In July 1987 Tokyo had transformed into a giant steamer.
The asphalt softened beneath the scorching sun, releasing a suffocating odour of tar. Although the neon lights of Shinjuku's Kabukichō remained dark during the day, the decadent scent of the district—alcohol, cheap perfume, and overnight garbage—hung even heavier than at night.
This was a swamp of desires.
On the edge of that swamp stood a drab three-storey building.
Many of its exterior tiles had peeled away, exposing the black cement beneath. The first floor, once a pachinko parlour, now had its roller shutter tightly closed and plastered with small "For Rent" and "Loan Shark" advertisements.
This was the Okura family's final inheritance.
It was also the land that Okura Masami had "sold cheaply" to the Saionji family for fifty million yen.
Second floor.
The long-unoccupied house carried a stale, musty smell. Sunlight streamed through dusty windowpanes, illuminating motes of dust that danced in the air.
"Cough, cough… Young Miss, this place… can it truly be used?"
Itakura pulled out a drenched handkerchief and mopped the waterfall of sweat cascading down his forehead.
He wore a clearly ill-fitting dark-blue suit that squeezed his corpulent belly, leaving him short of breath. As the owner of a small game shop in Akihabara, the most upscale venue he had ever visited was a bar with a fifty-thousand-yen minimum charge. He had never encountered such a grand setting before.
Since helping Satsuki hold Nintendo shares the previous year, he had become an outer chess piece for the Saionji family.
Today that piece was being pushed onto the board.
Satsuki stood by the window, holding a chilled bottle of Ramune soda.
The glass marble clinked against the bottle's neck, producing a crisp sound.
"Why could it not be used?"
Satsuki turned around, her back to the sunlight streaming through the window. Her face remained partly in shadow, rendering her expression difficult to read.
"The location is Shinjuku, only a five-minute walk from the station. Although it sits on the edge of the red-light district, it is perfectly quiet amid the bustle."
"Moreover, this building was where the Okura family began, so the feng shui is favourable."
She raised her hand and tossed a heavy bunch of keys toward him.
"Clang."
Itakura fumbled to catch them, nearly dropping the keys on his foot.
"From today onward, this place belongs to you."
"Ah?!" Itakura was so startled that his hands trembled; the keys slipped and clattered to the floor. "Mine… mine? Young Miss, I have no money to buy it! Even if I sold my shop, it would not cover a fraction of the cost of this land…"
"I am not selling it to you. I am entrusting it to you for management."
Satsuki took a sip of soda; the carbonation burst sharply on her tongue.
"S.A. Entertainment."
"This is an entertainment company I registered in the Cayman Islands. You are the nominal president."
"This building is the company's headquarters."
Itakura's mouth fell open, his jaw nearly striking the floor.
President?
He was a shut-in whose greatest pleasure was playing Famicom behind the counter of his shop. How had he suddenly become the president of a company that would have to survive in the cut-throat world of Shinjuku?
"Young Miss… I, I cannot do it." Itakura's voice wavered on the edge of tears. "I only understand game cartridges. I know nothing about managing a company, and I certainly do not know how to deal with those… those people in the red-light district."
"You do not need to understand."
Satsuki walked up to him. Her black eyes met his with an authority that brooked no argument.
"You only need to obey."
"On the first floor, clear out all the broken slot machines. Renovate the space into a live house, equipped with the finest sound system and the most effective soundproofing."
"The second and third floors will be converted into recording studios and rehearsal rooms."
"I will have Endo transfer the necessary funds to the company account. I will have Saionji Construction supply the renovation team."
"All you need to do is sit in the president's office, pretend to be 'very knowledgeable,' and affix your seal when required."
Itakura stared at the bunch of keys on the floor.
They were both a stairway to high society and an entrance to hell.
Yet he knew he had no choice. Ever since he had begun receiving dividends from the Saionji family, his life had been indelibly marked with the hidari mitsu tomoe crest.
"Yes… I understand."
Itakura bent down and picked up the keys, as though lifting a hot branding iron.
"Very good."
Satsuki nodded in satisfaction.
"Now wipe your sweat. We are going somewhere."
"Where?"
"Roppongi."
Satsuki placed the empty bottle on the windowsill.
"To acquire some 'products.'"
Roppongi during the day resembled a dancer who had not yet removed her makeup, exuding the fatigue of a lingering hangover.
In the basement of an old office building lay a small agency called Starlight Entertainment.
Calling it an agency was generous; it was little more than a thirty-square-metre office. The walls were covered with expired posters of girls in cheap swimsuits, smiling stiffly at the camera. Clutter and several empty liquor bottles lay piled in one corner.
"I told you! Next week! I will definitely pay it back next week!"
In the president's office a bald middle-aged man shouted hoarsely into the telephone.
"That horse was clearly favoured to win… who knew it would fall! Give me a few more days—I am negotiating a big advertisement…"
"Bang!"
The office door was kicked open.
The middle-aged man's hand trembled; the receiver slipped from his grasp and clattered onto the desk.
"Who?! Is it the loan sharks? I said I have no money…"
He looked up and froze.
Standing at the door was not a grim-faced debt collector but a sweating, corpulent man in a dark-blue suit.
Behind the fat man stood two bodyguards in black suits and sunglasses—security personnel Satsuki had specially assigned to Itakura.
"Are you… President Watanabe of Starlight Entertainment?"
Itakura glanced at the small slip of paper in his hand, struggling to keep his voice steady. He remembered the instructions Satsuki had given him before they left: be fierce, domineering, like a nouveau riche who cared nothing for money.
"I am." President Watanabe swallowed, eyeing the two bodyguards. "Which gang are you from?"
"We are here to deliver money."
Itakura recalled how the Young Miss usually carried herself, strode into the office, and slammed the heavy black briefcase onto the ashtray-covered desk.
"Click."
The latch sprang open.
Itakura lifted the lid.
Ten million yen.
One hundred neatly stacked Fukuzawa Yukichi notes, bundled into ten thick packets, lay quietly inside the case.
In the dim basement the money emitted a brilliance more dazzling than any spotlight.
Watanabe's eyes widened.
He had never seen so much cash laid out before him in his life.
"This… this is…"
"The acquisition payment."
Itakura withdrew a contract and tossed it atop the pile of money.
"Ten million. We are buying your agency—licence, existing artist contracts, and the lease on this dilapidated office."
"And, of course, the chair you are sitting on right now."
Watanabe was stunned.
His agency had long been insolvent. The few artists under contract were merely underground idols who sang in front of supermarkets—utterly worthless.
"Just sign, and this ten million is yours."
Itakura observed Watanabe's greedy eyes; his own nervousness eased considerably, replaced by the quiet pleasure of controlling another man's fate.
So this was what it felt like to be rich.
"I… I will sign!"
Watanabe did not hesitate. He seized the pen; his hand shook like a sieve.
With this money he could repay his gambling debts and still splurge in Ginza for several days. As for the agency? It was worthless garbage—let whoever wanted it take it.
"Swish, swish, swish."
The name was signed.
Watanabe pushed the contract across and reached for the briefcase with both hands.
"Snap!"
Itakura closed the lid and held it down.
"The seal?"
"Oh, oh! Here! Here!"
Watanabe fumbled through his drawer, found the company seal, and handed it over with both hands.
Itakura took the seal, then pushed the briefcase toward him.
"Get out."
Watanabe clutched the briefcase and rushed from the office without another word, as though afraid Itakura might change his mind.
The room fell silent.
Itakura looked at the messy office, then at the unknown future.
He did not understand.
Why would the Young Miss spend ten million to purchase such worthless rubbish?
"Are you finished?"
A cool voice came from the doorway.
Itakura turned quickly and saw Satsuki standing in the shadow of the corridor. She wore a baseball cap pulled low and held a freshly bought coffee.
"Yes, Young Miss."
Itakura handed her the contract and the seal.
"That Watanabe ran off with the money. I have also organised the artist list—five in total. They are all here…"
Satsuki took the document, glanced at it briefly, and tossed it casually into the nearby wastebasket.
"Huh? Young Miss?"
Itakura was dumbfounded.
"That cost ten million! Those artists…"
"Those are scraps."
Satsuki walked into the office, regarding the ashtray-covered desk with disdain.
"I bought this company only for the business licence shell. As for the people inside, keeping them would merely waste food."
"Terminate all contracts."
"All?!" Itakura felt his heart could not bear it. "Then who do we sign? How can a shell company make money?"
Satsuki did not answer.
She withdrew a folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Itakura.
"This is the person we are looking for."
Itakura took the note.
It contained only a few scribbled lines:
Location: Hiratsuka City, Kanagawa Prefecture, or a real-estate agency near the Shonan coast.
Target characteristics: Female, around twenty years old. Long hair, beautiful profile. Clear voice, somewhat like spring water.
Occupation: Possibly a front-desk receptionist, or a race queen.
"This is…" Itakura looked confused. "How do I find her? There is no name."
"The name is not important."
Satsuki walked to the wall and instructed the security personnel to tear down a swimsuit-idol poster. Plaster peeled away with the poster, revealing the mottled cement beneath.
"What is important is her 'quality.'"
She turned and looked at Itakura.
"Itakura, do you know what idols are today?"
"Uh… Akina Nakamori? Seiko Matsuda?"
"They are 'products.' Packaged, glittering stars that people can only look up to."
Satsuki shook her head.
"But soon people will tire of stars. Because stars are too distant, too artificial."
"People are beginning to crave 'authenticity.'"
"They crave a voice that can sing straight into the heart while wearing jeans and a T-shirt on the street. They crave an existence like the girl next door—ordinary yet possessing tenacious vitality."
She pointed to the note.
"Go and find her."
"Cast a wide net. Visit every real-estate agency in Hiratsuka City, every racetrack along the Shonan coast."
"As soon as you hear that voice, you will recognise her."
"It is a voice capable of penetrating the superficial and striking directly at the soul."
Itakura carefully folded the note and placed it in his inner pocket.
Although he did not know who the girl was or what the song might be, he understood that anything the Young Miss set her sights upon would eventually turn to gold.
"Then… what should I do once I find her?"
"Sign her."
Satsuki took a sip of coffee.
"No matter the cost, no matter the means."
"Tell her we can let her sing—not to please men, not to wear swimsuits, but simply to sing."
"If she is unwilling, tell her that a song called 'Makenaide' (Don't Lose) is waiting for her in the future."
Itakura nodded solemnly.
Although he still did not fully understand, he heard the gravity in Satsuki's tone.
"Understood. I will take people to Kanagawa tomorrow."
"Mm."
Satsuki glanced at the smoke-filled basement.
"Have a cleaner tidy this place. It will serve as your contact point in Roppongi from now on."
"But do not forget what I told you in Shinjuku."
"We will not make money from these scraps."
"We will conquer people's ears with the girl who is still selling houses in Kanagawa."
Satsuki turned and walked out.
"Although it is a little early, it is better to be prepared… just ensure no one else signs her first."
Itakura followed behind, also catching Satsuki's soft mutter.
The sunlight outside remained dazzling; cicadas screeched hoarsely in the trees.
Yet he suddenly felt that this summer was more than merely scorching hot.
(Note:
Historical prototype for this chapter:
Target to find: Izumi Sakai (ZARD). Before her debut she worked as a front-desk receptionist at a real-estate company and also as a race queen. She became one of the most inspiring voices of Japan in the 1990s, representing the strength that gave people courage after the bubble burst.
S.A. Entertainment: The Saionji family's entertainment layout, also prepared for future money-laundering and public-opinion influence.
Shinjuku building: Future karaoke-box pilot project and live-house venue.)