The summer of 1986 arrived early in Tokyo. The rainy season had not yet begun, yet the air already carried a sticky, suffocating humidity. Cicadas shrieked endlessly from the treetops, as though announcing the restless season about to unfold.
Azabu-Juban, Minato Ward.
Though only a stone's throw from the desire-drenched streets of Roppongi, the district felt like another world entirely. There were no all-night discos here—only winding slopes and grand estates concealed behind ancient, luxuriant trees.
A black Nissan President sedan climbed slowly up the steep incline known as Kurayami-zaka.
"The cicadas here are far noisier than at the main residence," Satsuki remarked from the back seat. She waved a small sandalwood fan gently before her face. Today she wore a pale-purple dress trimmed with white lace at the neckline, resembling an iris blooming in the shadows.
Shuichi flipped through property documents. At her words he glanced up and looked out at the dense canopy that nearly blocked the sky.
"Because the trees are old," he replied calmly. "This part of Azabu has been home to daimyo villas since the Edo period. Some of these trees may well predate the history of the Saionji family."
The car came to a stop before a rusted black iron gate.
The gate stood at least three meters tall, its spearhead finials sharp as vigilant guards. Thick dead vines clung to the bars, obscuring the original metallic sheen beneath layers of moss and decay.
On the stone pillar beside the gate, where a nameplate should have hung, only a rectangular indentation remained, filled with green moss.
A middle-aged man in a pinstripe suit waited anxiously by the entrance, constantly mopping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. When he saw the sedan stop, he hurried forward to open the door.
"Mr. Saionji! Young Lady! Thank you for coming!"
The man bowed repeatedly while wiping his brow. He was Sato, a real-estate agent specializing in luxury properties in Minato Ward. Normally quite arrogant, he now appeared distinctly uneasy before the eerie mansion.
"Sato-san, you are sweating rather heavily," Shuichi observed as he stepped out and adjusted his cuffs. He did not enter at once, but stood by the roadside, studying the tightly closed gate.
"It… it is only the heat," Sato replied with an awkward smile. "And this place… has quite a few mosquitoes."
"Mosquitoes thrive where humans are absent."
Satsuki hopped lightly from the car, closed her fan, and pointed toward the deep greenery visible through the gaps in the gate.
"Is the gate locked?"
"Ah, yes, it is locked." Sato fumbled for a large ring of keys from his briefcase, his hands trembling slightly as he searched for the largest brass one. "Um… Mr. Saionji, there is something I should mention first."
He paused, looking troubled.
"This house… has been on the market for five years. Many people have viewed it, including major real-estate developers, yet in the end no one bought it."
"Because it is too old?" Shuichi asked.
"It is not merely the age." Sato lowered his voice and glanced around nervously. "This place… is not entirely clean."
"Not clean?"
"Well… there are stories," Sato swallowed hard. "It was originally Count Kyogoku's villa. After the war the family fell into ruin and the house stood abandoned. I heard a maid once hanged herself on the third floor. Later, several tenants claimed they could hear high heels walking along the corridors at night."
"Some even say they have seen ghost fires flickering in the third-floor windows after midnight."
Having finished, Sato could not suppress a shudder despite the twenty-eight-degree heat.
"So the neighbors call it the 'Ghost Mansion.'"
Shuichi showed no fear. Instead, a trace of nostalgia softened his expression.
"The Kyogoku family…" he murmured. "No wonder the gatehouse looked familiar. My father once brought me here for a garden party when I was a child."
He turned to his daughter.
"Satsuki, are you afraid?"
Satsuki raised her fan to cover half her face, revealing only her smiling eyes.
"Father, compared with having no money, what are ghosts?"
She walked to the iron gate and motioned for Sato to open it.
"Besides, ghosts do not collect rent. If there truly are ghosts here, the price must be very cheap indeed."
Sato froze for a moment, then offered a bitter smile as he inserted the key into the lock.
*Click.*
The rusted cylinder produced a piercing grind. Sato had to twist it forcefully several times before a dull unlocking sound finally came.
The heavy iron gate swung open slowly.
A cold draft carrying the scent of rotting leaves and damp earth rushed out from within.
The yard was enormous.
Or rather, it had become a primeval forest.
The once-manicured English garden had been swallowed whole by decades of neglect. Knee-high weeds and thorny shrubs blocked every path. What had once been prized rose bushes now formed impassable thickets.
The three of them picked their way along a stone path barely visible beneath the overgrowth. (Since Satsuki had arranged the viewing without advance notice, no one had cleared the way.)
Through the dense foliage, a Western-style mansion came into view.
It was a classic Taisho Roman villa: red-brick walls, a bronze-colored sloped roof, and dormer windows that stared coldly at the intruders like watchful eyes.
Ivy had crept over nearly every surface, enveloping the building in green vegetation and leaving only the tightly shuttered windows visible.
"The skeleton remains remarkably sturdy," Satsuki observed, ignoring the dilapidated exterior and focusing instead on the structure itself.
"Houses from that era were built with solid materials. The walls are at least fifty centimeters thick; the soundproofing should be excellent."
"Ye… yes," Sato replied, using his briefcase to push aside encroaching branches. "The main structure is sound. It is only the interior that has rotted completely. Anyone wishing to live here would probably have to gut the entire building and begin anew."
He glanced nervously at the eerie entrance and ventured a suggestion. "Actually, if you were to tear the house down and sell the land alone…"
"We will not tear it down."
Satsuki interrupted him.
She stepped onto the moss-covered stairs and pushed open the heavy oak door.
It was not locked.
*Creak—*
The door groaned loudly as it swung inward.
No bats flew out—only countless specks of dust danced in the shafts of light that pierced the gloom.
The hall was very dark.
All the windows had been boarded up; only the light from the open door illuminated the parquet floor beneath their feet.
The air was thick with the heavy scent of mold—the smell of time left to ferment.
At the center stood a wide, double-flight staircase with exquisitely carved railings. Though coated in dust, the former luxury was still evident. Suspended from the ceiling directly above was a massive crystal chandelier, now shrouded in cobwebs like a giant white cocoon.
"Here…" Shuichi looked around, his voice echoing in the empty space, "they used to hold balls quite frequently."
He pointed to an archway on the right.
"That should be the banquet hall. I remember there was a Steinway grand piano."
Satsuki followed his gesture.
The banquet hall was spacious—at least a hundred square meters. Although some floorboards had warped, the surface remained largely level. Several darkened oil paintings hung on the walls, their subjects now indistinguishable.
The piano was still there, but a thick layer of dust covered its lid and one leg had broken, leaving it leaning precariously in the corner.
Satsuki walked to the center of the hall and closed her eyes.
She heard no sound of high heels.
Instead she heard something else.
The pop of champagne corks, the rustle of silk gowns, low murmurs, and the quiet exchange of power.
"Only one entrance and exit."
Satsuki spoke suddenly.
"What?" Sato did not understand.
"Does this house have any other exits besides the front door?" she asked.
"Uh… there is a small back door by the kitchen leading to the servants' quarters, but it has been boarded up," Sato replied. "In these old Western-style houses, the first-floor windows are set high and fitted with iron bars for security."
"Very good."
A satisfied curve appeared at the corner of Satsuki's mouth.
"That is precisely what we require."
She turned to Shuichi.
"Father, what does this place feel like to you?"
Shuichi considered for a moment. "Like… a fortress?"
"Exactly. A fortress isolated from the world."
Satsuki walked to a window and peered through the cracks in the boards at the high perimeter wall outside.
"High walls, deep courtyards, a single entrance."
"This place does not need sunlight. Because the transactions that will take place here are meant to remain in darkness."
She turned, her eyes gleaming in the dim light.
"For truly powerful figures, luxury mansions are commonplace. But a location that is absolutely secure, absolutely private—where even a fly entering would be noticed—that is a priceless treasure."
"That 'ghost' rumor is practically a gift from heaven."
Satsuki laughed softly. Her voice was clear, yet it carried a subtle chill.
"It will keep away curious eyes and bar the commoners who have no right to enter."
Sato stood completely bewildered. He could not fathom why a twelve-year-old girl would show such keen interest in so eerie a place, speaking so casually of "transactions" and "darkness."
This young lady of the Saionji family was indeed uncanny.
"Sato-san."
Satsuki turned to the agent.
"What is the current asking price for this house?"
Sato opened his folder with trembling hands. "Uh… the owner is anxious to sell. The listed price is four hundred million yen. If you are serious, we could probably negotiate it down to three hundred and eighty million."
Three hundred and eighty million.
In a year when land prices in Minato Ward were already beginning to rise, a Western-style mansion with a thousand tsubo of land at that price was practically a gift.
That "ghost" had driven the price to rock bottom.
"There is no need to negotiate."
Shuichi spoke.
He stood at the foot of the staircase, running his hand along the dust-covered railing as though touching a fragment of lost history.
"Four hundred million. I will buy it."
Sato's eyes widened. "Eh? But… would you not like to see the upper floors? We have not even…"
"It is better if there are ghosts."
Shuichi interrupted him, his tone indifferent.
"If Count Kyogoku's soul truly lingers here, I shall simply invite him for a drink. After all, few old friends from that era remain."
He withdrew a checkbook from his pocket—he had taken to carrying one at all times.
"I will write the check now. A deposit of twenty million. The balance will be paid in full next week upon transfer of title."
"Also," Shuichi added, gazing up at the cobweb-shrouded chandelier, "I do not require any cleaning. Do not touch a single blade of grass, a single tree, a single brick, or a single tile."
"I wish to purchase the property exactly as it stands."
Sato clutched the check, his palms burning. He had never imagined that the troublesome property he had carried for five years would sell in less than half an hour—and that the buyer had not even set foot on the second floor.
"Yes! Yes! I will prepare the contract at once!"
Sato bowed deeply, looking as though he wished to kowtow.
"Um… shall I wait for you in the car?" He clearly had no desire to remain another second in the eerie mansion.
"Go ahead."
Shuichi waved him off.
Sato fled as though granted amnesty, his hurried footsteps echoing sharply through the empty hall.
Only father and daughter remained.
Silence settled once more.
"Father," Satsuki said, walking to the piano and pressing a single key.
*Dong—*
A dull, out-of-tune note rang out, stirring a cloud of dust.
"This will be the heart of the Showa Rokumeikan."
She spoke softly.
"We will renovate the interior. A light touch to the exterior will suffice; preserving the dilapidated appearance provides the best camouflage. But inside…"
She pointed to the floor beneath her feet.
"We will tear up all the floorboards and lay the thickest carpets. We will soundproof every wall. We will restore that large chandelier and replace its crystals with the brightest ones available."
"There will be no daylight here—only eternal night."
"Politicians will decide the next prime minister in these rooms. Zaibatsu leaders will carve up the national budget here. And we…"
Satsuki walked to the middle of the staircase and stood high, looking down.
"We will sit right here and watch them dance."
Shuichi regarded his daughter.
In that moment the dust motes drifting in the light seemed to turn to golden powder. The dead mansion was coming alive again through her words, transforming into a great beast that would devour secrets and power.
"If it is to be a heart, it will need blood to sustain it," Shuichi said as he climbed the stairs to stand beside her.
"A membership fee of one hundred million yen. I suspect those with black money and nowhere safe to spend it will be more than happy to queue for such a ticket."
Father and daughter stood side by side on the dim staircase, gazing toward the open door.
Outside, the sun shone brilliantly and the cicadas sang loudly.
Inside, the shadows were deep and the silence felt like death itself.
On that sweltering afternoon, the Saionji family purchased a haunted house.
In the years to come, this place would become the most coveted and feared address in all Japan.
The legend known as "The Club" had begun.