July 5, 1988, late at night.
Kanagawa Prefecture, Kawasaki City.
The rain since the start of the rainy season seemed like it would never end. It hammered against the corrugated iron roofs of the old town, gathering into murky trickles that ran down rusted drainpipes and into oil-stained sewers.
In a cheap izakaya tucked into a back alley behind the station, the air was thick. Low-grade tobacco, burnt grease, and fermented alcohol mingled into a haze that clung to your clothes.
Yamamoto sat in the corner. Before him was a half-finished glass of lukewarm shochu and several skewers of cold grilled chicken skin. As a reporter for the Social Affairs Department of the Asahi Shimbun's Yokohama branch, his shirt collar had yellowed, and the bags under his eyes were deep.
He picked up the glass, then set it down again without drinking.
The Kawasaki City urban development bribery case he'd been tracking had hit a dead end. His informants had gone silent, the editorial department was pressuring him for results, and every lead had been cut off cleanly just before Deputy Mayor Komatsu Hideki.
"Welcome—"
The wind chime at the door rang. A damp, cold gust rushed in and scattered some of the smoke.
A man in gray work clothes and a dark baseball cap stepped inside. The brim was pulled low, casting shadows over most of his face. All Yamamoto could see was a chin covered in blue stubble.
The man didn't order anything. He didn't look at the menu.
He walked straight through the noisy crowd to Yamamoto's table, pulled out the chair opposite him, and sat down.
Yamamoto looked up warily, his hand instinctively shielding the notebook on the table.
"Who are you?"
The man didn't answer.
From his coat, he pulled a thick manila envelope and pushed it across the table toward Yamamoto. A few drops of rain still clung to the surface. It looked heavy.
"What is this?" Yamamoto frowned.
"A ticket to the Pulitzer Prize."
The man's voice was devoid of inflection.
With that, he didn't linger. He adjusted his hat, stood, and disappeared into the rainy night streets as quickly as he'd arrived.
The izakaya stayed noisy. Drunks played drinking games and the television replayed a baseball game. No one noticed the small interlude.
Yamamoto stared at the envelope for three seconds.
He reached out and picked it up. It was thick, and the paper felt rough.
He tore open the seal and peeked inside.
In that instant, his pupils contracted sharply. All trace of drunkenness vanished.
It wasn't money.
It was a stack of photocopies.
The top page was printed with stark, unmistakable words: Stock Transfer Agreement. Transferor: Recruit Cosmos. Transferee: Komatsu Hideki.
Yamamoto's fingers began to tremble. He quickly pulled out the documents beneath it.
Photocopies of bank transfer records. Receipts stamped with personal seals. Even a handwritten memorandum. Dates, amounts, seals. It was an evidentiary chain as clear as a textbook.
This was the thing he had been hunting for three months without catching so much as a shadow.
Yamamoto slammed the envelope shut and stuffed it into his inner pocket faster than he'd moved in his life. He slapped a thousand-yen bill onto the table without waiting for change, grabbed his briefcase, and rushed out of the izakaya.
The rain outside was heavy. Cold water struck his face, but he felt his blood burning.
The next morning.
Central District, Tsukiji, Tokyo. Tokyo Headquarters of the Asahi Shimbun.
The massive rotary presses let out a deafening roar. Tons of paper rolls sped through the cylinders, swallowing black ink and spitting out morning papers still warm to the touch.
Mechanical arms packed and bundled the newspapers.
Loaders threw the bundles into the backs of trucks.
Bang.
The truck's rear door closed.
At four in the morning, hundreds of transport trucks drove out of the newspaper's gates, scattering to every corner of Tokyo and beyond.
Five-thirty.
In front of a convenience store in Minato Ward.
A clerk cut the newspaper ties and placed the first morning paper in the most prominent position on the shelf.
Front-page headline.
The massive black lead type looked hideous and piercing under the fluorescent lights:
"Kawasaki Deputy Mayor Komatsu Hideki Suspected of Receiving Unlisted Recruit Stock"
The sub-headline was even more lethal:
"Money-for-Power Transaction? Special Investigation Department Has Intervened in the Investigation"
8:00 AM.
Nagatacho, Prime Minister's Official Residence.
It was very quiet here. Only the ticking of the wall clock and the faint hum of the air conditioning could be heard.
Takeshita Noboru sat in a deep red leather chair. That copy of the Asahi Shimbun lay spread across the mahogany desk before him.
His breakfast, a bowl of miso soup and two plates of pickles, sat to the side, already cold.
Clang.
The Chief Secretary, Aoki Ihei, walked in. He was pale, and his usually immaculate hair was disheveled. He clutched several faxes in his hand.
"Prime Minister…"
Aoki's voice was dry.
"The Special Investigation Department has made its move?" Takeshita Noboru didn't look up. His gaze remained fixed on the photo of Komatsu Hideki in the newspaper.
"Yes. Ten minutes ago, the Second Investigation Division of the Special Investigation Department raided the Kawasaki City Government and Recruit Headquarters."
Aoki walked to the desk and set down the faxes.
"A call came from Ezaki's side. He said the Special Investigation Department took the shareholder register."
Takeshita Noboru's fingers tapped lightly on the desk.
"It's just a deputy mayor."
His tone was steady, trying to maintain the composure of a nation's Prime Minister.
"This kind of local scandal happens every year. As long as we sever the connection, the fire won't reach Nagatacho."
"No… Prime Minister."
Aoki Ihei's body trembled slightly. He lowered his head, not daring to meet Takeshita Noboru's eye.
"The Special Investigation Department found a notebook at Deputy Mayor Komatsu's home."
"A notebook?"
"Yes. It's the transaction records left by the middleman." Aoki swallowed hard. "According to our informant at the District Prosecutors Office, it contains not only Kawasaki City officials but also people from the central government."
Takeshita Noboru's finger stopped tapping.
The air in the room seemed to freeze instantly.
Outside, dark clouds hung low, and rain lashed against the bulletproof glass.
"Dispose of it."
After a long silence, Takeshita Noboru forced the three words out from deep in his throat.
"Notify the person in charge of the accounts to dispose of all records and vouchers. Burn them or swallow them. I don't care which."
"But the Special Investigation Department is watching now…"
"Do it!"
Takeshita Noboru jerked his head up. His eyes, usually narrowed in a politician's smile, were now filled with bloodshot veins and ferocity.
"If it's not cleaned up, everyone in this building is finished."
Aoki Ihei shuddered.
"Yes."
He bowed deeply, turned, and walked away quickly.
The door closed.
Takeshita Noboru slumped in his chair, staring at the gray sky outside the window.
"No… I haven't lost yet."
10:00 AM.
Bunkyo Ward, Saionji Main Family Residence.
Tea room, 'Muku'.
The air here smelled of tatami straw and faint agarwood. In the courtyard, the shishi-odoshi filled with rain and struck the stone with a crisp thwack that was almost pleasant.
Shuichi knelt before the tea table.
Sitting opposite him was Satsuki, wearing her Seika Academy uniform.
The water in the iron kettle boiled, sending up white steam.
Satsuki wasn't rushed by the boiling water. She used a bamboo ladle to scoop the hot water, poured it into the tea bowl, then picked up the tea whisk. Her wrist moved with fluid precision.
Swish, swish, swish.
The sound of the whisk beating the tea was rhythmic, echoing in the quiet room.
Fujita the butler knelt outside the door, placing a new briefing by the sliding door.
"Master, Eldest Miss. News has come from Mr. Osawa's side."
Fujita's voice came through the paper door.
"He says the Diet is in complete chaos right now. The Opposition Party is demanding a special investigative committee. Some within the Takeshita Faction are also starting to waver."
Shuichi didn't look back. He only watched his daughter's movements.
"Tell him not to rush," Shuichi said, his tone gentle.
"The fire isn't big enough yet. It's only burned a deputy mayor. The public doesn't feel the pain yet."
Satsuki stopped her movements.
In the tea bowl, the emerald-green matcha foam was fine and even, like a bottomless pool of green water.
She turned the tea bowl twice, faced the front toward her father, and pushed it gently across the table.
"Please have some tea."
Shuichi picked up the tea bowl and took a sip.
"This tea is well-made."
"Father." Satsuki set down the tea whisk and pulled a neatly folded slip of paper from her sleeve, placing it on the table.
"That reporter Yamamoto from the Asahi Shimbun is a man of great backbone."
"What we gave him were only leads on Kawasaki City."
"But…"
Satsuki pointed to the slip of paper.
"He seems to have followed the clues and found a company called 'Recruit Cosmos' that once transferred several thousand shares to someone close to a 'big figure' named Nakasone."
Shuichi's hand paused for a moment.
Nakasone. The former Prime Minister.
That was a much bigger tiger than Takeshita Noboru.
"The Special Investigation Department will like this lead."
Shuichi set down the tea bowl.
"The Special Investigation Department are wolves. As long as they smell blood, we don't need to teach them how to bite."
Satsuki stood up and smoothed her skirt.
"Well then, I'm off to school."
She walked to the door and slid the paper door open.
The rain was still falling outside, a steady drizzle.
"By the way, Father."
Satsuki looked back at the hydrangeas in the courtyard, drenched by the rain.
"Remember to bring an umbrella when you go out today."
"I hear this rain is going to last for a long time."