Airbag

Resurrected. That's what all the papers say. At this very moment every newsstand in Japan is overflowing with legions of sleek, shiny magazine covers proclaiming this to be the dawn of a new era, a stripping away of everything old ugly and secret. Kaibacorp has been valiantly seized from the ashes, rescued from the gaping abyss of destruction, furiously pieced together in the dead of night under the hungry glower of the moon. A hero has come charging into the midst of the battle with horns blazing, eyes firing sparks that could cause electrical burns.

I am that hero. I tore apart the crumbling façade of what KaibaCorp once claimed to be. I dragged it kicking, screaming, and spitting into the open expanse of the 21st Century, and have the bloody knuckles and bruised back to show for it.

What makes it worthwhile is the thought that I've proved them all wrong. All of the investors who shredded their stock the instant that news of Gozaburo's death plastered the papers—the same papers which now hail the new Kaibacorp as Japan's foremost corporate giant—all the cardboard old men that littered Gozaburo's board meetings who could barely contain their contempt the first time I took his former seat, all the people who said I was too young, too inexperienced, too idealistic to be worth their time, I can taste their humiliation on my tongue like acid.

But I would be lying if I said that that was the most meaningful part. Because it's not, not even close at all. When I see the all those glossy, gleaming magazine covers featuring my face staring out at empty space, when I see KaibaCorp's stock towering towards the atmosphere higher than the Himalayas, when I see the new ruby red and onyx black sport cars stacked outside my home like faceless playing cards, I know that this is not what I fought for.

All the reporters always ask the same meaningless, monotonous question: How did I do it? How did I save my father's swarming cesspit of a company?

The truth is: I did not save it all.

I don't work for the six, seven figure salary, for the servants, for the respect of my employees or even the loyalty of my customers. I tore this company apart, ripped its eyes out of its sockets and chewed on its tendons. I came out crushed and crumbled, almost falling apart and scarcely breathing.

I did it because I wanted to be able to look myself in the mirror and know that I had done one thing in my life that was right. I did it, and I will keep doing it. I will work myself to death every day if it means that I can sleep at night.

I didn't save this company. It saved me.

It's been about 1000 years since I've been on this site, but I was struck by inspiration today and decided to give it another go. The idea of this series is to take an album and reinterpret it as a character's biography, not necessarily in chronological order. For Seto I chose OK Computer by Radiohead, and am aiming to do one chapter a night until my little project is completed.

I own nothing, and thanks for reading!