these cheap goods that have traveled across the ocean and label them as 'Made in Hokkaido' to deceive people, then you've come to the wrong person. Although I'm a madman ostracized by the industry, I still want to keep this face until I go to my grave."
The surrounding air seemed to freeze instantly.
A fine layer of sweat appeared on President Hayakawa's forehead. He opened his mouth, about to explain that it was a misunderstanding, but found himself speechless in front of this stubborn technical expert.
Just then, a fair hand rose up and gently stopped Hayakawa's explanation.
Satsuki stood high on the control panel, her hands gripping the railing, looking down at the scene. She wasn't offended by Otsuka's anger; instead, her eyes were as calm as a deep pool.
"You're right, Mr. Otsuka."
Satsuki's voice pierced through the roar of the machinery and came through clearly.
She descended the iron-lattice staircase step by step, her heels making a rhythmic tapping sound.
"This is Roebuck. Just as you judged, these are American potatoes that were just unloaded at Tomakomai Port yesterday."
"You admit it?" Otsuka sneered, a hint of wariness creeping into his eyes. "So, this was also part of the plan? To fill the production gap with cheap American goods?"
"No."
Satsuki walked up to Otsuka, picked up the American potato, and weighed it in her hand.
"Not a single one of these goods will enter the market."
Otsuka was taken aback: "What?"
"They're animal feed. Or fuel. Or..." Satsuki pointed in the direction of the second phase of construction in the distance, "the lunch for the thousands of workers on our construction site."
She threw the potato back onto the conveyor belt.
"Mr. Otsuka, you are an expert in farming, but you don't know enough about this equipment."
Satsuki pointed to the massive equipment behind her—automatic cleaning machines, photoelectric sorting machines, steam peeling machines, and industrial cutting machines.
"This equipment is worth 300 million yen. It's brand new, and we desperately need it."
"If we wait until autumn, until the potatoes grow in the fields, to start debugging, it will be too late. If the machines break down or the sorting accuracy is not high enough, tens of thousands of tons of fresh potatoes will rot in the warehouse."
"Therefore, we need 'guinea pigs'."
Satsuki watched as the conveyor belt continuously loaded with American potatoes.
"These inexpensive imported goods are consumables used to 'feed' the machines. We use them to calibrate the photoelectric probes, test the angle of the cutters, and run the entire production line smoothly."
"In the next two weeks, we need to debug this system to perfection. Only when the potatoes that truly belong to the Tokachi black soil are transported in in the fall can they be processed most efficiently."
Otsuka's anger dissipated, replaced by surprise.
He looked at the little girl. The fact that they were willing to import hundreds of tons of raw materials to "idle" and test the production line in order to ensure its future stability was beyond his imagination.
"Moreover," Satsuki's voice turned serious, "Mr. Otsuka, I care more about the brand than you do."
She walked to a display shelf where several pre-designed sample packaging bags were placed. They were printed with the eye-catching "S-Farm" logo and the words "Hokkaido Premium".
"The Saionji family's brand must be made in Hokkaido."
"In the early stages of building consumer trust, even a single grain of American starch mixed in is murder of the brand."
Satsuki turned around, her gaze sweeping over everyone present.
"After testing, this batch of American potatoes will all be sent to the construction site canteen of Saionji Construction and the employee restaurant of Saionji Industrial Co., Ltd. Not a single one will be allowed to appear on supermarket shelves."
"This is a strict order."
Otsuka looked into Satsuki's unwavering eyes.
After a long while, he took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, sniffed it, and a complex smile appeared on his lips.
"It seems I was being petty."
Please forgive my rudeness.
He solemnly bowed to Hayakawa and Satsuki to apologize, and then put his dirty baseball cap back on.
"Since they're for feeding machines, let them be well-fed. Boss, even though these are foreign potatoes, they're perfect for testing hardness."
The misunderstanding was cleared up. The roar of the machine even seemed a little more pleasant now.
"I also want to see just how much faster this 300 million yen lump of iron can outrun an old farmer's hand."
Satsuki nodded slightly, then turned and gestured towards the control room, which was located above and to the side of the assembly line and enclosed by soundproof glass.
Several technicians in gray uniforms with the equipment manufacturer's logo printed on their chests stood there, intently watching the instrument panel, awaiting instructions from their employer.
"Running at full power".
Satsuki's voice echoed throughout the workshop through the microphone.
"Testing the maximum sorting speed."
"yes!"
The main operator in the control room responded by pressing a red button, which then pushed up a row of levers.
"Buzz—!!!"
The conveyor belt, which had been running smoothly, let out a low roar and instantly doubled in speed. The potatoes flowed at a dizzying pace, the brown tubers forming a blurry line on the belt.
"Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle, sizzle!"
The air cannons at the end of the sorting machine emitted a dense jet of air, so fast that it sounded like fabric being torn apart.
Amy stood by the railing, gripping the bars tightly with both hands, her eyes wide open, staring at the core component called the "photoelectric sorting box".
In that instant, she seemed to see a familiar area.
"That's a CCD line scan camera..."
Amy murmured to herself, her voice filled with excitement, completely forgetting that she was in an agricultural products workshop filled with the smell of dirt.
"And there are high-speed pneumatic valves... the principle is the same as when we sort precision resistors in the factory!"
She pointed to the potatoes that had been precisely shot away, then turned to look at the bewildered Otsuka, and explained quickly:
"Mr. Otsuka, look! That probe scans the reflectivity of the potato surface in milliseconds. Smooth, regularly shaped signals are marked as 'qualified' and allowed to pass; for those with black spots or deformed shapes, the system instantly calculates their location and then commands the air gun to spray a high-pressure stream of air to 'kick' them away!"
Amy traced the trajectory of the famous data flow in the air with her finger.
"Here, potatoes are not food. They are data. They are entities with coordinates and parameters."
Otsuka didn't understand what CCD was, but he could understand the results.
At the end of the conveyor belt, the originally mixed stream of potatoes was instantly separated.
On the left chute, all the perfectly sized, smooth-skinned gems roll down, and they are gently fed into the automatic bagging machine and placed into red mesh bags.
In the right-hand slide, oddly shaped or scarred potatoes are ruthlessly removed and fall directly into the metal funnel below.
"Click, click, click."
Below the funnel is an industrial dicing machine. Sharp rotating blades spin at high speed, and in the blink of an eye, the discarded potatoes are transformed into standard one-centimeter-square yellow cubes, which flow down the stainless steel trough into the cooking workshop.
As Otsuka watched this scene, a burning fire ignited in his cloudy eyes.
He suddenly raised his wrist, staring intently at the second hand of his watch, silently counting down.
Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds.
"Two hundred kilograms per minute...twelve tons per hour..."
Otsuka's voice became hoarse and even trembled slightly with excitement.
"That's right... this is the speed! This is the agriculture I want!"
He slammed his fist on the railing with a loud "bang".
"Those idiots at the agricultural cooperatives! All they do is whine about being poor while clutching their hoes, and complain that Japan's terrain is too fragmented for large machinery! Look at this! This is efficiency! This is the future!"
Otsuka looked at the ceaselessly flowing conveyor belt as if it were his own child. The theory he had studied his entire life, ridiculed as mere fantasy by countless people, had finally become a reality in this factory.
"Mr. Otsuka."
Satsuki walked to his side, watching the yellow cubes falling continuously.
"Your theory is correct. Machines don't get tired, and they don't lie."
"With this system, combined with your large-scale planting techniques in the field, we can reduce the loss rate to near zero."
She pointed to the exit on the right that was marked "processing grade".
"These ugly things used to rot in the ground or be fed to pigs. But now, they've become frozen fries, mashed potatoes, and ingredients in curry packets."
"Once they're cooked and coated in rich spices, who cares what they originally looked like?"
At this moment, President Hayakawa, who had been frantically pressing the calculator buttons on the side, finally looked up.
He was covered in sweat, but his face was flushed with an uncontrollable glow, and he held a newly printed test data sheet in his hands.
"Young Miss! The data calculation is in!"
Hayakawa strode to the inspection table and spread out the report.
"Although this batch of goods is from the United States and the shipping costs are high, as long as this automated sorting and processing system is added..."
He swallowed hard, then pressed his finger heavily on the final number.
"In the future, we can reduce the overall cost of making curry from our locally grown Hokkaido potatoes to 30% of the market price."
"30%..."
Upon hearing the number, Otsuka took a deep breath, a ferocious and gleeful smile spreading across his face.
"Great! That's wonderful!"
He slammed his fist into the railing, making the metal frame vibrate.
"With this cost in hand, let's see what those old fogies from the farmers' association can do against us! I'm going to slap them in the face until it's swollen!"
"That's still a conservative estimate."
Satsuki took the report from Hayakawa and glanced at the densely packed numbers on it.
"Besides potatoes, there are onions and carrots."
"These are the 'three sacred treasures' of Japanese curry. Regardless of the economic situation or whether you are rich or poor, you can't make curry without these three things."
She closed the folder with a soft "snap".
"What we need to do is monopolize the low-end supply chain of these 'three magical artifacts'."
"Our farms will only increase in the future, through large-scale mechanized planting, standardized industrial processing, and SA Logistics' own logistics."
"We can reduce the cost of the ingredients for 'National Curry' to a price that those bureaucrats at the agricultural cooperatives could never dream of."
Satsuki turned around and looked at the busy scene in the workshop.
"This means that even if we sell potatoes in Tokyo supermarkets for half the price of agricultural cooperatives, we will still make huge profits."
"This is the economics of curry rice."
Otsuka looked at the girl in front of him, who was only up to his chest.
The stark white light of the sodium lamp shone on her profile, outlining a cold, hard line. He had initially thought he had simply found a wealthy patron to realize his technological ideals, but now he discovered that this girl's ambitions were far greater than he had imagined.
She doesn't just want to farm; she wants to overturn the entire food pricing system in Japan.
While everyone was captivated by the extreme efficiency of industrialized food sorting, Satsuki quietly picked up a potato.
Her thumb gently rubbed the dry dust off the potato, her gaze lingering for a moment on the label that read "Product of USA".
The roar of the surrounding machines masked her breathing.
No one noticed the fleeting depth in her eyes.
If some extreme situation arises in the future, it's hard to say whether or not to mix in some imported goods...
Of course, she wouldn't say a single word of these words.
For an expert like Otsuka, with his obsessive attention to technical perfection, mixing imported raw materials would be a desecration of the "Hokkaido brand." For an executor like Hayakawa, knowing too many backup plans would weaken their fighting spirit in a do-or-die situation.
Some dark schemes can only rot in the stomachs of those in power.
"Mr. Otsuka."
Satsuki released her grip and put the American potato back in its place.
She turned around, her face showing only her expectations for her subordinates and her dedication to the brand.
"Although this batch of American goods has helped us a lot, please remember this."
Satsuki raised a finger and placed it to her lips, her expression serious.
"S-Food's signature must be, and can only be, 'Made in Hokkaido'."
"In the early stages of consumer faith, the purity of lineage is more important than anything else. I don't need any excuses; I want your assurance that what grows from this land must be better and stronger than these American products."
"Can you do it?"
Otsuka was stirred by these words. He took off his hat, patted his chest heavily, and his eyes were full of pride as a farmer from Hokkaido.
"Don't worry, boss!"
"As long as this machine keeps running and there's enough fertilizer, I guarantee that what grows on this black soil will utterly crush those American goods! Our Hokkaido potatoes are the best in the world!"
"If I can't grow the best, I, Kohei Otsuka, will change my name!"
"very good."
Satsuki nodded in satisfaction, the coldness in her eyes concealed by a perfect smile.
"Then let's get started."
"Get this machine running. Feed it well."
"Chop up these American potatoes used as test samples, boil them until they're soft, and send them to our construction sites as a free perk so the workers can have a good taste."
"I hope Uncle Kenshiro will like it too..."
She spoke those last words in a very low voice.
Turn around and walk towards the tall iron-framed corridor.
"I'm going to check out that cold storage over there. I heard the onions were piled so high they cracked the walls?"
Hayakawa quickly followed, saying, "Yes...yes! We're reinforcing it..."
The conveyor belt continued to roar.
Potatoes, used as "test subjects," fell into a huge iron barrel labeled "Special Internal Supply."
"Thump, thump, thump."
The dull thuds were as frequent as a downpour.
Outside the window, the sun is setting.
The setting sun, like blood, dyed the snowfields of Hokkaido a crimson hue.
Only that conveyor belt continues to turn tirelessly, turning and turning, never stopping.