Chapter 45: The Handshake of Giants
May 21, 1987.
The clamorous feast of the previous night already felt like a grand, fleeting dream. As the faint light of dawn dispersed the darkness, the depths of Azabu-Juban returned once more to tranquil silence.
Deep within the main building of The Club lay a tea room named Kurotsubaki.
There were no windows here, only a skylight overhead that admitted a few slender strands of natural light filtered through bamboo blinds. The walls were coated with dark-gray diatomaceous earth, and in one corner stood a single camellia branch, its buds not yet fully open.
A faint aroma of roasted tea lingered in the air.
The water in the iron kettle began to boil.
"Gurgle, gurgle."
The sound of bursting bubbles rang exceptionally clear in the quiet space.
Shuichi knelt upon the tatami, holding a bamboo tea whisk and gently stirring the foam within the tea bowl. His movements lacked the elaborate precision of a professional tea master, yet they possessed a steady, unhurried rhythm.
"Mr. Saionji's skill grows more refined with each passing day."
Seated opposite him, Shimada leaned forward slightly and accepted the tea bowl Shuichi offered with both hands.
Today Shimada wore a deep-blue custom suit paired with a steady burgundy tie. After the events of the previous night, he appeared far more relaxed—no longer like a blade poised to strike, but rather like an old friend paying a casual visit.
"It is merely a pastime for idle moments."
Shuichi wiped his hands and poured a cup for himself as well.
"The bottle of Romanée-Conti that Mr. Shimada brought last night was of an excellent vintage. Several bank presidents could not stop praising it after tasting the wine."
"The Chairman heard that you enjoy red wine and specifically instructed me to select it from his private cellar."
Holding the tea bowl, Shimada rotated it three times in the traditional manner before taking a light sip.
"Good tea."
He set the bowl down, his gaze resting on the grain of the tea table. His tone turned casual, as though discussing the weather.
"By the way, regarding the matter in Meguro Ward."
Shimada's voice was very soft.
"That deputy manager named Gonda has had his employment contract terminated by the group's human resources department. I understand he plans to return to his hometown to farm. In short, you should not hear that name again in Tokyo's real-estate circles."
Shuichi's hand, holding the tea towel, paused for a moment.
This was a gesture of accountability.
A sacrificial offering voluntarily presented by the Seibu Group to quell the storm. A middle-management cadre's career had vanished in a single, understated sentence.
"Young people are bound to act impulsively at times."
Shuichi folded the tea towel and placed it neatly on the corner of the table.
"Since the man has left, the matter may be considered settled. The Saionji family is not one to nurse grudges."
"You are generous."
Shimada smiled slightly, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes smoothing out.
Now that this page had been turned, what followed was the true main course.
He withdrew an envelope from his briefcase.
The envelope was made of special washi paper, thick and richly textured. It was not sealed, revealing a corner of the documents inside.
Holding the envelope with both hands, Shimada respectfully pushed it toward Shuichi along the grain of the tatami.
"This is Chairman Yoshiaki Tsutsumi's application for membership."
Shuichi did not take it immediately.
His gaze rested on the envelope. Through the paper he seemed to feel the weight carried by that name.
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi.
In present-day Japan this name represented near-divine power. He owned vast commercial empires—Seibu Department Store, Seibu Railway, Prince Hotel—and had inherited the political legacy of his father, the former Speaker of the House of Representatives, Tsutsumi Yasujirō.
If the guests who had attended the previous night were lords of various mountains, then Yoshiaki Tsutsumi was the man seated upon the throne.
His joining meant that The Club was no longer merely a social venue; it had received the official certification of this generation's commercial emperor.
"The Chairman said he looks forward to sharing a peaceful cup of tea with you here," Shimada added.
Shuichi reached out and picked up the envelope.
He drew out the application form inside.
The handwriting was bold and powerful, carrying a hint of unmistakable dominance.
The recommender column was blank.
This meant he was waiting for Shuichi to fill in his own name.
"Since Chairman Tsutsumi is so sincere."
Shuichi took out his Montblanc pen from his breast pocket and unscrewed the cap.
"The doors of The Club are naturally open to true gentlemen."
In the recommender column he wrote the five characters: Saionji Shuichi.
Then, in the approver column, he pressed his private seal.
"Clack."
A soft sound.
The procedure was complete.
Shimada looked at the vivid red mark, a flash of satisfaction in his eyes.
The mission was accomplished. The Seibu Group's face had been saved, and they had entered this circle with dignity.
"Since we are now family, some business matters will be much easier to discuss."
Shimada withdrew another document from his bag.
This time his movements were swifter.
"Regarding that piece of land in Meguro Ward."
He spread the document open.
"The Chairman has a habit: he does not like owing favours, and he dislikes even more allowing friends to suffer loss."
"That land, though only thirty tsubo, occupies a key location. The group's appraisal department has re-evaluated it and is willing to offer five hundred million yen to purchase it back."
Five hundred million.
Although this was half of the one billion Shuichi had originally demanded, it was ten times the original purchase price.
Moreover, it was a "face-saving" price both sides could accept. It spared the Seibu Group the appearance of being extorted while granting the Saionji family a sufficiently generous profit.
"Five hundred million…"
Shuichi pondered, as though weighing the offer.
"Of course, this is only the cash portion."
Shimada seemed prepared; he produced a second document.
It was a letter of intent for a lease.
"I understand the Saionji family has been planning a retail layout recently, with a brand called S-Style?"
Shuichi looked up at Shimada.
"News travels quickly."
"In this circle there are no secrets," Shimada replied with a smile. "Seibu Department Store has cleared two fifty-tsubo independent shop spaces on the first floors of the Shibuya Koen-dori branch and the Ikebukuro main store. They were originally reserved for Italian brands, but the Chairman felt we should support rising local forces."
"Rent-free for a three-year term."
"In addition, for all station billboards along the Seibu Railway lines, S-Style will receive priority placement rights at a seventy-percent discount."
Shuichi's heart rate quickened slightly.
Five hundred million in cash was tempting, yet these two prime shop spaces and the railway advertising network were the true priceless treasures.
Shibuya Koen-dori was the pilgrimage site for young people across Japan.
If S-Style could open there, it would stand directly at the peak of fashion.
Not to mention the massive commuter traffic of the Seibu Railway.
This was an entry ticket to the mass market—a heavy "meeting gift" from Chairman Tsutsumi.
"Chairman Tsutsumi is truly too kind."
Shuichi closed the document, a sincere smile appearing on his face.
"Since that is the case, I shall not stand on ceremony."
He picked up the land-transfer agreement, and without even glancing at the specific clauses, flipped directly to the final page and signed his name.
"That land now belongs to you."
Shuichi handed the agreement to Shimada.
"Tomorrow I will have someone remove the wire fence. I hope Seibu's Forest Park can be completed soon."
"I appreciate your kind words."
Shimada gathered the documents and stood.
"Then I shall not disturb you further. Once the membership card is ready, please have it delivered directly to the presidential suite of the Akasaka Prince Hotel."
"Certainly."
Shuichi also rose and escorted Shimada to the door of the tea room.
The two men shook hands once more.
This time the grip was firmer and more powerful than the night before.
It was the handshake of mutual understanding and relief.
"Safe travels."
Watching Shimada's figure disappear at the end of the hallway, Shuichi returned to the tea room.
The tea in the bowl had already gone cold.
"Come out."
Shuichi said toward the screen behind him.
"Tea does not taste good once it has cooled."
From behind the screen came the soft rustle of fabric.
Satsuki walked out.
Today she wore a loose beige knit sweater, her hair tied casually in a knot. She moved to the seat Shimada had occupied, sat down, and picked up the photocopy of the membership application.
"Five hundred million in cash, two prime shop spaces, and a railway advertising network."
Satsuki looked at the signature on the paper, a playful curve forming at the corner of her mouth.
"Father, how was this deal?"
"Very worthwhile."
Shuichi poured the cold tea into the waste bowl and began boiling fresh water.
"Better than I expected. I originally thought three hundred million would suffice."
"This is 'borrowing momentum'."
Satsuki set the paper aside and rested her chin on her hand, regarding her father.
"If we had stubbornly insisted on one billion, we could have obtained the money in the end, but that would have created a lasting grudge. A man like Yoshiaki Tsutsumi can hold a grudge for a lifetime. Should we ever stumble, he would certainly come to step on us."
"But now…"
Satsuki pointed to the empty tea seat.
"We gave him face and allowed him to enter The Club with dignity."
"Furthermore, with Chairman Tsutsumi's joining, the final piece of The Club's puzzle is complete."
"The bloodline of the old kazoku, the bureaucrats of the Ministry of Finance, the elites of foreign investment banks, and now the emperor of this new zaibatsu."
A light flickered in Satsuki's eyes.
"Now this room is the true control centre of Tokyo."
Listening to his daughter's analysis, a complex emotion welled up in Shuichi's heart.
"Satsuki."
He poured a cup of freshly brewed tea for her.
"Is this the world of capital?"
He gazed at the tea stalks floating in the bowl.
"No grievances, only transactions?"
"No."
Satsuki accepted the cup; warmth spread through her body from her fingertips.
She blew gently across the surface, watching the ripples form.
"Only the weak speak of grievances. Because they are powerless, they can only comfort themselves by holding grudges."
"The strong speak only of transactions."
She looked up, her clear eyes revealing a clarity far beyond her years.
"And, Father."
"Only when you possess enough strength to make the other party feel pain, and then personally hand over the painkiller…"
"Only then can such a transaction be called 'friendship'."
"If it is begged for on one's knees, that is called 'charity'."
Shuichi was momentarily stunned, then burst into laughter.
"Hahaha… What a 'painkiller'!"
He raised his tea cup.
"To the painkiller."
"To The Club."
Satsuki also raised her cup.
"Clink."
The porcelain cups met with a dull yet solid sound.
Sunlight from the skylight poured down, illuminating the camellia branch.
Its petals were a vivid red, its stamens a bright golden yellow.