In March 1987 the wind in Meguro Ward still carried the lingering bite of winter.
This district had long been one of Tokyo's traditional affluent residential areas.
Yet at this moment it resembled a scarred battlefield more than a neighborhood of quiet wealth.
To build momentum for the upcoming listing of Seibu Land Development and to seize the high ground amid Tokyo's ever more frantic land prices, the Seibu Group had launched a massive project code-named the "Hundred Billion Yen Plan." They had spent a fortune clearing dozens of old wooden houses in this valuable district, creating two enormous plots of bare earth.
According to the plan, two thirty-story ultra-luxury apartment towers—"Meguro Forest Park"—would rise here, linked by a wide French-style tree-lined avenue and a sunken plaza with a fountain.
Advertisements had already blanketed the city.
"Dedicated to the upper class of the new era."
The sales office telephone rang without pause, and even before pre-sale permits were issued the waiting list of prospective buyers had already exceeded two thousand households.
Everything appeared perfect.
Until this morning.
A black Mercedes-Benz S-Class rolled over the muddy temporary road and braked sharply at the construction-site entrance.
The door opened and Gonda stepped out, his face ashen.
He wore an expensive camel-colored cashmere coat, and his leather shoes gleamed, utterly out of place amid the mud.
Six months earlier he had been humiliated by Saionji Shuichi and subsequently sidelined within the group. Only recently, thanks to his "tough tactics"—though not entirely honorable—in the Meguro Ward demolitions, had Chairman Tsutsumi reluctantly reinstated him to oversee on-site coordination.
This was his chance for a comeback.
If the project launched smoothly, he could erase his previous disgrace and return to the center of power.
"What is going on?!"
Gonda shouted at site manager Tanaka, who had hurried to meet him, as he strode deeper into the site.
"Why has work stopped? Why is the piling machine silent? Why is this bulldozer stalled? Do you realize how much interest we lose for every day of delay?!"
His voice boomed, spittle flying across Tanaka's face.
Tanaka, a veteran engineer in his fifties who was usually loud himself, now hunched his shoulders with a bitter expression and kept wiping sweat from beneath his safety helmet.
"Deputy Manager… it is not that I want to stop. It is… impossible to continue."
Tanaka pointed toward the center of the site.
"Please see for yourself."
Gonda frowned and marched forward, each step sinking into the mud.
That area was supposed to become the planned "Champs-Élysées," the grand central thoroughfare connecting the northern and southern plots.
Instead, a crowd had gathered there.
The bulldozer's bucket hung motionless in the air, like a monster frozen mid-strike.
Gonda pushed through the onlookers and reached the front.
Then he stopped dead.
Between two vast, leveled plots of yellow earth stretched an absurdly narrow strip of land.
It measured only two meters wide—too narrow for even a car to turn around.
Yet it ran a full fifty meters, slicing across the site like a sharp knife, or rather an ugly scar, severing the connection between the northern and southern parcels.
This strip had not been cleared. Waist-high withered yellow weeds covered it, along with scattered old tires and rusty iron barrels of unknown origin.
Around this desolate patch, however, a brand-new circle of gleaming barbed-wire fencing had been erected overnight.
Every five meters hung a conspicuous red warning sign:
"Private Land – Entry Prohibited"
"Managed by Saionji Industries Co., Ltd."
"What in the world is this?"
Gonda pointed at the strip, his temples throbbing.
"Why was it not acquired during the earlier demolition phase?!"
Tanaka's face crumpled like a bitter gourd.
"Deputy Manager, this plot used to be an access path for a garbage recycling station—a 'blind spot' in municipal planning. The previous owner was an old man we could not locate. We assumed it was unclaimed land and planned to level it once construction began…"
"Who knew…" Tanaka swallowed hard. "Last night a group of people suddenly appeared and put up this fence in a matter of hours."
"Last night?"
Gonda narrowed his eyes and stared at the sign.
"Saionji…"
Was this coincidence, or deliberate?
He turned toward the nearby bulldozer.
The driver sat in the cab smoking, gazing boredly in their direction.
"Who told you to stop?" Gonda shouted, jabbing a finger at the man. "Push through! Who cares about private land? This is a key national project! I will take full responsibility! Level those damned barbed-wire fences!"
The driver hesitated and glanced at Tanaka.
Just as Tanaka opened his mouth to speak, Gonda kicked the bulldozer's track.
"Are you deaf? Drive!"
Startled, the driver flung away his cigarette, started the engine, and lowered the bucket.
"Rumble—"
Black diesel smoke billowed as the massive machine lurched forward, tracks crushing gravel, bucket teeth advancing toward the barbed wire.
When the sharp edges were less than half a meter from the fence—
"Beep—"
A sharp car horn cut through the roar.
The door of a black Crown sedan parked in the shadows opened.
A man in a dark gray suit, silver-rimmed glasses, and carrying a briefcase stepped out. He wore neither rain boots nor a safety helmet. He simply stood at the edge of the mud, raised one hand, and held up a large mobile telephone—still a rarity in that era.
"Stop."
He did not shout; his voice was not loud. Yet amid the machinery's thunder, the gesture carried absolute authority.
The bulldozer driver instinctively slammed on the brakes.
The bucket halted ten centimeters from the barbed wire. The wind it stirred rattled the red warning sign.
Gonda turned, eyes narrowing at the uninvited guest.
"What do you want?"
The man adjusted his tie, walked carefully around the puddles, and approached Gonda.
He withdrew a business card from his briefcase and presented it with both hands in perfect, courteous form.
"My name is Sasaki."
"Legal counsel for Saionji Industries."
At the three words "Saionji," Gonda's pupils contracted sharply.
That name.
The name that had swept him out of Azabu-Juban six months earlier.
The name that had haunted his dreams ever since.
"So it really is you…" The business card crumpled in Gonda's fist. "What do you want? This plot is only two meters wide! You could not even build a doghouse on it! Are you fencing it off to breed mosquitoes?"
Lawyer Sasaki pushed up his glasses; a cold glint flashed across the lenses.
"It does not matter what can be built on this land, or whether anything can be built at all."
He opened his briefcase and produced a document bearing a bright red court seal.
"What matters is that the property rights belong to Saionji Industries."
"According to Article 29 of the Constitution of Japan, private property rights are sacred and inviolable."
Sasaki held the document before Gonda.
It was a temporary injunction to cease construction, issued that very morning by the Tokyo District Court.
"Had your machine advanced another ten centimeters, that would have constituted trespass and destruction of private property."
The lawyer's voice was flat, like a scripted recitation.
"I have already notified the Meguro Police Station. Moreover, in the car over there…"
He pointed toward the rear seat of the black Crown.
"…is a photographer from Shūkan Bunshun. If you believe Seibu Group's stock price can withstand a headline reading 'Forcibly Occupying Private Property,' please continue."
Gonda's face turned the color of liver.
He glanced at the black car, then at the bulldozer bucket suspended overhead.
His throat felt stuffed with cotton; breathing grew difficult.
This strip of land was critical.
It not only physically severed the construction site but legally cut the lifeline of the entire Seibu project.
Without acquiring it, the northern and southern plots could not be merged.
Without merging them, the floor-area ratio under the Building Standards Law would be halved. Worse, without this central access road the fire-escape requirements could not be met, rendering the entire development illegal.
"You…"
Gonda ground his teeth and forced out the words.
"You did this on purpose."
"This land was a garbage recycling station! Who would buy such worthless ground for no reason? You knew Seibu planned to develop here, didn't you?"
Lawyer Sasaki offered a slight, professional smile—more unsettling than open mockery.
"Mr. Gonda, please choose your words carefully. This is called commercial investment."
"My client, President Saionji, is highly optimistic about the future of Meguro Ward. He purchased this land originally intending to…"
The lawyer glanced at the weed-choked, desolate strip and continued with perfect seriousness.
"…to build a long 'linear park' here, or perhaps to erect a fifty-meter public advertising billboard promoting world peace."
"You are full of shit!"
Gonda finally exploded.
"A linear park? Two meters wide? Do you think this is a tightrope?"
He snatched the document, wishing he could tear it to shreds.
Yet reason told him it would be futile. The judge's seal was genuine; the land deed was genuine.
"Name your price."
Gonda drew a deep breath and forced himself to calm.
He was a businessman. In this world there were no insoluble deadlocks—only prices that could not yet be agreed upon.
"This plot measures barely thirty tsubo—about one hundred square meters. At current market rates, one million yen per tsubo is the absolute ceiling."
He raised three fingers.
"Thirty million. I will have finance issue a check immediately."
"This is out of respect for Councilor Saionji."
Lawyer Sasaki looked at the three fingers, said nothing, and silently returned the document to his briefcase.
"Mr. Gonda, I fear you have misunderstood."
He clicked the briefcase shut with a soft, decisive sound.
"I am merely a lawyer. I do not handle business negotiations; I provide only legal instruction."
"If you wish to purchase the land, please contact President Saionji directly. However…"
Sasaki glanced at his watch.
"As far as I know, President Saionji has been extremely busy lately. The new building in Akasaka has only just opened, so he may not have time for such 'small matters.'"
With that, he bowed slightly and turned toward the Crown.
"Wait!"
Gonda took two hurried steps, his foot sinking into a mud puddle and splashing sewage onto his expensive trousers.
"Tell Saionji Shuichi this: do not push too far! Seibu Group is not to be trifled with! If he wants trouble here, I have many ways to turn his land into true wasteland!"
Sasaki stopped.
He did not turn around, but stood by the car door, back to Gonda, and spoke calmly.
"Mr. Gonda, allow me to remind you."
"This land is already wasteland."
"Precisely because it is nothing, it fears nothing."
"But your project…"
Sasaki turned his head; his gaze fell on the idled heavy machinery.
"…how much daily interest does the bank charge while these machines sit idle? How much are the workers' wages? How large are the penalties for breaching pre-sale contracts with customers?"
"You know the answers better than I do."
"Bang."
The car door closed.
The black Crown started; its exhaust pipe emitted a puff of white smoke, a silent mockery.
The sedan drove swiftly away, leaving Gonda standing alone in the cold wind.
The surrounding workers exchanged uneasy glances, none daring to speak. The bulldozer driver cautiously poked his head out.
"Deputy Manager… shall we still push down the fence?"
"Push my ass!"
Gonda spun around and kicked a nearby oil barrel.
"Clang!"
The barrel rolled away and crashed against the barbed wire with a loud clang.
Yet the brand-new fence stood unmoved.
It remained there silently, an insurmountable Wall of Sighs, mocking the Seibu Group's hundred-billion-yen ambition.
Gonda stared at the red warning sign.
"Saionji Industries."
The words pierced his eyes like needles.
At last he understood what Shuichi had meant that day in Azabu-Juban.
"Tokyo no longer belongs to Yoshiaki Tsutsumi alone."
This was not merely land acquisition.
It was deliberate poisoning.
They had lodged a fishbone precisely in the throat of the Seibu giant.
Not fatal, yet impossible to swallow or spit out—enough to make one wish for death.
"Saionji Shuichi…"
Gonda ground the name between clenched teeth; the business card in his fist had become a wad of waste paper.
"You just wait."
Even as he spoke, he knew how pale and powerless the threat sounded.
Behind him, the two vast plots purchased for tens of billions of yen now lay like corpses beneath the gloomy sky, waiting for the one person who held the antidote.
The wind grew stronger.
It lifted the withered grass into swirling eddies.
For Gonda, this spring in Meguro Ward felt colder than any winter.
(Note: Satsuki had not set out to cause trouble here. This narrow strip was a piece of foreshadowing planted long ago, part of a larger, carefully laid plan.)