Tokyo, Marunouchi.
Inside the president's office on the top floor of Saionji Industries headquarters, the atmosphere was tense.
The central air conditioning maintained the room at twenty-three degrees, but it did not reduce the perspiration on Managing Director Endo's temples as he stood before the desk.
Endo held a white handkerchief and dabbed at his sideburns repeatedly.
Since the young lady left for vacation, Shuichi's temperament had become volatile. Endo and the other executives were reprimanded frequently. He believed the repeated criticism was aging him in reverse.
Behind the desk, Saionji Shuichi reviewed a thick document with a Montblanc pen suspended above the page.
"Endo," Shuichi said. His voice was not loud, but it carried in the large office.
"Yes. I await your instructions, President." Endo bowed quickly.
"Here." The pen pressed down, and ink spread across the paper.
"The raw material procurement budget for the Uniqlo summer line increased three percent compared to last quarter. The yen is strong and imported cotton is less expensive. Warehousing and logistics costs do not account for this increase."
He looked up and held Endo's gaze.
"There is a twenty-million-yen 'loss reserve' listed. Explain it."
Endo flinched and bowed further. "Yes, President. Due to rainy season moisture risks, we—"
"The warehouse dehumidification system was upgraded last month," Shuichi interrupted. "If you distrust the work performed by Saionji Construction, speak with Itakura. If you distrust your own management…"
He did not complete the sentence. He closed the folder and pushed it to the edge of the desk.
"Revise it. I do not want reports that exist only to satisfy accounting procedure."
"Yes. My apologies." Endo took the file and left the office quickly, as if dismissed from a penalty.
The heavy oak door closed with a soft click.
Shuichi's rigid posture relaxed. He removed his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and exhaled.
The room became quiet.
He turned his chair toward the floor-to-ceiling window. Below, Marunouchi extended outward, with businesspeople moving through the concrete corridors.
It was late April in Tokyo, and the sky was pale gray-blue.
Satsuki had flown to America in early April. The two weeks since her departure felt prolonged.
His eyes moved to a document in the corner of the desk.
It was a letter of intent concerning the satellite communications industry, a five-billion-yen partnership proposal from Mitsubishi Corp.
Years earlier, that amount would have overwhelmed him.
After two years of involvement with The Club, politicians, and investors, he was no longer the traditional noble who only preserved assets. He could read financial statements, understand terminology, and identify flaws in Endo's reports.
He could maintain this enterprise without errors or losses.
He picked up the satellite document and examined it.
He understood the technical specifications and market projections.
But he could not predict the result.
If he invested five billion, would it generate returns comparable to the Ginza Crystal Palace, or losses comparable to the Okura family's land reclamation project?
He did not know.
His fingers touched the edge of the paper.
If Satsuki were present, she would review it once and state, "Father, this is a front for government subsidies." Or, "Acquire it. This provides access to the next decade."
That assessment was unavailable.
Shuichi felt his previous uncertainty returning.
He was a battleship: heavy armor, significant firepower, capable of navigation, deterrence, and engagement.
But he lacked radar.
On open water, he did not know where to direct his resources or where the next crisis would originate.
"Preservation," Shuichi said quietly and placed the five-billion-yen proposal in the deepest drawer of his desk.
Decisions that required foresight would wait until the primary strategist returned.
His current responsibility was to secure existing assets and prevent theft.
He replaced his glasses and opened a new file: Main House garden maintenance.
He checked the desk calendar.
April 26th.
Sixteen days.
Sixteen days of waking on schedule, eating on schedule, arriving at the office on schedule, and returning home on schedule. He attended golf events and club meetings as required.
But the Bunkyo Ward mansion was empty.
There were maids and a butler, but no small figure on the sofa with a book.
There was no voice offering black tea and saying, "Father, let's acquire some capital."
Even her teddy bear was absent.
The house, built with substantial resources, felt uninhabited.
Shuichi felt discomfort in his chest. He loosened his tie and drank coffee.
It was cold.
Bitterness filled his mouth.
There was a knock at the door.
He frowned. If Endo returned with that budget, he would reject it.
"Enter."
The door opened.
Fujita entered.
The old butler wore a fresh tuxedo and his hair was groomed. His usually stern expression showed evident satisfaction. The lines around his eyes appeared less pronounced.
"Master." Fujita's voice contained unusual levity.
"What is it?" Shuichi set the cup down, his expression still serious.
"The airport." Fujita stepped forward and spoke more quickly than usual.
"The young lady's jet departed from New Chitose Airport."
Shuichi's hand stopped on the cup.
"The tower has confirmed the flight path. She will land at Haneda in two hours."
The cup contacted the saucer with a clatter. Coffee spilled over the rim, but Shuichi did not react.
He stood so quickly that his chair struck the glass partition behind him.
The oppressive atmosphere in the office dissipated.
"Two hours?" Shuichi checked his wristwatch, then the wall clock, as if doubting both.
"What about wind conditions? Is it a tailwind or headwind? Are there delays?"
He moved around the desk and approached Fujita, asking questions rapidly.
"What is the Tokyo traffic situation? Is the Shuto Expressway clear? Are the vehicles at the airport prepared? Have they activated the heaters? Tokyo is warmer than Hokkaido, and I do not want her to contract a cold."
Fujita observed the agitated head of household and his smile widened.
"Master, please remain calm. All arrangements are complete. The motorcade is downstairs, and we have identified the most efficient routes."
"Good." Shuichi rubbed his hands together and paced.
He stopped and pointed at the desk, at the unreviewed documents and the five-billion-yen proposal he had filed.
"These…" He gestured dismissively.
"Tell Endo the remainder can wait until tomorrow. No, the day after tomorrow. Unless there is an emergency, no one is to contact the house."
"Yes." Fujita bowed.
"And dinner." Shuichi recalled. "Inform the chef that the French foie gras has arrived. Satsuki has been consuming potatoes and seafood for half a month. She will want variety."
He took his coat without waiting for Fujita and put it on himself.
"The car. Immediately."
"Master, we still have over an hour," Fujita said.
"We will wait at the airport." Shuichi was already at the door with his hand on the knob.
"What if there is a tailwind? What if she arrives early?"
…
Haneda Airport, VIP Terminal.
The sunset entered through the floor-to-ceiling glass, coloring the silver aircraft in gold and red.
Shuichi sat in his private lounge.
A cup of Blue Mountain coffee remained untouched on the table.
He stood, walked to the window, observed the runway, returned, sat down, and then stood again.
Alone in the lounge, the man respected by Tokyo's elite exhibited behavior resembling a person awaiting a first meeting.
An attendant approached to refill his water, but he declined.
"How much longer?" he asked for the third time.
"Head of House, fifteen minutes until touchdown," Fujita answered patiently from the doorway.
Fifteen minutes.
Shuichi inhaled deeply and forced himself to remain stationary.
He watched aircraft land and depart while his thoughts returned to previous years.
Yuriko had recently died.
The Saionji family had resembled this airport at dusk: large, but facing decline.
He had smoked in his study and examined ledgers, believing he would decline with the house and become a relic.
Until a small hand took his.
Satsuki.
She was twelve years old.
She assumed responsibility for the deteriorating household and for him, her damaged father.
She did not merely carry the burden. She provided him with direction and elevated him to levels he had not considered possible.
People now praised him for his judgment and decisiveness.
He knew the reality.
Without Satsuki, he would have remained an Old Kazoku protecting ancestral property, declining in the House of Peers.
She provided him with confidence.
Only with her could he remove the role of "Head of House" and be a father.
"It's here." Fujita's voice interrupted his thoughts.
Shuichi looked up.
Against the sunset, a deep-blue aircraft descended through the clouds at the edge of his vision.
It was streamlined, approaching the runway with its wingtip lights flashing in the dusk.
That was the "Midnight Ghost."
Shuichi's heart rate increased.
He adjusted his tie and exited quickly.
…
On the tarmac, wind was present.
The turbofans reduced from a roar to a hum.
The cabin door opened and the stairs deployed.
Shuichi stood by the car with his eyes on that door.
Fujita Tsuyoshi exited first, surveyed the area, and stepped aside.
Then a small figure appeared.
Satsuki wore a beige trench coat and a light scarf. Her hair was disturbed by the wind.
She stood at the top of the stairs, saw him, and her expression brightened. She raised a hand and waved.
"Father!"
Her voice carried through the wind.
Half a month of concern and anxiety diminished.
He disregarded protocol and moved forward.
Satsuki descended the stairs quickly, with Amy following behind her carrying a large bag.
"Move carefully, consider the wind." Shuichi reached out with both hands, steadying her as she stepped from the last stair.
He examined her carefully.
Her appearance was healthy. Her cheeks were pink from the Hokkaido wind, and her eyes were clear.
"Have you lost weight?" Shuichi touched her arm. "Was the food adequate? I heard it consists primarily of potatoes and salted fish there."
"It was acceptable," Satsuki laughed, permitting his inspection. "Mr. Otsuka's potatoes are good, and the sea urchin was fresh. Father, you have dark circles under your eyes."
She touched the skin beneath his eyes.
Her fingers were cool. Shuichi reacted internally.
"The company has been busy," he said without detail. "You have returned, and that is the primary matter."
The tension in his chest finally eased.
"Also," Satsuki turned and gestured to Fujita Tsuyoshi.
"Fujita, that item."
Fujita Tsuyoshi approached with a large, ornate black box. He presented it to Shuichi carefully.
"This?" Shuichi asked with surprise.
"A gift from America," Satsuki said with her hands behind her back and her head tilted. "I believe it is appropriate for you now."
Shuichi was curious.
Was it from Hollywood?
A film prop? A signed poster?
He removed the ribbon and opened the box.
Inside, on black velvet, was a helmet. The design was black, aggressive, and imposing.
Darth Vader. An original.
The mask reflected the sunset, and the empty eye sockets appeared deep.
Shuichi stared.
He did not follow science fiction, but he recognized the character.
"This is…" He looked at her, uncertain how to respond.
"Father, lower your head." Satsuki rose onto her toes.
Shuichi complied and lowered his head.
Satsuki lifted the heavy helmet with both hands. Her expression was serious, as if performing a formal action. She placed it on his head.
His vision darkened.
His field of view narrowed to what the lenses permitted. His breathing sounded contained, and he could hear himself inside the helmet.
The sensation was unusual.
"This is the Galactic Empire's commander," Satsuki said. Her voice was muffled through the helmet, but he could detect her smile.
"Father, you protected our home. But in Tokyo's business environment, restraint does not maintain position."
She took his hand, through his glove.
"You require this. This is the mask of Tokyo's enforcer."
"With this on, no one can observe your hesitation. No one can observe your vulnerability."
"Regarding direction…" Satsuki's finger touched his palm.
"I will indicate where our organization should proceed."
Shuichi remained silent.
He was on the Haneda tarmac in an expensive suit, wearing a helmet typically associated with enthusiasts.
If the House of Peers observed this, they would be shocked.
But he understood her meaning completely.
He comprehended the unstated message.
You will be the visible enforcer. The instrument that removes obstacles.
I will be the strategist who determines direction.
Shuichi smiled beneath the mask.
He raised a hand and adjusted the heavy helmet.
"Since it is a gift from Her Majesty," he said.
His voice passed through the modulator, deep and metallic, resembling a character in command.
"I accept."
…
The sun descended below the horizon.
The Haneda runway lights activated, forming two bright lines extending to the horizon.
Shuichi removed the helmet and held it carefully.
He extended his other hand and took Satsuki's.
"Let's return home. The foie gras is prepared."
"Agreed. I brought California wine. It is not a Conti, but the profile is distinct."
Father and daughter walked toward the motorcade.
The sunset extended their shadows long across the tarmac until they combined into one large form.
Amy carried the large bag and followed behind them.
She observed the two of them, who represented significant power in Japan, yet appeared informal.
Saionji, the formal president, now held an unusual Darth Vader helmet with a light step.
Satsuki-chan, who was typically analytical, was looking up and discussing potatoes.
Amy adjusted her glasses and smiled with some envy.
Then Satsuki turned around, still smiling.
"Amy, see you at school," she said, entering the car with Shuichi and waving through the window.
"Understood, see you at school, Satsuki-chan." Amy waved back and entered her own car.
Half an hour later, Amy experienced "Satsuki Withdrawal Syndrome" as well.