The smartphone screen still had the bookmarked page for "Tsukitou" open. On the 22nd floor of Murakumo Tower, Third Sales Department. Ever since coming to work, Ryuichi had that fact lingering in the corner of his mind. He hadn't even deleted the bookmark. But he wasn't planning to do anything in particular about it either. It was just there. Ginza 8-chome, Ginsei Building 6th floor, members-only——those words were somehow stuck in his head. Today's work was substantial enough. He sent a revised quotation to Niwa Heavy Industries (a correction for yesterday's single-digit error. He didn't want to think about it anymore), and in the afternoon there were two calls with business partners. A simple report meeting within the department in the evening. All routine tasks. He processed them matter-of-factly. The problem was that even while processing things matter-of-factly, the corner of his mind kept thinking about something else. (There's no way I can't persuade someone in sales.) Some flimsy confidence like that swelled gradually as quitting time approached. Ryuichi thought it was laughable. He was about to barge into a members-only club with no letter of introduction, no connections. Whether the negotiating power he used with clients doing 4 billion yen in annual transactions would work on a doorman in Ginza was an entirely different matter. But if he didn't go, nothing would begin. After work, Ryuichi left Murakumo Tower without loosening his tie. --- The night air of Ginza was different from Marunouchi. Even though it was the same Tokyo, just walking 1.5 kilometers south changed the quality of light. The buildings in Marunouchi were illuminated with functional white light, but by the time you reached around Ginza 8-chome, the light became softer somehow, tinged with orange. The glow of signs, reflections in shop windows, the appearance of people passing on the street. Despite it being a weeknight, he wondered if there were really this many people. "Ginsei Building" wasn't a particularly conspicuous structure. A mixed-use building, eight stories above ground, standing in an alley off 8-chome. The signboard beside the entrance simply read "6F Club Tsukitou." Simple to the point of being too simple. Ryuichi got in the elevator and pressed the button for 6. The moment the doors opened, the air in the hallway changed. A low, subdued fragrance drifted through. Not incense. Something more refined——something like ink and cypress mixed together, similar to the scent he'd caught on the balcony at that party. At the end of the hallway was a heavy black lacquered door. And in front of it. A person stood. Black suit. Broad shoulders, a solid build. Mid-thirties, perhaps. The kind of posture that made you think he might be a former Self-Defense Force officer——efficient, without wasted movement. Arms crossed in front of his body, he watched Ryuichi with an expressionless face. His gaze was sharp. Rather than sizing someone up, it was more like he was trying to block them. ——So this was Yajima, the black-suited chief. Ryuichi took a deep breath. This was a negotiation. Look at your opponent, choose your words. This should be his strength. "Welcome," Yajima said, his voice low and emotionless. The word "welcome" somehow carried an unspoken atmosphere of "but I'm not saying you can come in." "I've come here on the recommendation of a business contact," Ryuichi said clearly. Not a bad opening for a salesman, he thought to himself. "May I ask the name of the person who referred you?" Yajima asked. That's when Ryuichi's thoughts came to a complete halt. (A name.) He'd been asked something obvious. So obvious that he'd never anticipated it. Of course, Ryuichi had no one who could refer him. A woman he'd only seen from behind at a party, whom he'd talked to for ten minutes on a balcony, had only said "Tsukitou"——that was all. The drawers in his mind opened and closed in rapid succession. And the name that came out on impulse was: "Tanaka," Ryuichi said. Yajima's expression didn't change. But there was a pause. "We have no member by the name of Tanaka at this establishment," Yajima said quietly, but it was a perfect strike. Ryuichi thought, "Oh no." When you thought about it, of course. A members-only club's roster wouldn't start with Tanaka. "My apologies. Suzuki," Ryuichi said. "We have no member by the name of Suzuki either," Yajima said without hesitation. (This is bad. My head's going blank.) Ryuichi watched himself trying the top three Japanese surnames in order as if from a distance. This wasn't a strategy. Just confusion. "...Yamada," Ryuichi said. "We have no member by the name of Yamada——" Yajima paused for just a moment. "——either," he finished. In that moment, there was the faintest hint of "not that surname again," though his expressionless face didn't crack. But Ryuichi understood. From years of negotiation experience, he was good at reading subtle changes in his opponent. Yajima was tired. "I apologize for the trouble," Ryuichi said, bowing deeply. He should retreat. Pushing further would be disrespectful to the other party, and it wouldn't be good for what little dignity he had left. He turned on his heel to head back to the elevator. At that moment, a voice came from inside the black lacquered door. "Yajima, that's fine," a woman's voice said. It was quiet and composed. Though not particularly loud, it carried all the way to the hallway with a strange resonance. Yajima's gaze turned toward the door. A second of silence. Then, still expressionless, he shifted his body to the side of the door. He placed his hand on it and pulled it open quietly. "Please," Yajima said, his voice still emotionless. But he was clearly letting him through. Ryuichi took a step and crossed the threshold. --- The first thing that came was the change in light. Much darker than the hallway. But not darkness. Indirect lighting was embedded around where the floor and walls met, and light seeped out from there, enveloping the entire space. It took his eyes a moment to adjust. Next came the sound. Low-register jazz was playing. The volume was soft. But it was definitely laid down at the foundation of the space, creating the atmosphere of the place. Then the scent. That fragrance. He didn't know where to look. On the wall hung a Kyoto yuzen tapestry——a bold pattern in deep indigo and scarlet. Bottles lined the shelves behind the counter. In a box seat, two men in suits were talking with a hostess in glamorous attire. The space was perhaps 65 square meters. The low ceiling gave it density. And at the end of the counter, Seiya was there. Tonight she wore a deep purple kimono. In the indirect lighting, her black hair gleamed quietly. Amber eyes looked at Ryuichi. Her expression was serene, with almost no emotional fluctuation. Yet there was a quiet composure about her, as if to say "I thought you might come." Ryuichi was shown to a seat at the counter. Immediately, a woman sat beside him. "Welcome. I'm Tamaki," she said. Tamaki——the number one hostess at Seiya's shop. Around 26, perhaps. Cool eyes, a voice that carried well. She smiled skillfully. Not a customer-service smile, but what you might call a genuine smile——that kind of expression. "What would you like to drink?" she asked. "...Water and whisky," Ryuichi answered reflexively. Usually he'd have beer, but he sensed that "whisky" was the right answer here. "Certainly. Which bottle would you prefer?" Tamaki asked. ——Bottle? Ryuichi spent several seconds considering what that word meant. Bottle——did she mean a bottle of whisky? "Which" implied there were multiple options. But he hadn't brought any bottle with him—— "...Um," Ryuichi said. "...?" Tamaki tilted her head slightly. Not accusingly. Just genuinely confused about the situation. After a moment, Tamaki said with a smile: "Then I'll prepare it by the glass for you." "Ah, yes. Thank you," Ryuichi said. Shortly after, a glass arrived. Clear liquid and ice in a crystal glass. Ryuichi picked it up and took a sip. (It's...thin.) Thin, or rather, it had no taste at all. It was water. This was water. There was no whisky in it. So they'd brought water and whisky as he'd asked——meaning water. Since he wasn't a bottle-keeper, no whisky came. In other words, he was now sitting in a high-class club drinking plain water from a glass... The entire sequence was completely visible to Seiya behind the counter. Seiya had her sleeve raised slightly to her mouth. Her shoulders trembled just a little, quietly. She was laughing. Not out loud, but definitely laughing. Ryuichi's ears turned red. He was embarrassed. Simply embarrassed. But——that laugh was different from what he'd imagined. It wasn't a mocking laugh. It was more natural, the kind of laugh you make when you see something genuinely amusing. (Ah, she's laughing.) For some reason, seeing that smile, the embarrassment was overshadowed by a strange sense of satisfaction. Ryuichi felt a bit bewildered by his own reaction and took another sip of plain water. --- It was around the time the shop had filled to a comfortable level. Something happened in the box seat in the back corner of Ryuichi's field of vision. A man in his fifties grabbed the wrist of the hostess next to him and wouldn't let go. His voice was inaudible, but the hostess's expression had stiffened slightly. He seemed to be drinking heavily, trying to keep it from the other customers. Ryuichi started to stand. But Seiya was faster. She rose without a sound and walked toward the box seat with natural steps, as if she had some other business in that direction. In one fluid motion, she sat down next to the man. The man looked up in surprise. Seiya was there. "About that new business venture you mentioned the other day——could you tell me a bit more about it?" she asked, her voice low and calm, but it clearly captured the man's attention. His expression changed from surprise to the face people make when someone asks to hear about their plans——slightly proud, softened. The hostess's wrist was released at some point. Ryuichi watched it all. The man began talking enthusiastically, unaware that he'd been soothed. Seiya turned her body slightly toward him, nodding occasionally, offering brief acknowledgments. She didn't create any friction. She preserved the man's pride completely intact while managing the situation. It took less than three minutes, Ryuichi thought. Shortly after, Seiya returned to Ryuichi's seat at the counter. She sat down as if nothing had happened. "...That was amazing," Ryuichi said. The words had come out before he could stop them. Ryuichi didn't usually say things like this. But tonight, for some reason, he couldn't hold back. Seiya turned to look at him. Her amber eyes watched him quietly. "In night work, most of it comes down to preserving the other person's face while protecting yourself," she said, as if stating something obvious. There was no emotional fluctuation in her voice. But the weight of the words was different. This wasn't theory——it was words born from accumulated experience. Ryuichi understood that. (It's a different quality from sales negotiations.) Ryuichi had spent years negotiating. He'd thought about winning against his opponent. He'd thought about persuading them with logic. But what Seiya had done wasn't like that. Not about winning or losing. Not creating friction, not hurting anyone, while still protecting your own ground. It was a deeper kind of strength, cultivated in a different way. "...I'm not sure how to put it," Ryuichi said, searching for words. In normal business talks, words came naturally. But tonight, for some reason, he didn't know the right order. "But I think it was cool," he said. He felt a bit embarrassed after saying it. It was odd for a grown man to use the word "cool." But he couldn't think of another way to say it. Seiya's mouth moved slightly again.