September 14, 1988, 9:00 PM.
Tokyo Metropolis, Nagatacho, Liberal Democratic Party Secretary-General's Office.
Though Typhoon Hal had passed, its residual low-pressure system still lingered over Tokyo like a soaked rag pressed against the city's mouth and nose. It was suffocating.
Torrential rain lashed the office's heavy bulletproof window. Water streamed down the glass, twisting the brilliant Tokyo nightscape outside into bizarre, kaleidoscopic smears.
Inside, the air was so thick it felt solid.
A high-power air purifier hummed in the corner, but it couldn't draw the palpable anxiety from the room.
Kanemaru Shin, Secretary-General of the Liberal Democratic Party and the true helmsman of the Takeshita Faction — Keiseikai — was sunk deep into his leather sofa. He held an unlit cigar between his fingers. His knuckles were white from gripping it too hard, and the age spots on the back of his hands stood out starkly under the dim yellow light.
Sitting in the shadows across from him was a man in his early forties. His face was chiseled, his eyes as sharp as an eagle's. This was Ozawa Ichiro, leader of the Takeshita Faction's Young Turks.
"Those mad dogs in the Special Investigation Department have already sunk their teeth into Takeshita's secretary."
Kanemaru's voice was hoarse. He slammed the cigar onto the table with a dull thud.
"Even having Aoki take the fall is useless now. The ledger for that company called Apex is still in Ezaki's hands. The list held by that nouveau riche is longer than we thought."
The only sounds in the room were the ticking of the wall clock and the muffled thunder outside.
"Ezaki is still trying to contact us."
Ozawa didn't respond immediately. He picked up his teacup and gently blew the tea leaves from the surface. His tone was calm, as if he were discussing tomorrow's weather.
"He hopes the D-Department can pressure the banks to keep Apex's credit lines open. He says that as long as the company doesn't collapse, he can find a way to balance the books — if we just give him time."
"Time?"
Kanemaru snorted. The flesh on his face trembled slightly, and a mocking smile twisted the corner of his mouth.
"At this point, who dares to lend money to Apex? That's jumping into a fire pit. The bank executives are sharper than ghosts. They already have Apex on their internal 'observation list.' Ezaki is a political zombie now. His only value is to keep his mouth shut."
Kanemaru stood and walked to the window, staring out at the curtain of rain.
"He needs to disappear, or be completely stripped of the ability to speak. But… we can't be the ones to do it. The Special Investigation Department is watching our every move. If something happens to Ezaki now, or if Apex suddenly collapses and triggers social unrest, public opinion will turn its spear straight at Keiseikai."
He turned, his gaze sinister as he stared at Ozawa.
"We need a 'cleaner.'"
"Someone with enough cash to absorb this mess, and a political record clean enough to silence the public."
Ozawa set down his teacup.
"There's only one."
Ozawa's voice was soft.
"Saionji Industries. Besides them, no one in Tokyo right now has tens of billions in liquid cash and is looking for somewhere to spend it."
Kanemaru narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he studied his most capable subordinate.
"Saionji? The Saionji who not only rejected our overtures but backed Osawa and forced the split?"
"Precisely because it's them."
Ozawa pulled a document from his briefcase and slid it toward Kanemaru.
"Because of the 'Akasaka Construction Halt Incident,' the Saionji Family is seen by the public as victims of Takeshita Faction bullying. If the victims step forward to acquire the aggressor's assets, it isn't just reasonable — it can be framed as a commercial act of 'repaying injury with kindness.' It's the perfect script. The Special Investigation Department won't be able to say a word against it."
Kanemaru looked at the document. His expression shifted between light and shadow.
Having to bow his head and ask the Saionji Family — the same family he'd tried to crush with administrative power — for help, and even hand over a lucrative asset from his own side… for Kanemaru, it was an immense humiliation.
He'd lost the last power struggle with the Saionji Family, but he'd never believed he was inferior to them. In politics, winning and losing were routine.
But he had no choice.
The Special Investigation Department's footsteps were already at the door. The guillotine's blade had been raised.
"Saionji Shuichi…" Kanemaru ground the name out through his teeth. "That old fox — would he really be so kind? And that girl… why do these old families always produce a monster once in a while?"
"Of course they're not kind."
A meaningful smile touched the corner of Ozawa's mouth.
"He's a businessman. If the profit is large enough, he'll happily help us dispose of this corpse. Besides… I hear the Saionji Family is very interested in those plots in Odaiba. And Saionji-san happens to have a connection with Ezaki's daughter at school."
Kanemaru drew a deep breath. He grabbed the cigar from the table and bit the tip off savagely.
"Let him handle it."
"As long as the ledger is cleaned up, and as long as that idiot Ezaki takes the money and goes overseas to keep his mouth shut."
"Tell Saionji that this time… I owe him one."
Outside, lightning split the night sky, illuminating Kanemaru's aged, ferocious face.
---
The next day, 10:00 AM.
Nagatacho, House of Representatives Budget Committee.
Countless flashbulbs turned the massive conference hall as bright as day. Shutters clicked nonstop. The air reeked of overheating film.
Osawa Ichiro stood at the inquiry stand.
He wore a sharply tailored dark blue suit. His tie was a reformist red. Unlike the other legislators, he wasn't reading from a script. Both hands rested on the podium as he stared directly at the Minister of Finance and the MITI officials across from him.
In the shadowed gallery behind him, Saionji Shuichi sat upright, his expression calm, like an uninvolved spectator.
"Regarding the political donations, I trust the Special Investigation Department will issue a public conclusion in due time."
Osawa's voice rang through the hall via microphone — steady, powerful, carrying undeniable pressure.
"But I stand here today not to talk about stocks. I'm here to talk about 'security'!"
He suddenly raised a document and waved it forcefully in the air.
"Apex Group, as an enterprise holding the job application data of two million graduating university students across Japan, is now in a state of extreme operational chaos! I ask the officials here: if this company goes bankrupt due to a broken capital chain, where will this massive database — containing our citizens' private information — end up?"
The hall fell silent. Only Osawa's voice echoed.
"Will it be sold as waste paper to recyclers? Or stolen by hostile overseas organizations?"
"It contains our citizens' home addresses, contact information, even family backgrounds! This isn't just a commercial issue. This is an issue of national information security! This is a blatant threat to citizens' privacy!"
Clamor—
The hall erupted.
Reporters hammered their shutters. Flashbulbs lit Osawa's face in strobing light and shadow.
The angle was too shrewd, too fatal. He didn't talk about money. He talked about "privacy." In this dawning age of the information society, nothing touched the public nerve more than the phrase "personal privacy leak."
The Minister of Finance wiped sweat from his brow and stammered an attempted explanation, but he looked pale and helpless under Osawa's aggressive questioning.
The live broadcast carried the scene into millions of homes — and into the offices of every major bank president.
The banking consortiums, which had been hesitating because of Kanemaru Shin's hints and planned to wait a few more days on Apex, abandoned hope entirely in that moment.
Who would dare lend to a company suspected of "endangering national information security"? That would be suicide. It would declare them enemies of the people.
Dai-Ichi Kangyo Bank. Sumitomo Bank. Fuji Bank… The calls went out, each with one message:
Freeze.
Completely freeze all credit lines for Apex Group.
In the gallery, Shuichi adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. He watched Osawa, speaking passionately under the spotlight, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a subtle curve.
It was a perfect performance.
And the final death warrant for President Ezaki.
"Well acted."
He stood, straightened his already immaculate suit, and turned to leave the noisy chamber.
The final straw had been placed.
---
5:00 PM.
Seika Academy, old school building, art room.
The sunset was blood-red.
Orange light streamed obliquely through the ivy-covered windows, baking the air already thick with turpentine, linseed oil, and old dust. The smell grew heavier, almost cloying.
The art room was silent except for the faint scratch of brush on canvas.
Plaster statues cast long, distorted shadows in the light, like silent ghosts.
Satsuki sat before an easel, holding a paintbrush.
On the canvas was a rotting apple. The dark red skin had collapsed, exposing brown flesh where several ants crawled. Her strokes were delicate yet sharp, capturing the texture of death and decay with unsettling accuracy.
Creak—
The wooden door groaned open.
Ezaki Mariko walked in.
She looked even more haggard than yesterday. Her eyes were sunken. Her lips were cracked. The uniform she once wore with pride now hung loosely on her frame, as if she'd lost weight overnight. She clutched a handkerchief, crumpled into a ball, in her hand.
"Clas—Saionji-san."
Mariko's voice trembled, carrying both pleading and a trace of lingering hope.
Satsuki didn't look back.
She dipped her brush in black paint and deepened a shadow on the apple, making the rotten patch even more grotesque.
"Well? Has your uncle thought it over?"
Mariko stepped behind Satsuki, unsteady on her feet. She looked at that elegant silhouette, her lips trembling.
That figure… the person she'd admired… had once been so close. Now, an impassable, miserable barrier stood between them.
She wasn't qualified to approach that figure anymore. She didn't even have the courage to beg for forgiveness.
"Father said… Father said that price… it's really too low. That piece of land… the original purchase price was three times that figure…"
Ezaki Mariko stood several meters behind Satsuki. Her voice grew fainter, as if she didn't believe it herself.
"Also, Father said that Mr. Kanemaru should still have a way… He said if we just wait a few more days, until the heat dies down, the banks will release the loans… So, could you… could you please just slightly…"
Screech—
The paintbrush scraped across the canvas with a grating sound, like a knife on glass.
Satsuki stopped.
She tossed the brush into the brush washer. The murky water turned black instantly, reflecting a strange glint in the sunset.
"Mariko."
Satsuki turned and stood.
She looked at the trembling girl before her. The warmth that had been in her eyes before was gone, replaced by a chilling indifference. It was the indifference of watching prey that had already fallen into a trap but was still trying to struggle.
"Your father doesn't seem to understand the situation."
She walked toward Mariko step by step. Her leather shoes made dull thuds on the wooden floor.
"He thinks he's still negotiating a deal with me?"
"He thinks he still has bargaining chips?"
Satsuki stopped in front of Mariko and leaned down slightly. Mariko's terrified face was reflected in Satsuki's obsidian-like pupils.
"Did you watch Councilor Osawa's interpellation in the Diet today?"
Mariko shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes.
"Then you should go back and watch it." Satsuki's voice was soft, but it cut like an ice blade straight into Mariko's heart. "Just now, Mitsui, Sumitomo, and Fuji — the three main banks — officially announced a freeze on all credit lines to Apex Group."
"Do you know what that means?"
Mariko's entire body trembled. Her face went paper-white. She backed up involuntarily until she bumped into the table behind her.
"It means that starting tomorrow, your family won't be able to write a single check. It means all your creditors will be at your front door tomorrow morning, carrying away the last chair in your house."
"And the Tokyo District Public Prosecutors Office Special Investigation Department…"
Satsuki extended a slender finger and gently straightened Mariko's messy collar.
"Their arrest warrant has already been signed. The only reason it hasn't been served is because they're waiting."
"Waiting for what?" Mariko asked, her voice hoarse.
"Waiting for the meat to rot completely."
Satsuki smiled. In the light of the setting sun, that smile looked especially sinister.
"Once the arrest warrant is served, all your family's assets will be frozen. At that point, that piece of land won't be your asset anymore. It'll be 'proceeds of crime.' It will be confiscated, auctioned, and become national treasury revenue."
"And you won't get a single yen. Your father will spend the rest of his life in prison, and you'll be on the street, buried in debt."
"Do you want to live the rest of your life like that?"
Mariko's legs gave out. She slid down the edge of the table and collapsed onto the floor, covering her face with her hands and sobbing.
"Then… then what should we do… Save me, Satsuki, save us…"
"That's right. The Saionji Family is the only one who can save you."
Satsuki turned, picked up her brush again, and idly mixed colors on her palette.
"Because only we dare to buy that 'poisoned' piece of land with cash at a time like this."
"This money, though not much, is enough for you to pay off your emergency bank debts, enough to buy plane tickets overseas and live under a false identity. This is your last chance at 'dignity.'"
She glanced at the wall clock.
Five thirty.
"Tell your father."
The witch pronounced her sentence.
"Midnight tonight. That is the final deadline."
"If I don't see the signed and stamped transfer agreement on my father's desk before midnight…"
Satsuki's wrist flicked. A streak of bright red paint slashed across the canvas, like a shocking bloodstain.
"Then this transaction is canceled."
"And you can take that land and go spend the winter in prison."
---
Late night, 11:00 PM.
Setagaya Ward, Ezaki Residence.
The mansion, once brightly lit, was now shrouded in dead silence and darkness. Only a dim floor lamp glowed in the living room.
The room was a mess. Expensive antique vases lay shattered on the floor. Documents were scattered everywhere. Several servants had secretly packed small valuables under cover of night and slipped out the back door. They hadn't even bothered to close the main gate properly.
President Ezaki slumped on the leather sofa, his tie ripped open, his shirt stained with wine. His hair was disheveled, his eyes cloudy. He clutched the telephone receiver — his last hope.
Beep… beep… beep…
On the other end was a long busy signal.
That was the direct line to Kanemaru Shin's office. Just yesterday, the man on the other end had patted his shoulder, called him "good brother," and promised to keep him safe.
Click.
The call connected.
Ezaki's eyes lit up, like a dying man's final surge of strength.
"Mr. Kanemaru! It's Ezaki! Please, the banks—"
"Ezaki-san."
What came through wasn't Kanemaru's familiar booming voice. It was the cold, emotionless voice of a secretary.
"The Secretary-General is resting. He left one message for you."
"What?" Ezaki leaned forward, gripping the receiver like a life raft.
"Fend for yourself."
Beep—
The line went dead.
In that instant, President Ezaki felt all the blood in his body turn to ice.
Discarded piece.
The two words hit his skull like a hammer. He finally understood his situation. To those important men, he'd been nothing but a wallet to be tossed aside, a filthy rag.
"Father…"
Mariko stood at the stairwell, clutching the agreement document the Saionji Family had sent. Her eyes were swollen from crying. Her voice was hoarse.
"Saionji-san said… there's only one hour left."
Ezaki looked up at his daughter, then at the document that looked like a contract of servitude.
The price on it was one-third of market value. It was robbery. Disaster profiteering.
But… he looked around at the house about to be sealed, listening to the faint sound of police sirens outside the window.
Aside from this agreement, he had nothing left.
If he didn't sign, tomorrow would bring cold handcuffs and endless interrogation. If he signed, at least he could survive.
"Give me the pen."
Ezaki's voice had aged ten years in an instant, as if all his vitality had been drained.
With a trembling hand, he retrieved the company's official seal — the symbol of highest authority — from the gap in the leather sofa. That seal had once stamped countless priceless contracts. Now, it would stamp the document that buried his family business.
He spread the agreement out on the wine-stained coffee table.
In that moment, he remembered thirty years of building from nothing. He remembered his high-spirited days, how he'd climbed step by step into the country's upper echelon.
And now, it was over.
In the end, it was all an empty dream.
Thud.
The seal came down.
Bright red ink spread across the paper, like a drop of dried blood.
Outside, lightning tore the night sky.
CRACK!
The guillotine fell.
---
September 15th, 1988, midnight.
Bunkyo Ward, Saionji Main Family Residence.
The study phone rang precisely on time.
Satsuki picked it up.
"Young Miss, we got it." On the other end was Managing Director Endo's voice, excitement barely suppressed. "Ezaki signed. The land title deed and company seal are in my hands."
"Very good."
Satsuki's voice was calm, betraying no emotion, as if she'd just completed a trivial errand.
"Transfer the funds now. We promised, so we keep our word. After all, we are legitimate business people."
"Yes. Understood. I'll arrange the transfer immediately."
"Thank you for your work. Get some rest."
Beep.
The call ended.
Satsuki stood slowly and walked barefoot across the thick carpet to the long table in the corner of the study.
Spread across it was a massive map of Tokyo Metropolis, detailed down to the streets.
In the lower right corner, within the blue expanse of Tokyo Bay, several blank plots of newly finished reclaimed land were marked.
That was Odaiba.
The area labeled "Lot No. 13" sat isolated on the map, with no surrounding infrastructure.
Satsuki reached out and, with two fingers, picked up a white Go stone made of clam shell from the nearby jar.
The stone was smooth and cool.
Her gaze settled on Lot No. 13 — the land, tainted by scandal and black money, that she had just seized from the Ezaki Family.
Clack.
A crisp sound.
The white stone landed firmly in the center of the lot.
On that gloomy map, the spot of white was stark, yet it radiated a kind of sacred dominance.
"Now."
Satsuki's finger pressed the stone, rubbing it slowly.
"It is clean."
Outside, lightning ripped through the night sky. The pale flash lit the entire study, making the white stone gleam like a star born at that moment.
Thunder followed immediately, rolling across the skies of Tokyo like the echo of an old era collapsing.
Satsuki looked up at the torrential rain outside the window.
"Happy hunting."
She said it softly.
In the dark night, the Saionji Family — that long-dormant behemoth — had swallowed another piece of rich flesh. Then it blinked its satisfied eyes, waiting for the next dawn.