The cherry blossoms of April 1986 bloomed in Tokyo with almost reckless abandon. A single gust of wind sent pinkish-white petals swirling down like a blizzard, carpeting the asphalt at Akasaka-mitsuke intersection until the black road itself turned soft pink. Passing taxis kicked up flurries that clung to windshields, forcing the wipers to scrape with a dry, grating rhythm.
Akasaka, nestled between Nagatacho and Roppongi, always carried a distinctive atmosphere—a heady blend of political power and liquid money.
At one bustling street corner stood the stark skeleton of a seven-story building. Stripped of exterior walls, its exposed gray concrete beams and pillars resembled the massive bones of some prehistoric creature, while rusty scaffolding rattled faintly in the breeze. The original developer had been ensnared in a financing scandal; six months earlier its capital chain had snapped, leaving the half-finished structure as an ugly scar on Akasaka's face.
"How truly hideous," a crisp young voice remarked.
Satsuki stood just beyond the yellow "No Entry" tape, gazing up at the bare concrete frame.
She wore the spring uniform of Seika Girls' Academy Junior High: a deep-blue blazer, gray pleated skirt, and red ribbon at the collar. Having only recently entered her first year of junior high, she had grown a little taller, yet she still appeared small. Standing among the cluster of project managers in dark work clothes, she looked like a delicate doll who had wandered onto a construction site by mistake.
"Young Miss, it may look ugly now, but the location is truly unrivaled," the project manager beside her said, rubbing his hands with an ingratiating smile. "This is prime real estate right outside Akasaka-mitsuke Station. Whether it becomes an office building or a hotel, tenants will never be a concern."
Satsuki ignored him. She simply reached out and caught a falling cherry-blossom petal.
"An office building?"
She gave a light chuckle and crushed the petal between her fingers, squeezing out a tiny drop of pink juice.
"Akasaka already has more than enough office buildings filled with middle-aged men and their greasy bellies. The sight of them is nauseating enough."
She turned and walked toward the temporary corrugated-iron shed beside the site.
"Tell the architects to come in. I have little time; I have an equestrian lesson this afternoon."
The shed was rudimentary, furnished only with a long table covered in blueprints and a few folding chairs. The air smelled of dust and cheap instant coffee.
Satsuki took the head seat, set her schoolbag aside, and opened a bottle of Evian water.
The first to enter was a senior architect with graying hair. Dressed in a sophisticated three-piece suit, he immediately unfurled a large rendering.
"Miss Saionji, in accordance with your requirements we have prepared a Neoclassical design." He pointed to the heavy granite walls and Roman columns on the drawing. "This style is solemn and imposing, perfectly suited to Akasaka's status as a political center. It would project undeniable credibility if used for a high-end law firm or bank branch."
Satsuki glanced at the rendering once and looked away.
"Next."
The architect blinked in surprise. "But…"
"It is too heavy," Satsuki said, unscrewing the cap of her water bottle and taking a sip. "It looks like a mausoleum. Akasaka already has enough dead men; it does not need another coffin."
The architect's face flushed crimson. He gathered his drawings and marched out, visibly indignant.
The second candidate was a middle-aged man in black-rimmed glasses who declared himself a follower of the Bauhaus school.
"Form follows function," he announced, pushing up his glasses as he presented a stark glass-and-steel box. "Minimalist, efficient, and flooded with natural light. This is a design for the future."
"Boring."
Satsuki yawned, offering no further critique.
"If you wish to design glass boxes, go to Mitsubishi Estate in Marunouchi. I am not here to pack people into sardine cans."
He, too, was shown the door.
An awkward silence settled over the shed.
The project manager wiped sweat from his brow. "Young Miss, those were the two most reputable firms in Tokyo…"
"And the last one?" Satsuki pointed to the final name on the list.
"That… that fellow named Ando is a young man who only recently set up on his own. He is not very well known; he used to draft construction plans for larger firms." The manager hesitated. "Shall I tell him to leave?"
"Let him in."
The door opened.
A young man entered wearing a crumpled khaki trench coat, his hair tousled like a bird's nest. He carried no grand renderings—only a worn sketchbook under his arm—and dark circles beneath his eyes suggested he had not slept in days.
"Sit," Satsuki said, gesturing with her chin.
Ando pulled out a chair and dropped into it, tossing the sketchbook onto the table.
"I have seen the proposals from those two old fogies," he said, his voice raspy. "One wants to build a tomb, the other a fish tank. Both are garbage."
The project manager's brow furrowed in anger, but Satsuki raised a hand to silence him.
"And you?" she asked, studying the architect with interest. "What do you wish to build?"
"I do not wish to build anything."
Ando leaned back and reached for a cigarette. Remembering the school uniform before him, he irritably pushed it back into his pocket.
"This place—Akasaka—is schizophrenic."
He pointed out the window.
"By day it belongs to politicians and bureaucrats in black suits: serious, oppressive, reeking of power. But at night it becomes the district where desire flows fastest in all of Tokyo."
"That building stands at the intersection. It is an eye."
"It watches those same sanctimonious men shed their disguises once darkness falls."
Satsuki set down her water bottle.
She leaned forward slightly—an unmistakable sign of interest.
"Go on."
"So it requires neither 'stability' nor 'efficiency'." Ando met her gaze. "What it needs is stimulation—something that makes a person's heart skip a beat the moment they pass by."
"But…" He spread his hands. "I have not yet decided exactly what that something is. Because I do not know what you intend to do with this building. If you simply want to rent it out as offices for trading companies, then I suggest you use the glass-box proposal. It will save you money."
Satsuki smiled.
She reached into her schoolbag, withdrew a women's fashion magazine that had only recently launched, and tossed it onto the table before him.
On the cover, a career woman with permed wavy hair and padded shoulders laughed confidently, clutching a Chanel handbag.
"Do you know what major event occurred this month?" she asked.
"The Chernobyl nuclear plant exploded?" Ando shrugged.
"No. The Equal Employment Opportunity Act has officially taken effect."
Satsuki extended a finger and tapped the woman on the magazine cover.
"From this month onward, Japanese women are no longer merely 'office ladies' serving tea. They can be promoted like men, receive raises like men, and wield power like men."
"What does that mean?"
Ando frowned. "That the streets will soon be filled with women in padded-shoulder suits?"
"It means they will have money in their hands."
Satsuki's voice grew soft and seductive.
"Plenty of money. And they are far more willing to spend it than men."
"Men earn to save for houses, support families, or drink their sorrows away in nightclubs. Women earn to pamper themselves."
She stood and walked to the window, gazing at the gray concrete skeleton.
"This building is not for men."
"There will be no izakayas here, nor any smoke-filled coffee rooms."
"I am going to turn this place into a giant, candy-colored trap."
Satsuki turned, her back to the sunlight, and looked directly at Ando.
"I want you to paint it pink."
"Huh?"
Ando thought he had misheard and dug at his ear.
"What color did you say?"
"Pink," Satsuki repeated firmly. "Not a delicate cherry-blossom pink, nor a tacky hot pink. It should be the color of freshly applied lipstick—moist, seductive, the kind that makes one want to take a bite."
Ando's mouth fell open. "Are you mad? In Akasaka? A pink building? Architectural critics will call it an aesthetic disaster! It would be like… like a giant red-light-district sign!"
"Aesthetics are for the poor."
Satsuki interrupted him coldly.
"What I want is not art. What I want is desire."
"Imagine it: in this neighborhood of gray concrete and black glass curtain walls, a pink tower suddenly appears. It will stand out like a single red flower in a field of green—abrupt, eye-catching, impossible to ignore."
"Every woman who passes by will feel an instinctive pull the moment she sees it: 'That place belongs to me.'"
She returned to the table, picked up Ando's sketching pencil, and drew several bold strokes across a sheet of white paper.
"Inside, it will house beauty salons, nail parlors, French desserts flown in from Paris, and boutique shops offering only seasonal limited editions."
"Even a cup of coffee will cost ten thousand yen. Even a slice of cake will be crafted like jewelry."
"And the restrooms."
Satsuki stared into Ando's eyes.
"The restrooms on every floor must occupy the best positions. They should be spacious, with vanity mirrors framed by light bulbs like Hollywood dressing rooms, velvet sofas, and fragrances worthy of five-star hotels."
"Because that is a woman's backstage—the place where they touch up their makeup, exchange gossip, and straighten their armor before returning to battle."
Ando stared at the girl in the school uniform.
He felt his entire worldview cracking.
Pink exterior walls. Oversized powder rooms. Exorbitantly priced desserts.
To the academic mind this was kitsch, trash, the degradation of architecture.
Yet an image formed in Ando's mind:
A rainy night in gray Akasaka. A pink tower glowing with ambiguous light. Countless women in high heels flocking toward it like pilgrims, happily spending their newly earned salaries in search of an illusion called "being oneself."
That image possessed a strange, decadent beauty that sent a shiver through him.
"It is a vessel for desire," he murmured.
He seized the pencil. His hand trembled—not from fear, but from excitement.
He began to draw frantically.
The lines were no longer rigid and straight; they became rounded and fluid.
The entrance was no longer a solemn gate but a gently curved arch like a slightly parted mouth, trimmed in gold.
The windows were floor-to-ceiling, each promising a warm yellow glow and glimpses of dazzling merchandise within.
"The exterior cannot be ordinary paint," Ando said rapidly as he sketched. "We need custom ceramic panels with a glazed surface. They will appear pink by day; at night, when the lights strike them, they will shimmer with a silk-like luster."
"There must also be terraces. The top floor should have a semi-open terrace filled with roses. Women can sip champagne there, looking down at the men still slaving away in their offices below."
"Yes."
Satsuki watched the sketch take shape, a satisfied smile curving her lips.
"Exactly."
"We do not need any so-called 'sense of eternity.' This building does not have to stand for a hundred years."
"It only needs to bloom in this era like a poisonous orchid, draining the wallet of every woman who steps inside."
Ten minutes later Ando set down his pencil.
He stared at the grotesque yet seductive building on the paper, feeling as though he had just signed away his soul.
"This is going to be crucified," he muttered, pulling out a cigarette. This time he lit it without hesitation. "The old pedants at Architecture New Tide will call me a pimp."
"But your name will be on the lips of every woman in Tokyo."
Satsuki gathered her bag and stood.
"And I will pay you triple the design fee. In cash."
At the words "triple" and "cash," Ando's cigarette paused midway to his lips.
He exhaled a plume of smoke that curled in the dim light of the shed.
"When do we start?"
"Tomorrow."
Satsuki walked to the door and pushed it open.
Outside, the rain of cherry blossoms continued to fall.
Those pinkish-white petals drifted onto the black earth and would soon rot into mud.
Yet inside the "Pink Building" about to rise, as long as gold coins continued to clink, the cherry blossoms here would bloom forever.
"Mr. Ando."
Satsuki paused at the threshold and glanced back at the young architect.
"Welcome to the Heisei era."
The door closed.
Ando stared at the empty doorway, then at the vivid pink sketch on the table.
He suddenly began to laugh—wild, almost frenzied laughter.
He knew he had grasped a rope. He did not yet know whether it led to heaven or hell, but he no longer had to spend his days drafting dreary restroom plans in a dusty office.
He was going to build a giant pink temple in the heart of Akasaka.