July 6, 1988. 8:00 PM.
Akasaka, Tokyo.
After dark, Akasaka becomes a maze. Ryotei with blank lanterns hide behind black walls — the Oku-no-in of Japanese politics. The real secret chamber where this country's fate gets decided.
Ryotei "Kouetsu."
A black Toyota Century slid into the back alley, tires hissing over wet cobblestones.
A waiter, waiting at the back door, bowed deep. Only when the door opened and a short, stocky old man in a dark kimono stepped out did he straighten and lead the way.
The room was called "Matsukaze."
The air was heavy — expensive incense, old tatami, and thick cigar smoke. The AC hummed silently but couldn't clear the low pressure hanging over everything.
Takeshita Noboru sat in the lower seat.
The sitting Prime Minister, posture now like a scolded schoolboy. Exquisite kaiseki spread untouched before him.
In the seat of honor: Kanemaru Shin — LDP Secretary-General, the Keiseikai's real boss.
The "Godfather of Nagatacho" had his eyes half-closed, a thick Cuban cigar between his fingers. Bluish smoke curled around his lined face. He looked like a deity wreathed in incense.
In the shadows sat a younger man, arms crossed, eyes sharp: Deputy Secretary-General Ozawa Ichiro.
"That Asahi reporter — did you vet him?"
Kanemaru's voice was raspy, worn by decades of tobacco and whiskey. He didn't look at Takeshita. He stared into his shochu.
"I did."
Takeshita's voice was dry. He reached for tea, found it cold.
"Name's Yamamoto. Social desk. But his material is too clean. Wire transfers, receipts, even a middleman's diary… no reporter digs that up alone."
"Someone's feeding him."
Kanemaru blew a smoke ring. It hit the screen and dissolved.
"And it's from inside."
Silence. Only the shishi-odoshi in the garden — clack — making the quiet feel sharper.
"Osawa Ichiro?" Takeshita said the name low. Resentment bled through.
"Who else has motive? Who else can touch those ledgers?" Kanemaru sneered, the flesh of his face twitching. "Looks like he's cutting ties with the family."
He tapped the ashtray with one thick finger. Ash fell.
"That Saionji Family…" Takeshita hesitated, eyes flicking. "Marusa came up empty. Their books are airtight — Wall Street standard. Now Osawa's got money. The young Diet members are getting ideas. Twenty-plus were at the ANA Hotel last night."
"Forget the money for now."
Kanemaru raised a hand, cutting him off.
"Priority is stop the bleeding."
He leaned forward. Those cloudy old eyes snapped open.
"The fire's lit. We can't put it out. So we cut off what's burning."
Takeshita's shoulders tensed.
"You mean…"
"The secretaries."
Kanemaru said two words.
"Get every implicated Diet member on the same page. All stock trades were done 'without their knowledge.' Secretaries acted alone to raise funds. The politicians knew nothing."
The famous "lizard's severed tail" of Japanese politics.
Pin it on the secretaries, and a politician faces "poor supervision" at worst — no criminal charge. The secretaries… they're retainers. Scapegoats. Bulletproof vests. They go to prison. Or worse, to protect their lord's innocence.
Takeshita's face went pale.
His hand shook. Tea slopped onto his expensive trousers.
His chief secretary, Aoki Ihei, had been with him thirty years. Since his Shimane prefectural assembly days. Not just a secretary — butler, treasurer, family. Watched his kids grow up.
Takeshita's expression twisted. He looked down.
Then, through gritted teeth: "About Aoki… I'll talk to him."
"Not just Aoki."
Kanemaru ignored the pain in Takeshita's voice. He ground the half-smoked cigar into the ashtray until the ember died.
"Nakasone's people. Miyazawa's people. Everyone does it. We build a firewall. As long as prosecutors can't trace it to the Diet members themselves, you all live."
"Get through this wave. Ram the consumption tax through. Then we'll have leverage to deal with the business world again. And that disobedient Saionji Family."
At 'Saionji,' malice flickered in Kanemaru's eyes.
He picked up the Asahi from the table, looked at the photo of Saionji Shuichi surrounded by reporters outside The Club.
"Hmph. Old Kazoku brat thinks money lets him play Nagatacho?"
He turned to Ozawa, silent until now.
"Ozawa. Your people run the Ministry of Construction?"
Ozawa nodded. "Director Noda."
"Saionji's been buying up Ginza and Akasaka. Big renovations planned?"
"Yes. Akasaka site completes next month."
"Notify Construction and the Fire Department."
Kanemaru stood, smoothing his haori.
"Earthquakes are frequent lately. For 'public safety,' run strict seismic and fire inspections on all major projects."
"Especially Saionji's."
A cruel smile touched his mouth.
"As long as their sites are shut down, bank interest bleeds them daily. Let's see what's stronger: their money, or the state's seal."
---
11:00 PM.
Nagatacho — Prime Minister's Official Residence.
Takeshita Noboru sat in his study.
Cold green tea on the desk. A prepared statement beside it.
Knock, knock.
Light. Restrained.
"Enter."
The door opened. Aoki Ihei stepped in.
Small, kind-faced, middle-aged. Same old suit he'd worn for years. Notebook in hand. Ready, as always, to take instructions.
"Prime Minister, you're still up?" Aoki's voice was gentle. "Cabinet meeting tomorrow morning…"
"Ihei."
Takeshita cut him off.
He didn't look up. Eyes on the statement.
"How long have you been with me?"
Aoki blinked, then smiled. "Thirty years, Prime Minister. Since your first term in the Shimane Assembly."
"Thirty years…"
Takeshita sighed. Exhaustion saturated the words.
"We were young. You said you'd help me make this country better."
"Yes. That's been my life's work." Aoki's eyes were clear.
Takeshita finally looked up.
He looked at the partner of half his life — the gray at his temples, the bloodshot eyes from years of overwork.
He couldn't hold the gaze. Turned away.
"Ihei, right now… the Party needs you. The country needs you."
Takeshita pushed the statement across the desk.
Thin paper. He moved it like it weighed a ton.
It was the explanation for the Recruit trades. Every line blamed "unauthorized action by the secretary."
Aoki looked down at it.
Silent.
Only the wall clock ticked.
After a long moment, Aoki picked it up with both hands. Steady. Heartbreakingly steady.
"I understand, Prime Minister."
Aoki's voice was calm. Like he was confirming tomorrow's schedule.
"This was my greed. I used your name without permission and accepted those stocks. You knew nothing."
Takeshita's eyes reddened. He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
"Rest assured."
Aoki bowed deep.
"I'll clean every ledger. The fire won't reach you."
"Ihei…"
"As long as you pass the consumption tax, the nation's finances can be saved." Aoki straightened. Even smiled, faintly. "My sacrifice is worth it."