The Satoshi of Nakamoto

A layer of fog covered the bay. Streaks of rain raced down the window of the Tokyo Midtown Building. A small fishing boat advanced across the water. Sushi sounded delicious, he thought.

His heavy wool coat and warm cup of ginseng tea made the minimalist boardroom seem almost homely.

He heard footsteps.

"Satoshi-san," a gruff voice began.

"Winston-san," He replied.

He turned to face the rough, yet clean-cut, Winston. He placed his tea on the conference table, and they bowed.

Formalities exchanged, Winston stepped back and sat at the conference table, his combed-back black hair bobbing as he sat. Winston's entourage followed his lead and sat on either side of him.

"Now," Winston sighed, unbuttoning his grey suit, "shall we begin?"

"Indeed," the Satoshi replied, taking his seat.

Winston smiled.

To the unsuspecting or the untrained, it may have seemed warm, but to the Satoshi, there was something devious behind his wide American grin.

Winston snapped his fingers and the Japanese lawyer sitting beside him, a bengoshi, handed him a pair of black leather folders.

The Satoshi exchanged glances with the bengoshi. His gold lapel badge reflected off the light of the conference room. The golden chrysanthemum—the Emperor's flower and flower of Japan—was gilded on every bengoshi's badge.

Winston removed a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses from his coat and placed them on the edge of his nose. He handed a folder to the Satoshi.

"I've had terms drafted in Japanese and English. Which language would you prefer?"

The Satoshi reflected Winston's smile, "English is perfectly fine; as is Mandarin, Cantonese, Korean, Thai, Taiwanese, Russian, or French. Whichever you prefer Winston-san."

Winston ignored the comment. His eyes darted across the empty chairs beside the Satoshi.

"Should we wait for your legal team?"

"No need," the Satoshi replied.

The bengoshi's brows furrowed, as did Winston's.

"Satoshi-san," Winston took off his glasses "I thought you were serious about this."

"I am serious about this. Serious about not accepting your proposal."

"I thought you may have changed your mind by now," Winston replied bewildered.

"Why is that?"

"Perhaps because you invited me to Tokyo?"

"We did not invite you to Tokyo, you insisted on coming and we obliged. I thought we had been clear on this."

Winston waved away the retort like swatting a fly and continued, exasperated, "perhaps because you and your organization already provide the Continental with a valuable service?"

"You are referring to the cryptocurrency replacement for your archaic gold-based system," the Satoshi replied.

"Certainly. I mean, gold coinage still has its place in our profession, but there is no dispute that the security of you and your organization's invention has greatly contributed to not only the growth of the Continental's international locations and the plethora of services we provide but also our skyrocketing clientele."

The Satoshi held up his hand, gently.

"I am aware of what 'services' you offer at the Continental and your 'clientele,'" he began.

"Then you know how Bitcoin has transformed our business," Winston replied.

"Indeed, I do, we do; but as I'm sure your bengoshi will inform you: things are different here than in other countries. Business dealings here aren't just about business."

Winston leaned in "I understand, and I believe in that, truly I do," he said, placing his hand on his chest, "but think of the revenue! a chain of Continentals across this land! It would be glorious!"

Winston opened his folder and flipped through the textured cardstock pages. He pointed to a particular provision, "we're even willing to allow an increase in your share of the transaction fees by a very generous fifteen percent."

"Winston-san, I understand your business concerns," now it was his turn to place his hand on his chest, "however, as I already explained; Japan is Japan. There are many 'services' offered by the Continental that might disrupt the harmony and social order of Japan. We cannot allow that. Here, we value some things greater than profit."

Winston leaned back in his chair.

"I mean no disrespect Satoshi-san, but this meeting is more of a courtesy to our business partner," his voice lowered "we aren't asking permission. We are stronger than ever. One could even call us a legion. I'm sure the vast resources of the Continental would easily go towards convincing certain officials to allow us entry. Perhaps the Yakuza would be interested, after all, we have standards, but they don't."

The Satoshi stood up and walked calmly back to his tea. He gazed out the window. His eyes slowly swept upward from the foggy bay, through the buildings, to the Tokyo SkyTree. A monument to Japanese innovation, piercing through the sky. A conquest of nature, of gravity.

"Satoshi-san?" Winston inquired.

"How long have you been in Japan Winston-san?"

From the reflection in the window, he could see Winston give his bengoshi a look of puzzlement. The bengoshi shrugged.

"I flew in last night," Winston replied.

"Did you do any sight-seeing while you were here?"

Winston let out a loud sigh, "no I did not. Listen Satoshi-san– "

"You should visit the Shōfuku-ji," he paused to take a sip of his tea; Winston's brow furrowed.

"The Shōfuku-ji is a Buddhist Temple in Higashimurayama, it was built in the year 1253. Five years before Genghis Khan laid siege to Baghdad. Right before the seventh Crusade failed," he chuckled, "you think they would've learned from the previous six."

He took another sip of his tea.

"But its age is not what makes the Shōfuku-ji remarkable; neither is its architecture."

He turned back to Winston.

"You see, it's a national treasure because it survived the invasion of the Mongols, the war for the Shogunate, the Meiji Restoration, the interference by the British, Portuguese, and Dutch powers, and more"

The Satoshi walked towards Winston.

"When the Americans firebombed Tokyo during the second world war, most of the city was razed, but Shōfuku-ji stood, and it still stands."

"Sounds like a very interesting monument," Winston replied, disinterested.

The Satoshi gently shook his head.

"You still do not see the lesson."

The Satoshi leaned forward.

"Japan," he began; "Nippon," he emphasized.

The bengoshi shifted uncomfortably at the imperialist pronunciation of Japan's name. Only strident nationalists used 'Nippon.' No Emperor in the last century had used that pronunciation. The Satoshi didn't share their beliefs, but the pronunciation served its purpose.

"Nippon," he continued, returning his gaze to Winston, "has endured and withstood foreign invasion at every turn. If the Mongolian Empire and the American Republic could not take this island, then it would be the height of arrogance to think you could."

"Times change Satoshi-san," Winston said, his patience evaporating.

"As the ancient poem 'Kim Ga Yo' goes 'May Japan's reign continue for a thousand, eight thousand generations, until the tiny pebbles, grow into massive boulders, lush with moss.'"

"You speak in riddles and metaphors," Winston got up buttoning his suit "I think we're done here."

"When you're ready to abandon poetry for business," Winston said, matter-of-factly, pointing to the leather folder.

Winston turned toward the door but stopped short.

"You know," he began, turning to face the Satoshi, "I may not be as well-versed in history as yourself, but I seem to recall that the Ancient Greeks believed themselves to be invincible; but when they crossed the thousand nations of the Persian Empire, the Persian king turned Athens . . ." he locked eyes with the Satoshi "to ash."

Winston motioned for his entourage to exit the room, but the Satoshi interjected.

"I must admit, I am not well-read in Western history, but I do recall that the king of the Spartans, Leonidas, decimated the Persian army. They say for every single Spartan that fell at Thermopylae, they took a hundred Persians with them. Verily, they made them pay for every inch of native soil."

Winston looked at the Satoshi and raised an eyebrow, "really?" He said, mockingly, "you'd know better than I do; I don't bother learning about losers, and, let's not forget, Japan did lose, regardless of how many old temples survived. Maybe that's why I don't really care much about your history."

With that final insult, Winston exited the conference room and walked back down the hall.

The Satoshi removed the document from the black leather folder and placed it in the trash. He lit a match and dropped it in the bin. As he watched the fire, he made a call.

"You have reached the Ministry for Agriculture, Forestry, and Fisheries, Tokyo branch; please listen as our menu options have changed . . ." the robotic voice uttered.

He hit zero.

The voice cut off.

There was a short pause and then a young woman answered, "hello, you've reached the Tokyo branch of the Ministry for Agriculture, Forestry, and Fisheries, how can I help you today?"

"The Sun never sets in the land of the rising Sun."

"I'm sorry but–" her voice was cut out by a dial tone followed by several blips and sputters.

"Who is this?" an electronically modified voice asked.

"A Satoshi," he replied.

There was a brief pause.

"Your vocal patterns have been confirmed as a valid Satoshi," the modified voice replied. "State your request."

"I require transportation to the Imperial Residence."

"Which organization would you like to appear as?"

Satoshi checked his watch, nearly lunchtime. He stared down at the bay again, remembering the fishing boat. His thoughts drifted back to sushi.

"Imperial Catering Services."

Another pause.

"A driver will be waiting for you outside your current location in a white van. The license plate has been added to the Imperial registry and a copy has been sent to your device. You should have access to the Imperial residence at 11:45. Can you confirm?"

"Confirmed," the Satoshi replied, hanging up.

It was about an hour before the van arrived. The Satoshi changed in the back. He now wore a white chef's uniform. His driver did not speak the entire ride, he knew better.

As they approached the guard booth at the Imperial residency, the driver smiled and handed the guard two ID cards.

"We are here to cater for the Emperor! Fresh sushi, straight from the dock! Delicious right?" He spoke jovially.

The beaming driver was met only with the cold stare of the guard.

The guard entered his booth and, after what seemed like an eternity, came out and returned the IDs to the driver. The driver handed the Satoshi one of the ID cards.

"Open the back," The guard commanded.

The driver exited the vehicle, attempting small talk with no success.

The Satoshi glanced at the ID he received.

'Yamamoto Minato from Downtown Tokyo.'

He wondered who the real Yamamoto Minato was, if there even was one, and whether his life would be disrupted by having some new unpaid traffic tickets added into his file—standard procedure to avoid looking suspiciously clean.

He heard the van back door open for a moment, he saw the guard and the driver in the rearview mirror. The guard checked the van then nodded. The driver closed the van and jumped back into the seat with a sigh.

The guard lifted the gate.

"Thank you!" the driver beamed, waving at the guard.

When he turned back, his expression was blank.

They drove for a few more minutes and then parked. Without saying a word, his driver moved to the back of the van and began distracting himself with his phone. He knew the drill.

The Satoshi grabbed a styrofoam sushi container from the cooler and proceeded into the Imperial Palace. The creaking wood floor seemed like the only sound in the building. He knew the way to the dining room.

When he arrived Emperor Naruhito sat at the front of the table wearing his ceremonial robes.

The Satoshi clapped his heels together.

"Your majesty," he bowed, "the Sun never sets in the land of the rising Sun."

The Emperor bowed his head slightly and motioned for him to sit. He followed and placed the sushi on the table. A pair of chopsticks were waiting for the Satoshi alongside a bowl of rice. In the center of the table were two gilded cups of hot tea and a porcelain teapot.

The Emperor raised his glass of tea. The Satoshi smiled and bowed. The Emperor sipped his tea and the Satoshi followed, ceremonially.

Ceremony satisfied, the Emperor spoke casually "a new Satoshi, and I was just beginning to get to know the old one."

The Satoshi smiled.

"The Nakamoto never keeps a Satoshi in the same place for long, even by your side, your majesty."

"So, it appears . . . so, what happened with Winston-san."

"He is still set on opening the Continental chain in here in Nihon."

The Satoshi made sure to use 'Nihon,' instead of 'Nippon;' it was the preferred pronunciation of Japan's name by the Imperial family.

"And what was your answer?"

"I told him no."

"I imagine he was not happy, having flown all the way here from New York to hear that."

"He was not, yet he seemed intent on invading regardless," the Satoshi replied, opening the box of sushi.

"Is it good?" The Emperor asked, pointing to the sushi.

The styrofoam to-go box juxtaposed against the rich wooden table and the ornate, gilded porcelain. He reflected that everything on this table was probably worth more than the van parked outside, and the driver in it.

"Not really, but it is fresh. I watched the ship bring it in this morning."

The Emperor smiled, "ah yes, that's always the best; nice and fresh."

"So, Satoshi," the Emperor continued, "what will the other Satoshis do now that it appears Winston-san plans to subvert the Nakamoto."

"Hopefully, his advisors will dissuade him from that course of action," the Satoshi responded, picking up the first roll of sushi.

The Emperor glanced at the rice bowl, "it is customary that the Emperor provides more than the ceremonial tea and rice for a Satoshi when he visits."

"I wish I could indulge in your hospitality your majesty, but I do not have much time."

"What must you do?"

The Satoshi stopped eating and looked at the Emperor, "prepare for what may come if Winston-san does decide to betray us."

"How is that possible? You have no army, but Winston-san does," the Emperor asked.

"The Nakamoton Bitcoin was designed with certain . . . flaws; one that could, when exploited through a backdoor, default or scramble a Bitcoin wallet. An army of mercenaries won't fight if they're not paid."

"Then why not simply use that power now?"

The Satoshi put down his chopsticks.

"The reasons are three-fold: first, exercising this option especially against a powerful adversary would destroy the value of Bitcoin. If word got out that the contents of a Bitcoin wallet could be set to zero or scrambled; well, Bitcoin would become obsolete."

The Satoshi picked his chopsticks back up and continued eating.

"And the other reasons?"

"Despite our incentives to switch exclusively to Bitcoin, Winston and his colleagues continue to insist on using minted gold coins as a parallel currency. Even if we were to take down Bitcoin, Winston and his associates would bear down on us like wolves. Then there are Nakamoton principles."

"I see . . . " The Emperor stroked his chin, "what does the Prime Minister have to say about all this?"

The Satoshi stopped, "the Prime Minister?"

"Yes. What did he say about this?"

"We haven't told the Prime Minister."

"Why?"

"Because we do not answer to the Prime Minister."

"But" The Emperor began confusingly, "you don't answer to me either. The previous Satoshi seemed to imply that you answered to a higher authority than me, I assumed it was the Prime Minister and, before him, the Shogun."

"No, we do not answer to you. We don't answer to the Prime Minister and we never answered to the Shogun. We do indeed answer to a higher authority."

"Then who do you answer to?"

The Satoshi reached for his tea and took a long sip.

"Are you saying the Nakamoto has a leader?" The Emperor questioned "What even is the Nakamoto? Why are you all called 'Satoshi' anyway?"

The barrage of questions became increasingly heated. The Satoshi had to tread carefully.

"Satoshi is my title, and it is my name, my new name; as it is with all Satoshi. Nakamoto is not just an organization but a way of life. Few are given the honor."

"You still haven't answered my questions, I command you to answer me!" The Emperor's calm demeanor dissipating rapidly, "before; my grandfather, my father, and I; we all tolerated the Satoshi and the Nakamoto. We followed the traditions required of us. We assumed you answered to the civilian authorities. Are you criminals?! Have you been criminals this whole time?!" He pounded his fist on the table, the porcelain jumped and sounded against the hardwood.

"Your majesty," the Satoshi said bowing, "I can see you are angry. Even though it is forbidden of me to reveal much about the Nakamoto, due to your privileged position; I will disclose what I can."

The Emperor's fist relaxed.

The Satoshi took a deep breath. "Satoshi serve the Nakamoto. I am one of the Satoshi of Nakamoto who created Bitcoin. It was one of just several of our innovations. The only reason that name is now known is because one of the Satoshi lost his nerve."

He paused as he remembered that Satoshi. His bright young smile. His jokes and jovial nature. He felt, for the first time in a long time, sadness. He shook it off and continued.

"He released our research but we stopped him. He was posting under the name 'Satoshi Nakamoto.' I am guessing he hoped someone who knew of the Nakamoto or the Satoshi would contact him. Most assumed there is an individual named 'Satoshi Nakamoto,' so the damage was limited."

The Satoshi told himself that it was the spice of the wasabi that was making his eyes well up. He blinked a few times to clear his eyes and went on.

"Before then, only the most powerful individuals, such as Winston, your predecessors, the Shoguns, the Chinese Emperors—I'm sure you see the trend—knew of our existence. The Nakamoto are old. We have a charter, but no one, not even you, your majesty, can view it; though you have seen elements of it."

The Emperor looked confused.

"'Elements of the charter?' What does that mean? When?"

The Satoshi cleared his throat.

"In the past, I could not tell you; but in the modern era, you are not permitted to see them and the language they are written in is so ancient, few can decipher its meaning."

The Emperor was pensive a moment; then his eyes lit up.

"The Three Sacred Treasures! The Imperial Regalia! The one I am not permitted by the Shinto priests to see and were presented to me in closed boxes the day of my ascension!" The Emperor leaned forward, "the sword: Kusanagi no Tsurugi; the mirror: Yata no Kagami; the jewel: Yasakani no Magatama."

The Satoshi nodded, "they represent the three virtues: the sword: valor; the mirror: wisdom; and the jewel: benevolence. Each item contains an element of the Nakamoto. Which is why they are scattered across Japan. Only the highest of Shinto priests are allowed to view them. None of them even know what the inscription means, if they know there's an inscription at all."

"Then," the Emperor began shakily, "that would mean the Nakamoto and the Satoshi are as old . . . as old as Japan itself."

The Satoshi nodded, "perhaps older. Only the Satoshi Historian knows the whole history. It is passed down, as far as I know, only through oral tradition."

"But what is your goal? Why does the Nakamoto exist? Why did you become a Satoshi?"

His mind wandered back to his childhood, down at the Tokyo docks, watching the fishing ships come in, hoping scraps would fall off the boat.

He looked down at the styrofoam container again and the memories rushed back.

The old restaurant keeper, Tanaka-san, the only shopkeeper who wouldn't chase him off with a broom while he picked through the trash for scraps, so long as he didn't speak to Tanaka-san.

He couldn't help but give a slight smile when he thought of Tanaka-san's wife, Yua-san.

He recalled one night vividly.

There was a torrential downpour in Tokyo. Not even the fishing boats were going out. He was shivering and soaking wet. He had wrapped himself in a soaked cardboard box hoping it might be like the blankets he saw people wear on TV. Shopkeepers would keep TVs in their windows, but they were all off today. Most of the shops were closed, and the few that were open had no customers, which meant no trash and, consequentially, no food for him. He recalled the intense hunger pangs.

Then, he heard Yua-san call to him.

It was like an angel in her white raincoat. She had in her hands a tiny backpack and what looked like a hot bowl of steaming ramen. She motioned for him to come to the backdoor. He ran towards her, but his broken sandal cascaded into a large puddle, splashing him with cold water.

He reached down into the dirty puddle to retrieve his sandal when he heard Yua-san exclaim.

"No! No! Forget that boy! Come here!" She called.

He abandoned his slipper and ran toward Yua-san.

"Yua-san! Thank you so much!" He reached for the bowl of ramen, but she held it back from him.

"Ah ah ah! Hot shower first!" She said.

For the first time in his life, someone opened a door for him. He could feel the warm air and smell the ramen. She held it open. For him.

His eyes widened and for some reason, he didn't know why, he started crying, shivering and crying.

Yua-san put the bowl of ramen on the stainless-steel countertop, knelt, and hugged him. She didn't say anything; it was just a tight embrace. He wrapped his arms around the old woman, her floral perfume mixed with the smell of steamed vegetables and noodles. He stopped crying, stopped repeating "thank you" profusely.

Then, she rose.

"Come on in," she said, leading him inside.

She pulled a warm towel out of the backpack.

"Take off those clothes and wrap this around you. Then, I will show you to the bathroom and you can shower."

She pulled out two white plastic bottles, one with a blue cap, the other with a green cap, and placed them on the counter. He couldn't read what they said, he never learned to read.

She turned around, giving him some privacy as he removed his soaked clothes. They were so dirty that they left black droplets on the floor like oily rags.

He dried himself, including his feet, and wrapped the towel around his waist.

He then tugged on her white raincoat, "Yua-san, I am dry."

She turned and grabbed his hand. They walked up the narrow stairs to the apartment where Tanaka-san and Yua-san lived.

Yua-san removed her shoes before entering. She opened the first door to the left and turned on the light. Compared to the public bathrooms he visited this was a palace, the cleanest place he'd ever seen. Yua-san turned on the shower and felt the water.

Satisfied with the temperature, she turned and knelt before him. She handed him the two plastic bottles.

"Blue cap is for your hair; green is for everything else."

He took them and nodded.

"And make sure you wash yourself head to foot!" She said toeing the line between sternness and gentleness.

"I will Yua-san."

The mirror began to fog up as she pulled some clothes from the backpack.

"Put these on after you dry off," She placed them on the counter next to the sink.

He looked down at the t-shirt, it had a faded Gundam on it.

"These were my son's . . ." A tone of melancholy seeping into her voice.

"Now," she said, clearing her throat, "take as long as you need, but not too long. When the water starts to feel cool, that's your warning that there's no more hot water left."

"Yes, thank you so much Yua-san," he gave a well-intentioned but comically deep bow.

Yua-san stifled a chuckle and closed the door.

He remembered Yua-san giving him ramen, a coat, waterproof shoes, and the backpack.

When Tanaka-san got home, carrying bottles of Sake, Tanaka-san saw him, looked at his shirt, and stomped upstairs.

He heard the two arguing. He wasn't sure what it was about. When he saw the tears in Yua-san's eyes after she stormed out of the apartment and heard the bitterness in Tanaka-san's voice when he told him to finish his ramen and leave when the rain subsided; he felt guilty for getting Yua-san in trouble.

The Satoshi pondered, as he looked down at his sushi, how this small roll would've been a feast for him then. That was before he was "adopted" by the Yakuza; before he was sent to demand "protection money" from Tanaka-san; before he saw the pain of betrayal in the watering eyes of Yua-san as he shook down her husband in front of her.

He never returned, not even now, as a Satoshi. He couldn't bear to look Yua-san in the eye again.

"Satoshi?" The Emperor called.

His mind returned to the conversation at hand "Yes your majesty?"

"I asked what your goal was; why the Nakamoto exists; and why you became a Satoshi."

"I was lost in a memory your majesty, I apologize," he cleared his throat, "I came from nothing, from no one. I fell in with the wrong people, I took the wrong path. The Nakamoto offered me a way out. No one escapes the Yakuza, but when the Nakamoto took me in, I was untouchable, but I am a true believer. Being from nothing gives you a different perspective. The Nakamoto serve a higher purpose. That is why we do not answer to any authority but our own."

"But what is Nakamoto's purpose?"

"There is a reason we are as old as the Three Sacred Treasures; we are what they represent: valor, wisdom, benevolence; not to a person, not to an authority, but to all Japan."

The Satoshi took a sip of his tea.

"When your grandfather wished to surrender to the Americans and prevent the invasion of this island; which would've devastated Japan and left millions of Japanese dead; the military attempted a coup. That coup failed; it failed because the Nakamoto deemed it to fail. When the Cuban Missile Crisis brought the world to the brink of nuclear annihilation—threatening the destruction of Japan—the Nakamoto saw to it that Khrushchev withdrew the Soviet missiles."

The Emperor took a deep breath, "so that is why you do not fear Winston-san."

"We must never, ever, underestimate our enemy. That is how the Nakamoto has survived. That is how the Nakamoto has managed to wield such power. We do not fear Winston-san, just as we did not fear the Americans, the Chinese, the Mongols, or the Shogun; but we respect their power and act accordingly."

"Why not just eliminate him?"

"The Nakamoto protects. We do only what is necessary. When we do act, it is with valor, wisdom, and benevolence."

"But what role does Bitcoin have to play? Is it only to have the ability to undermine an economic structure when needed?"

The Satoshi shook his head, "Bitcoin's true purpose is a secret and not yet fully realized. Bitcoin's back door is only a weapon of last resort. It is not the only cryptocurrency we control, but it was the first, and remains the most prominent. Cryptocurrency control is just one arrow in our quiver."

"I see," the Emperor replied.

"But I have already said too much. It is time for me to go now. I must speak with the other Satoshis."

The Satoshi took his final bite of sushi. He held up his cup of rice, raised it to the Emperor in a toast, and ate a single grain.

Then, he raised his teacup in toast and drained it.

"Your majesty, my ceremonial duties as Satoshi have been fulfilled. With rice and tea, you have offered me hospitality, as you have offered my predecessors. I shall return again soon."

He bowed to the Emperor and walked to the doorway. He turned, clapped his heels together and bowed again.

"The Sun never sets in the land of the rising Sun."

"Thank you, Satoshi, go in peace."

On his way out, he walked past a painting of the attempted invasion of Japan, he hadn't noticed it before. He stopped to admire it.

He wasn't sure if it was depicting the Chinese or the Mongols; It didn't matter, not really.

It was such a stark contrast; the beautiful and elegant brushstrokes against what they depicted: a violent typhoon that destroyed the invading fleet. The waves crashed against the vessels. The lightning sparked fires. Ships were split in half. Soldiers fell into the tumultuous sea.

"As surely as the storms had stood in defense of Japan, so too has the Nakamoto," he whispered

He continued on his way. Now, he thought, it was time to prepare for the next invasion.