Kiryu Ryuichi spent the entire day thinking since his exchange with Takatsukasa in the chairman's office. Or rather, more accurately, he went in circles around the same spot. While typing reply emails to business partners at his desk. While bringing a set meal to his mouth in the cafeteria. While gazing at Tokyo Bay's night view from the balcony of his Harumi apartment. That look in Takatsukasa Genzou's eyes the moment he spoke the name "Getsuou." What was that? No answer came. Without one, the next day's quitting time arrived. Ryuichi loosened his necktie and left the Murakumo Tower lobby, walking instead of taking the subway. His destination had been decided from the start. Ginza, 8-chome. Ginseibiru. The night of Ginza had softer light than Marunouchi. The glow from shops seeping through the gaps between buildings melted hazily onto the stone pavement. The October night breeze grazed Ryuichi's suit. It was cold, but not unpleasant. His head felt slightly clearer. He stepped into the Ginseibiru elevator and pressed the button for the sixth floor. The moment the doors closed, something hardened in Ryuichi's chest. Not quite tension. More like the sensation of being unprepared. But if he waited until he was ready, he felt he'd never move at all. The doors opened. The hallway carried that familiar scent—a mixture of ink and cypress. Before the black lacquered door at the end stood Yajima. A solidly built frame. An emotionless, straightforward gaze. "Welcome," Yajima said. "I visited before. My name is Kiryu," Ryuichi said. The only difference from last time was that. This time, not Tanaka or Suzuki or Yamada, but his real name. Yajima's eyebrows moved slightly. Whether his name and face had connected, or whether he was remembering the previous incident, Ryuichi couldn't tell. "Please wait a moment," Yajima said. Yajima disappeared into the black lacquered door. Ryuichi was left alone in the hallway. He looked at his shoe tips. Black business shoes. Polished. For some reason, that seemed slightly ridiculous. He'd polished his shoes properly. That was the only preparation he'd made. Something was pulsing deep in his chest. Annoyingly so. Why did these few dozen seconds feel like the longest moment in ten years of business negotiations? Ryuichi questioned himself internally. (I've hammered out deals worth hundreds of millions with clients, and here I am trembling before a door.) But that was work. This was different. Yajima returned. "Please," Yajima said. --- The interior was the same dim lighting as before. A space of roughly 65 square meters lit only by indirect lighting. A Kyoto yuzen scroll hanging on the wall. Jazz playing softly. No other customers. Choosing this time slot might have been the right call. Seiya sat in the box seat at the back. Her black hair caught the light around her shoulders. Tonight's kimono was a deep indigo with fine gold thread embroidery. As Ryuichi approached, Seiya looked at him with a calm expression. No sign of surprise. She'd known he would come. "Kiryu-san," Misono Seiya said. "Forgive the late visit," Ryuichi said. Ryuichi settled onto the sofa across from her. In the flower vase on the table sat a single white flower. A phalaenopsis orchid. The formally recognized gift flower for Ginza clubs—he'd heard that from an industry acquaintance before. Before Seiya could speak, Ryuichi opened his mouth. "Could you tell me about Chairman Takatsukasa?" Ryuichi asked. A brief silence followed. Seiya's expression didn't change. Only her gaze moved slightly toward the table. That was all. "He's an old customer," Misono Seiya said. Her voice was calm and polite. The kind of quiet tone that suggested "nothing more, nothing less" might follow. Ryuichi didn't back down. "The chairman knew the name Getsuou. He was aware that I was coming to Ginza," Ryuichi said. Across the table, Seiya remained motionless. "That person knew about you. I want to know properly," Ryuichi said. The word "properly" came from Ryuichi's mouth. It might have sounded a bit childish. But he couldn't think of another way to say it. He wanted to make sure his sincerity came across. Ryuichi met Seiya's eyes. Directly. Without looking away. Seiya stared at the tatami for a while. Several seconds passed. Then she opened her mouth quietly. "...I opened Getsuou five years ago," Misono Seiya said. Her tone of voice changed slightly. No longer the language of business, but her own words. "I was twenty-three. I'd only been in the night world for two years. To have my own shop, I needed capital—" Misono Seiya said. Seiya spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. Her tone was quiet, emotions held in check. But Ryuichi could sense something packed beneath that quietness. Getsuou was created with Takatsukasa Genzou's patronage funds. That was the fact Seiya stated. That relationship had long since ended. But she still hadn't reached a state of "complete freedom"—she said. Ryuichi listened in silence. Two images kept colliding in his mind. The chairman's office—silver hair slicked back. Cigar smoke. The subtle change in those eyes when he spoke in that calm, low voice about "the shop called Getsuou." And now, Seiya speaking before him. An indigo kimono. Gold thread embroidery. A restrained voice. These two were connected in the same story. Something grew heavy in Ryuichi's chest. Not anger. Not sadness either. An emotion he couldn't quite put into words spread through him slowly. Seiya asked quietly. "...Are you angry?" Misono Seiya asked. Ryuichi thought for a moment. "I don't know," Ryuichi said. It was the most honest answer he could manage. --- A silence stretched out. Jazz played softly. No one said anything. Ryuichi kept his hands clasped on his lap, looking at the wood grain of the table. His chest was still churning. Angry? Sad? Pathetic? It was all mixed together, inseparable. Eventually, words came from Ryuichi's mouth. "...Why didn't you tell me?" Ryuichi asked. His own voice surprised him—it came out strained, wrung out. Seiya answered quietly. "There was no reason to tell you," Misono Seiya said. Those words pried something open inside Ryuichi. No reason to tell him. It was right. It was logical. Seiya was just a shop mama, Ryuichi was just a customer, and there was no obligation to reveal her past. His head understood that. But— Ryuichi stood up. Slowly. Quietly. "I'm sorry, I'll leave for tonight," Ryuichi said. Seiya didn't stop him. Ryuichi gave a light bow to the table and headed toward the shop entrance. Yajima opened the door for him. He pressed the elevator button. The doors closed. He was alone. In the narrow box, Ryuichi gripped the front of his suit jacket tightly. He exhaled a long, low breath. He wasn't even sure if he was about to cry. Only that the ground felt terribly far away. Like the earth was three times lower than usual. (What am I angry about? What am I sad about?) He didn't know. Not knowing, the elevator reached the first floor. When he stepped out of the building, the October night breeze grazed his face again. It felt colder than before. He didn't call a taxi. He walked. Through the night lights of Ginza, aimlessly, just walking. --- The Murakumo Tower the next morning was the same as always. The sound of copy machines. Phone rings. Keyboard clicks. Ryuichi made coffee and sat at his desk on the 22nd floor. He opened his screen. Emails from business partners. Internal memos. "Kiryu-shunin, do you have a moment?" It was his department head. A man in his mid-fifties with a round face. Usually easygoing, not a bad person. But this morning, his expression seemed strained somehow. Ryuichi stood up. He was shown to the conference room. The door closed. The department head placed a single sheet of paper on the table. Ryuichi looked at it. He read it. He read it again. "...Five assigned clients, transition beginning next month," Ryuichi said. The words came from his mouth. Confirming, quietly. "To serve as sales assistant, engaging in internal support duties," Ryuichi said. The department head looked away. Gazing toward the window, he spoke in a low voice. "It's not my decision. It's from above," the department head said. Above. Ryuichi knew who that meant. The reason column simply said "operational efficiency." Ryuichi returned the paper to the table and looked straight ahead. The department head still faced the window. Ryuichi didn't resent the department head—the department head knew that too. But he couldn't say anything. He wasn't in a position to. "I understand," Ryuichi said. That was all. His voice was steady. At least it wasn't shaking. The department head looked at Ryuichi with a relieved, apologetic expression. Ryuichi left the conference room. He walked down the hallway. He returned to his desk. When he opened his computer screen, he noticed the internal system folders. The five client folders had already been moved under another team member's name. The system changes were already complete. Last night, or early this morning. Processed before he'd even received the notice. Ryuichi gripped the mouse and went still. Niwa Heavy Industries. A relationship built over ten years. He'd had meals with the materials department head, Niwa Seiichiro, dozens of times. The other four clients were the same. Five clients with annual transactions of around 4 billion yen. With a single folder move, they became someone else's on the screen. Ryuichi slowly released the mouse. At that moment, a voice came from the next desk. "Kiryu-san, what about lunch? The cafeteria special today is apparently katsu curry!" A third-year junior. Twenty-six years old. Unaware of the situation. Ryuichi looked toward his junior. "...Katsu curry," Ryuichi said. He repeated it in a hollow voice, and his junior's eyes lit up. "Right! Oh, but it's supposed to be sauce katsu, not curry sauce. Apparently it's different from regular curry sauce." "Sauce katsu curry," Ryuichi said. "Exactly! They're similar but totally different, right? I prefer regular curry sauce myself." Ryuichi looked at his junior's face for a while. It helped nothing. Absolutely nothing. But thanks to that inane exchange, Ryuichi's expression didn't completely freeze. His facial muscles found somewhere to release the tension. "...I see," Ryuichi said. That was all he said before turning back to his screen. He got through the afternoon's work. No one had yet explained what a sales assistant actually did. For now, he was suspended in limbo. But Ryuichi quietly continued doing what he could. That was all he could do, and all he wanted to do. --- After work, Ryuichi left the Murakumo Tower lobby. He didn't have the energy to go back to Harumi. Even if he returned to his apartment, there was only the Rainbow Bridge glowing. That room had nothing to receive him tonight. Ryuichi walked toward Ginza. He descended the stairs into an alley in the 7-chome district. A handwritten sign reading "Kohakudou." A small bar with only twelve counter seats. When he opened the door, the scent of bourbon and wood greeted him. Two customers still sat at the counter, speaking in low voices. Ryuichi took a seat at the end. Behind the counter, Segawa Osamu was polishing a glass. Forty-eight years old. Short, salt-and-pepper hair. He'd once mentioned he used to be a bartender at a hotel. His face was angular, but his eyes were gentle. "Welcome," Segawa said. The usual brief greeting. He looked at Ryuichi and seemed to sense something, but said nothing. "Whiskey, just one," Ryuichi said. "Water and ice?" "On the rocks," Ryuichi said. He usually ordered it with water. Tonight he chose rocks. That alone might have made Segawa understand something. A glass was placed before him. The amber liquid caught the indirect light and shimmered. Ryuichi spoke in fits and starts while gazing at the glass. About being removed fr