Under a gray, overcast sky, a fine drizzle fell without end.
Wooden clogs clicked crisply against the ground as three figures walked down the damp bluestone path, each holding a red paper umbrella as they headed toward the graveyard in the distance.
The appearance of these three immediately drew the attention of everyone who had come to pay their respects.
They turned to look at the trio and began whispering among themselves.
In this graveyard filled with solemn, dignified figures in black suits,
the three of them walked side by side beneath red umbrellas, dressed in black-and-red, blue-and-gray, and yellow-and-white floral yukata. The Black Wutong Club logo was printed on their backs, with two lines of large white marker writing beneath it:
—Black Wutong Club welcomes you!
—Starting tomorrow, all drinks are 5% off!
The white marker writing had already faded, and the phone number and club address beneath it were completely illegible. But even if they could see them and find the place, all that would remain was a desolate ruin.
The Black Wutong Club was destined to exist only in the past, because the man who had supported that establishment had left forever.
The three figures passed through the public graveyard and followed a path strewn with falling cherry blossoms deeper inside. The graveyard was divided into inner and outer rings. The outer ring consisted of public burial grounds, while the inner ring was made up of private graveyards that had been reserved.
The private graveyards were clearly far better furnished and maintained than those outside.
The three stopped at the same time.
In the private graveyard ahead, figure after figure in black kimono patterned with cherry blossoms stood around the outer edge, their heads lowered as if mourning something.
They were all members of the Kazari Family.