June 1988.
Tokyo's rainy season draped the city in a damp, musty haze.
Beneath the elevated tracks of Shimbashi Station, the red lanterns of yakitori stalls swayed in the misty rain. Each time the Yamanote Line rumbled overhead, a mixture of dust and rainwater trickled down from the plastic awnings.
Inside, the shop was thick with smoke. The charred scent of grilled chicken tangled with cheap cigarettes.
"Are you kidding me?!"
At a greasy table near the door, a graying section chief slammed a copy of the Yukan Fuji down so hard that his draft beer sloshed over the rim. Foam ran down the glass and onto the bold headline: 'Expansion of the Unlisted Stock Transfer List.'
"Hey, Tanaka, look at this," the section chief said, his finger trembling with rage as he jabbed at the newspaper. "We work ourselves to death at the company, sucking up to the department head just for a scrap of overtime pay. And these people? They clink glasses in a ryotei and hundreds of millions of yen change hands."
Tanaka, the young junior across from him, didn't answer. He just silently placed a skewer of grilled leeks on the section chief's empty plate, his expression carefully submissive.
"The worst part is that damn 'new tax law'!" The section chief yanked his tie loose and took a heavy swig of beer, his words starting to slur. "The Prime Minister cries poor in the Diet every day, saying we need a 'Large-scale Indirect Tax' for the country's future. They want to scrape another 3% off every yen we earn. You buy a radish? Tax. You buy your kid a pencil? Tax."
He crushed his cigarette into the ashtray, sending sparks scattering.
"On one hand, they scream about financial hardship to squeeze us dry. On the other, they're getting rich off unlisted stocks. What is that? That's using our blood, sweat, and tears to line their own pockets!"
"Keep it down, old man."
From the next table, a foreman in gray work clothes turned around. His face was flushed with alcohol, and he clearly couldn't hold his tongue any longer.
"Prime Minister Takeshita's tax reform is meant to solve the aging population crisis. Without the LDP, would we have the good life we have now? Stocks and land prices are rising every day. Stop acting like some complaining housewife."
The section chief froze, then his Showa-era stubbornness flared. He glared at the foreman.
"Better days? Those are better days for you people! Let me ask you something. If that new tax law passes and next year you have to pay more for everything, will you be happy?"
The foreman opened his mouth, but his momentum vanished like a popped balloon. In an era of skyrocketing prices, nobody wanted to pay a single yen more in tax.
"That… that's two different things," the foreman muttered, his confidence shaken. "Taxes are taxes… but that doesn't mean they're all corrupt…"
"This is corruption! Unlisted stocks are as good as cash, and you don't even pay tax on them!" the section chief sneered. "If you think they're clean, why don't you pay that non-existent tax for me too?"
The foreman cursed under his breath and turned away, drinking more aggressively than before.
The argument didn't escalate. Like the rain this season, the frustration was irritating but stayed stifled in the clouds, never breaking into thunder.
Yet a weight settled in everyone's chest.
The anxiety over the looming tax law clashed violently with the reality that the powerful could amass fortunes through privilege. That sharp sense of deprivation silently fermented in the izakaya's smoke and steam.
Azabu-Juban, The Club.
Rain snaked down the intricate patterns of the black cast-iron gates, dripping into puddles and sending out ripples.
A black Nissan President pulled up smoothly under the porch awning. Its body gleamed with an understated luxury even in the rain, clearly polished to perfection down to the mud spots on the tires.
The door opened, and an old man in a dark gray three-piece suit stepped out.
Tanaka Rokusuke, one of the 'Seven Commissioners' of the Takeshita Faction and a powerful figure in charge of Diet strategy.
Even in these turbulent times, he maintained the dignity of a high-ranking faction cadre. His hair was combed immaculately, his shoes polished to a mirror shine. Only the faint dark circles under his eyes and the slight tremble in his fingers betrayed his anxiety.
This past week had been like walking a tightrope.
He'd leaned on his Ministry of Finance connections to try to suppress the tax probe into Apex. He'd visited old seniors in the Special Investigation Department to feel out their limits. He'd held secret meetings for three nights straight at a ryotei in Akasaka to get their stories aligned.
But the situation hadn't improved.
Public fury over 'unearned wealth' had collided with the Diet's deliberations on the new tax law. The Special Investigation Department was refusing to back down this time. Prime Minister Takeshita Noboru's secretary had already been summoned. The fire was creeping toward the inner circle. Tanaka hadn't been named yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time if he didn't act.
He needed final insurance.
He needed the Saionji Family's stance. Even a verbal "it's fine" would stabilize his position in the party.
"Mr. Tanaka."
Fujita the butler stood at the door. He didn't bow and lead the way as usual. Instead, he gave a slight bow, his body perfectly blocking the center of the entrance.
"Good evening. There is a private event inside today."
Tanaka's breath caught. The ominous feeling in his gut grew stronger.
Something was wrong, very wrong, but with decades in politics, he immediately put on his signature approachable smile.
"Fujita-kun, I'm here to see Shuichi-kun. I have some urgent policy consultations. I don't have an appointment, but I'm sure Shuichi-kun will see me."
He signaled his secretary to present a business card.
Fujita didn't take it.
Instead, he withdrew an envelope from his pocket. It was heavy washi paper embossed with the Saionji Family crest.
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Tanaka."
Fujita presented the envelope with both hands. Despite the apology, his tone was completely flat.
"This is a resolution just passed by the board. In light of recent financial turmoil, and to maintain the club's reputation and compliance, the qualifications of certain members are being re-evaluated."
"Until the review is complete, your membership is temporarily frozen."
Tanaka's smile froze on his face.
He didn't take the envelope. He just stared at Fujita's wrinkled, expressionless face.
"Frozen?"
Tanaka didn't shout. His voice was low and dangerous.
"Fujita, do you know who you're talking to? I'm one of The Club's founding members. Where is Shuichi-kun? I want to see him."
"The master is meeting guests in the Chōshōken on the second floor and cannot be disturbed," Fujita replied, unmoving in his posture.
"Meeting guests? At a time like this, who else could he be seeing?"
At that exact moment, two blinding headlight beams cut through the rain.
A Toyota Century glided in and stopped behind Tanaka's car.
The windows were sealed shut, covered with dark privacy film that turned the interior into a void.
But Tanaka recognized that license plate.
He knew those numbers all too well.
It was Osawa Ichiro.
The junior who used to trail after him, calling him "senpai" at every turn.
The person in the car didn't roll down the window. He didn't even pretend to greet Tanaka. That black glass was a cold wall, a silent declaration of intent.
Tanaka's pupils contracted.
For a conspiracy of this scale, you'd normally switch to an unmarked car. Yet Osawa had arrived brazenly in his official vehicle.
He didn't even bother to avoid suspicion. Does he no longer see the Takeshita Faction as a rival?
Tanaka thought, a chill crawling up his spine.
It meant Osawa no longer considered Tanaka, or the Takeshita Faction, worth being wary of. He'd abandoned them and was preparing to start anew.
Fujita stepped aside and bowed deeply toward the Century, gesturing "please." The gates slid open. The Toyota Century rolled into the courtyard, its taillights vanishing among the manicured plants.
Tanaka stood rooted in place as wind drove rain against his expensive trouser legs.
He stared at the envelope Fujita had forced into his hand.
Truthfully, he'd known from the moment Fujita refused him.
This was a declaration of political stance.
The Saionji Family had made their choice. In the coming power reshuffle, they'd abandoned the current establishment for the challengers.
Which meant the Saionji Family, with their near-prophetic instincts, believed the Takeshita Faction was beyond saving.
The Takeshita Faction had just been sentenced to death.
"Good… very good."
Tanaka drew a deep breath, struggling to maintain his last shred of dignity. He straightened his collar and climbed back into his car.
"Drive," he rasped to the driver, his voice like he'd swallowed sand.
Prime Minister's Official Residence.
The ashtray was piled high with cigarette butts, and the air was so thick it was suffocating.
Takeshita Noboru sat on the sofa, holding the telephone receiver with a slight tremble.
He had just received Tanaka's report.
"Shuichi-kun…"
Takeshita Noboru's voice sounded tired. "I heard that The Club not only blocked Tanaka tonight, but also Watanabe and Sato?"
On the other end of the line came Saionji Shuichi's gentle and polite voice.
"Your Excellency, it was a necessary move."
"Several major shareholders on Wall Street are very sensitive to the recent news. As you know, the debate in the Diet over the new tax law is at a critical stage, and public sentiment is very heated. Foreign investors value compliance above all else. If we don't make a gesture, I fear it will affect Japan's reputation in the international financial market."
Takeshita Noboru closed his eyes.
"Compliance… What a fine word, 'compliance.'"
He was the Prime Minister, after all. He naturally understood the political language behind such business jargon. So-called compliance was simply cutting ties.
"Shuichi-kun, Osawa-kun is also with you tonight, isn't he?"
There was a two-second silence on the other end.
"Yes. Osawa-kun and Hatano-kun are tasting this year's new tea."
"I see."
Takeshita Noboru hung up the phone.
He slumped on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.
"Ambitious men…"
He muttered to himself.
The Club, second floor, Chōshōken.
The air here was dry and warm, completely untouched by the storm outside.
Shuichi put down the phone and smiled slightly at the two people in front of him.
"The Prime Minister already knows."
Osawa Ichiro picked up his teacup and gently blew on the floating leaves.
"It's better that he knows. Saves us the trouble of explaining."
From the shadows in the corner came the sound of pages turning.
Satsuki closed her book and stood up from the high-backed chair. Wearing her Seika Academy uniform, she walked to the round table and placed a thin document in front of Osawa.
Osawa Ichiro looked at the young girl named Saionji Satsuki.
His expression was complex.
To the outside world, she was merely the eldest daughter of the Saionji Family, a child still in high school. But within the inner circle of The Club, the rumors about her were no longer a secret.
Last year's Black Monday, those short-selling orders that were accurate to a terrifying degree. The Saionji Family's layouts in real estate and retail over the past few years, which seemed to predict the future.
It was all the work of the girl before him.
If Saionji Shuichi hadn't admitted it himself, with a look of pride in his eyes that was almost blinding, Osawa would never have believed that the reason the Saionji Family possessed prophetic abilities was that they truly had a 'witch.'
Shuichi was an excellent executor, but he lacked that almost demonic strategic vision.
Having spent decades in politics, Osawa knew that some families produced 'monsters.' But he didn't need to investigate why. Such families were usually incredibly uncanny.
He only needed to know that this girl represented the core will of the Saionji Family.
Thus, he showed no surprise at Satsuki's presence. He even nodded slightly in a gesture of respect toward an equal ally.
"Mr. Osawa."
Satsuki's voice was cold, and a faint smile played on her lips.
"This is the list of people whose membership in The Club has been suspended tonight."
She reached out a finger and tapped the list.
Tanaka, Watanabe, Sato. Every name was a core member of the old Takeshita Faction and a protagonist in the Apex Scandal.
"Starting tomorrow, this list will circulate among major banks and media outlets. It represents the official stance of the Saionji Family and S.A. Group. We consider these people to be credit bankrupt."
Satsuki looked up, her clear black and white eyes fixed on Osawa.
"The Keiseikai still has over a hundred members of the Diet. Excluding these dozens who have been isolated, the rest are now panicking. They don't know if the Special Investigation Department's fire will reach them, nor do they know what to do about next year's election now that they've lost their factional funding."
"They need a new reliance."
"One who can provide financial support and a clean political break from the scandal."
"I believe Mr. Osawa knows what to do?"
The witch was beginning to enchant hearts.
Osawa Ichiro looked at the list, his breathing becoming heavy.
He understood Satsuki's meaning.
This wasn't just a simple expulsion list.
This was a transfer of power.
Through this physical and economic isolation, the Saionji Family had helped him filter out enemies and potential allies.
As long as he held this list and told those centrist Diet members: 'These people have been abandoned by capital. Following them leads only to a dead end. But following me means not only funding but also being a clean reformer.'
Then most of them would flock to him.
This was a bloodless seizure of power.
"Shuichi-kun, Miss Satsuki."
Osawa Ichiro reached out and pressed his hand on the list, slowly pulling it toward himself. His fingers gripped it tightly, as if afraid it might slip away.
"I will use this information to restructure the internal personnel of the faction."
His gaze became sharp.
"As for those blocked at the door… let them sober up in the rain."
Shuichi chuckled and raised his teacup.
"Then, I wish you a good night's sleep."
Outside, the rain grew heavier.
A bolt of lightning streaked across the night sky, illuminating the ancient pine tree in the courtyard as it swayed in the storm.