Chapter 46: The Last Straw for the Okura Family
June 1987. The rainy season had arrived in Tokyo.
The rain did not fall in satisfying torrents. Instead it drifted thick and ceaseless, wrapping the whole of Ginza in a damp, oppressive haze.
At three o'clock in the afternoon, the Ginza 4-chome intersection remained the most expensive patch of earth in Japan. A piece of land no larger than a postcard could command more than three hundred thousand yen.
In the windows of Mitsukoshi and Wako department stores, golden lights still glowed brightly, displaying new summer collections flown in from Paris. Pedestrians in designer raincoats, carrying expensive long-handled umbrellas, moved lightly between the malls and high-end cafés.
Yet at the entrance of the Sumitomo Bank Ginza branch, two figures stood out sharply, looking utterly out of place.
"Let me in! I am Okura! I am one of your VIP customers!"
Okura Masao clutched a cheap, transparent plastic umbrella whose ribs had broken and hung limply to one side. His voice was hoarse, edged with shrill desperation.
The real-estate tycoon who had once worn custom Italian suits with meticulously combed hair now resembled a stray dog that had fallen into water.
His suit was soaked through—an old model from the previous year, cuffs frayed. His tie hung crooked, dyed a deeper purple by the rain.
"I am sorry, sir."
The bank guard at the door, wearing white gloves, extended his arm like an iron barrier.
"The branch manager is in a meeting. You cannot see him without an appointment."
"A meeting? He is clearly avoiding me!"
Okura Masao reached out to push the heavy glass revolving door.
"I want to see Yamashita! What did that bastard say when he begged me to take the loan? He said as long as I bought land in Chiba the credit limit would be wide open! Now that the project has merely paused, he freezes my account? Tell him to come out!"
"Please conduct yourself with dignity."
The guard frowned and increased the pressure, pushing Okura Masao back so that he staggered.
"If you cause any further trouble, I will call the police."
Okura Masao's foot slipped on the slick marble steps; he nearly fell.
"Papa!"
Okura Masami, who had been standing nearby, rushed forward to support her father.
Today she wore a beige suit—last year's Chanel spring collection. Once it had been her pride at school, but now the hem was splattered with mud and a large patch on the shoulder was soaked through.
Her hair clung messily to her face; her exquisite makeup had been ruined by the rain. Mascara ran from the corners of her eyes, leaving two black tear tracks on her pale cheeks.
"Stop begging them… Papa, let us go…"
Masami's voice trembled with a sob; her body shivered in the wind.
"Go? Where can we go?"
Okura Masao shook off his daughter's hand, his eyes bloodshot.
"The house has been sealed, the car towed away. If I do not obtain the unfreezing order today, I will not even be able to pay your tuition at Seika!"
He turned, staring intently at the bank's tightly closed doors.
Through the glass he could see the warm lights of the lobby and the people queuing at the counters, passbooks in hand, faces glowing with hope for the future.
Separated by a single door.
Inside was heaven; outside was hell.
At that moment the roller shutter of the bank's side garage slowly rose.
A black Toyota Crown drove out.
Okura Masao's eyes lit up like those of a drowning man grasping at a life-saving straw.
He recognised the car. It belonged to Branch Manager Yamashita.
"Yamashita! Yamashita-kun!"
Okura Masao flung away his umbrella and dashed into the rain like a madman. Ignoring the puddles, he spread his arms in an attempt to block the vehicle.
"Screech—"
The driver slammed on the brakes.
The car halted abruptly.
A gap opened as the rear window rolled down.
Okura Masao lunged forward, pounding on the glass, nails scraping with a grating sound.
"Yamashita-kun! I beg you! Give me one more month! Just one month! I have already found a buyer! That land in Chiba can definitely be sold…"
Through the window appeared a pair of cold eyes.
It was Branch Manager Yamashita.
Half a year earlier, in a high-end Ginza club, he had draped an arm around Okura's shoulder, calling him "Big Brother" and swearing that Okura Real Estate was the bank's most valued partner.
Now, looking at the soaked, haggard old man outside, only disgust filled his gaze.
It was as though he were regarding a fly stuck to the glass.
"Okura-san."
Separated by the glass, Yamashita's voice sounded muffled and distant.
"The head office's enforcement order has already been issued. There is nothing I can do."
"Do not come back. This is unsightly."
With that he pressed the button; the window rose mercilessly, cutting off the last thread of sound.
"Drive."
The driver stepped on the accelerator.
The Toyota Crown's engine roared; its tyres kicked up a spray of muddy water that drenched Okura Masao from head to toe.
"Don't go! Yamashita! You liar!!"
Okura Masao continued to chase.
He stumbled two steps; his leather shoe plunged into a deep puddle.
Suddenly his footsteps halted.
The hand that had been waving, desperately trying to seize something, clutched at his left chest.
His face flushed crimson, then drained to a deathly gray. His lips turned purple; his eyes bulged. A sound like a broken bellows escaped his throat.
Intense pain, as though an invisible giant hand had crushed his heart.
"Ugh…"
Okura Masao's knees buckled. He fell forward.
"Thud."
He collapsed heavily into the puddle on the sidewalk, splashing water in every direction.
"Papa!!!"
Masami let out a piercing scream.
She threw aside her umbrella and knelt in the mud, desperately trying to lift her father.
"Papa! What is wrong? Do not frighten me! Papa, wake up!"
Okura Masao's eyes rolled back; his body convulsed violently. His hands gripped the front of his soaked shirt, tearing the buttons away.
"Help! Someone help! Please help!"
Masami looked up, crying out to the passers-by.
It was the afternoon rush hour.
People moved steadily along the streets of Ginza.
A man in a trench coat passed by; he glanced at the figure on the ground, hesitated for a moment, then quickened his pace, as though afraid of catching misfortune.
Two young white-collar workers waiting for the traffic light turned their heads.
"Hey, someone has collapsed."
"Is he drunk?"
"Don't get involved. Look at the big screen over there—the Nikkei index has risen another fifty points!"
"Really? I have made a fortune on my stocks!"
They pointed excitedly at the electronic display on the department-store building, discussing K-line trends, utterly ignoring the life struggling at their feet.
In this era of the frenzied bubble, all compassion had been diluted by money.
People cared only for rising numbers, not for falling men.
Masami gazed despairingly at those indifferent backs. Rain mingled with tears, blurring her vision.
At last she understood.
In this city, without money, even dying on the roadside was merely an eyesore—nothing more than trash.
St. Luke's International Hospital.
The corridors were lit with deathly pale fluorescent lights even during the day; the air carried the mingled scents of disinfectant and alcohol.
The red light above the emergency operating room remained illuminated.
"Miss Okura Masami, is it?"
The head nurse held a stack of forms, her tone blunt.
"The patient's condition is critical—acute myocardial infarction. He requires immediate bypass surgery. Also, please settle the previous emergency and examination fees."
"The total comes to… one point five million yen."
Masami sat on a cold bench, soaked to the bone like a drowned rat.
She clutched several bank cards tightly in her hand.
She had just tried them at the payment window.
Every single one.
Each card she presented was returned moments later by the expressionless cashier.
"I am sorry, this card has been frozen."
"This one as well."
"Insufficient balance."
Once these gold and platinum cards had symbolised her status, allowing lavish spending in the finest malls.
Now they were merely useless pieces of plastic.
"I… I do not have that much cash at present…"
Masami looked up, her eyes swollen like peaches, her voice trembling.
"Can you perform the surgery first? I will certainly find a way… I beg you…"
"I am sorry," the head nurse's expression did not soften. "It is hospital policy. Without a deposit the surgery cannot be scheduled. Please contact family or raise the funds as soon as possible."
With that the head nurse turned and left, her footsteps echoing coldly down the corridor.
Masami slumped onto the chair.
Raise money?
From whom?
Her relatives had long since distanced themselves, fearing entanglement in the Okura family's debts. Those "friends" from school had stopped answering their telephones since she withdrew.
She scrolled through her contact list.
Finally her finger stopped on a single name.
Saionji…
"Ding—"
The elevator doors opened.
A man in a dark-gray suit carrying a briefcase stepped out.
He wore silver-rimmed glasses; his leather shoes clicked crisply against the floor. He scanned the chaotic emergency lobby, his gaze locking precisely onto Masami in the corner.
Lawyer Sasaki.
Chief legal counsel for Saionji Industries.
He walked straight to Masami. Without sitting, he looked down at the dishevelled girl.
"Miss Okura."
Sasaki's voice was calm, devoid of emotion.
"I understand your father is gravely ill and you require funds urgently."
Masami looked up at the man who had appeared so suddenly. She was not foolish; she knew this was no coincidence.
"Are you… here to mock me?"
Masami bit her lip until she tasted blood.
"No."
Sasaki withdrew a document from his briefcase.
"I am here to conduct business."
He sat in the empty seat beside her and opened the file.
"Although Okura Real Estate has gone bankrupt, you still possess one final asset—that three-storey building on the edge of Shinjuku's Kabukichō, together with the land beneath it."
That had been the first parcel Okura Masao acquired when he founded his company—the "ancestral property" he had always refused to sell.
"The market price was five hundred million yen." Masami regarded him warily. "You wish to purchase it?"
"The 'market price' belonged to the past."
Sasaki pushed up his glasses.
"Now the Okura family's assets have been seized by the court. Although the land remains in your name, it will soon enter the auction process. At that time, whether it sells and for how much will depend entirely on the bank's discretion."
He drew a check from his breast pocket.
"My client is willing to acquire it immediately."
"In cash."
Masami stared at the check.
The number upon it was not five hundred million.
It was not even one hundred million.
50,000,000 yen.
Fifty million.
Ten percent.
"This… this is robbery!" Masami sprang to her feet, voice shrill. "That land lies right beside Shinjuku Station! Even in the current market it cannot possibly be worth only fifty million!"
"It is indeed robbery."
Sasaki did not deny it; he merely nodded slightly.
"But it is a robbery that can save a life."
He pointed toward the closed doors of the operating room.
"The surgery fee is one point five million. Postoperative ICU care costs one hundred thousand yen per day. Then there is the long-term recuperation your father will require, and…"
Sasaki looked Masami up and down, noting her mud-stained designer suit.
"…and Miss Okura's future living expenses."
"Fifty million is enough for you and your father to scrape by in this city."
"If you refuse to sign."
Sasaki made a motion as though to withdraw the check.
"Then you may wait for the court auction. The process takes approximately three months. I imagine your father's heart may not endure that long."
Masami's body swayed.
Three months.
He could not even wait thirty minutes.
She turned and gazed at the red light above the operating-room door. That crimson glow felt like a countdown: tick… tock… tick… tock.
It was her father's life.
"Your client…"
Masami turned back, staring fixedly at Sasaki.
"It is Saionji Satsuki, is it not?"
Sasaki offered no answer. He simply extended a fountain pen.
"Sign it, Miss Okura."
"In this world some things cannot be bargained over. Life is one of them."
Masami took the pen with trembling hands.
The barrel felt cold, like a piece of ice.
She looked at the contract. It was a covenant that sold the Okura family's final scrap of dignity and last hope of recovery at the price of scrap metal.
Her hand shook.
Large tears fell onto the paper, blurring the black ink.
"I hate her."
Masami ground the words out from deep in her throat.
"Tell Saionji Satsuki that I hate her."
"I will convey the message," Sasaki replied expressionlessly.
Masami closed her eyes.
The pen tip scratched across the paper.
"Scribble… scribble… scribble."
The name was signed.
Sasaki swiftly retrieved the contract, confirmed its validity, and placed the fifty-million-yen check into Masami's palm.
"The deal is concluded."
He stood and straightened his unwrinkled suit.
"Additionally, my client asked me to deliver a message."
Sasaki regarded the once-arrogant young lady who had now fallen into the dust.
"She said: Hatred is a very useful power. Cherish it. Perhaps one day this hatred will allow you to crawl back up."
"But for now, go and pay the fees."
Sasaki turned and walked away.
The sound of his leather shoes gradually faded, disappearing at the elevator.
Masami remained alone in the corridor.
She clutched the thin check in her hand.
It was merely a piece of paper.
Yet it felt as heavy as a mountain.
Five hundred million had become fifty million.
This was the price of being a loser.
She turned and walked with heavy steps toward the payment window. With every step she left a wet footprint on the floor.
Outside, the rain continued to fall.
It washed over Tokyo, cleansing all filth and blood, and muffling every cry of despair.
On the other side of the city, inside that warm pink building, Saionji Satsuki might be sipping black tea, gazing at the rain beyond the window, and calculating how many hundreds of millions this fifty-million-yen property could be mortgaged for tomorrow.
This was 1987.
In this mad era, people were devoured without even leaving bones behind.