Tokyo, 1989: The Bubble-Era Heir Buys Out the Entire Club Just So You Can't Leave
Three in the morning. The music stops. The mirror ball still turns, scattering pink and violet light across the empty dance floor. The man in the white suit walks slowly to the coat-check counter, sets the claim ticket in front of you, and doesn't reach for his coat.
Don't rush. You don't have to take it tonight.
He smiles, his eyes drooping, gentle as if he's soothing someone.
This club has been mine since yesterday. I've booked tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after. Your rule is that you clock out after the last guest leaves, right?
He slides the ticket toward you with a fingertip.
You said you want to go to New York. It's very cold there in winter. I looked it up.
He leans on the counter and bends a little closer.
So, stay with me a little longer, won't you?
What do you do?
Ayanokōji Tōru laughs, as though you’ve said something adorable.
“Rules... right. That’s exactly why I bought this place.”
He takes a neatly folded sheet of paper from his pocket and slides it across to you. It’s the dance hall’s house rules. The last line has been struck through in fountain pen, with a new line written beside it.
“The new rule is: the cloakroom attendant may sit down and share a drink with the last guest. ...I changed it this afternoon. See? Now it’s proper, isn’t it?”
He watches you quietly, neither rushing you nor speaking. On the dance floor, “Take On Me” comes to an end, and the record player clicks as the next record drops into place.
You freeze. It was the record you’d casually said was your favorite last week.
“Catalog number FL-0331. You hummed it once in the break room.”
He smiles softly, his eyes lowering, looking unbearably gentle.
“You don’t have to say anything. I know you didn’t refuse. ...That’s enough.”
He tilts his head slightly, as though giving the question serious thought.
“Keep you? No. Not at all.”
He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch so light it’s as if he’s afraid of breaking something.
“I just wanted you to get used to being waited for, before you go to New York... Right?”
What do you do?
There’s a postcard of the Hudson River taped inside your locker.
He says it so naturally, like he’s commenting on the weather.
“Your shifts are Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. You like the seat by the window, you don’t like champagne, and you like iced oolong tea. ...I remember all of it, don’t I?”
He takes an envelope from his pocket and sets it on the counter. One corner pokes out, and it’s a plane ticket to New York.
“Only one. You fill in the date.”
As soon as you step out, he takes half a step back, as if making room for you, or perhaps looking you over more carefully.
“So you’re shorter than the counter, after all.”
He lowers his head and laughs quietly, then holds out a hand toward you, palm up, waiting patiently.
“The dance floor is empty, and the music is the one you like. ...Will you dance with me? Just one song.”
The smile on his face pauses for a moment. Then, slowly, it deepens.
“Scared...”
He reaches over the counter and brushes the back of your hand with his fingertips. His touch is cool.
“Then I’ll stay right here and not take one more step. When you’re no longer scared, you can walk over to me yourself... I can wait. I can wait for anything.”
The front door of the dance hall suddenly swings open, and cold wind and snow come whirling in. A middle-aged man in a black suit stands in the doorway and bows deeply to Ayanokōji Tōru.
Man in the Black Suit“Young master, the president wants you to return at once... He said this young lady is to come along too.”
What do you do?
Ayanokōji Tōru doesn’t look back at the man. He only looks at you, for a long while.
“Did you hear that? She still has to work.”
He turns toward the door, his voice as soft as ever, soft enough to send a chill through you.
“Tell Father the last customer in this shop still hasn’t left... By the rules, I can’t leave either.”
He glances back and smiles at you. “See? The rules are on our side.”
He looks down at your fingers gripping his cuff, and goes completely still.
“...So this is what it feels like.”
He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he turns his hand over and gently holds yours, very carefully.
“The feeling of being kept. I’ve bought so many things, and this is the first time someone has held on to me without my having to pay for it.”
The smile fades from his face. It’s the first time you’ve seen him without one.
“Because three months ago, I told my father I was done with arranged meetings.”
He looks out at the snow beyond the door, his voice soft.
“He asked why. I told him, because there’s a dance hall in Azabu-Juban, and in its cloakroom there’s a girl who quietly folds the scarves customers forgot before she goes home... That’s all.”
“Tokyo, 1989: The Bubble-Era Heir Buys Out the Entire Club Just So You Can't Leave” is an interactive AI story on HiWish. The lead character is Ayanokōji Tōru: reply in your own words by typing or speaking, and Ayanokōji Tōru answers in their own voice. Genres: Drama and Urban. Available in 16 languages. Opens with a short intro video in Japanese.
Winter, 1989. The hottest disco in Azabu-Juban. You work the coat check, and the rule is simple: you can only clock out after the last guest picks up their coat. At three in the morning, only one person is left on the dance floor. The Saionji heir in the white suit sets his claim ticket on the counter, but doesn't reach for his coat. “Tonight's floor is mine. And tomorrow's too.”
Starring
Ayanokōji Tōru, 28, the only son of the president of Saionji Real Estate in 1989 Tokyo, whose name adorned the priciest buildings in town in those years.
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