A card That Shouldn't Exist

The front gate bore a new sign: CLOSED.

Riku stepped out onto the wooden porch of the studio, dragging the last of his bags behind him.

His old apartment was history. Everything he owned, what little he actually cared about, was now stacked neatly in the back room. This place, this yoga studio, this strange gift from a woman who vanished without a trace, was home now.

He dropped into the leather chair in the lounge, an iced coffee sweating on the table beside him. His muscles still carried that loose, overused ache from last night, the kind that made his skin feel too big for his body. But his mind was wide awake. Buzzing.

He flipped open his laptop.

And typed in two simple words: Midnight Club.

What popped up was exactly what he feared, and what he hoped.

Nothing official. No website. No public directory.

Only whispers.

Reddit threads that got mysteriously deleted after a few hours.

Archived screenshots of users claiming they "got in" before their accounts were nuked.

A few half-baked YouTube exposes from conspiracy channels.

But then... he hit something real.

A forum post dated two months ago, now buried under a thousand replies.

"The Midnight Club isn't a place. It's a gate. You either have the card… or you don't."

Attached was a blurred photo of a white metal card.

Simple. Elegant. Etched only with a crescent moon symbol in the center.

It wasn't just a club.

It was The club.

Where Tokyo's elite, the real elite, gathered to play, plot, partner, and sometimes prey.

Everything happened behind closed doors: business mergers, under-the-table deals, pleasure contracts, private auctions, alliances, blackmail, orgies, and sometimes… disappearances.

Riku leaned forward.

One person wrote:

"Even if your dad owns a skyscraper, you're not guaranteed entry. You must be someone... or belong to someone who is."

There were only three publicly known levels.

White. Blue. Orange.

White Card – Entry-level. Usually given to heirs or children of mid-tier businessmen. A token. A trial. Just enough to let them observe, but not participate.

Blue Card – Reserved for proven names. Local bosses. CEO sons and daughters. You get privileges. You're allowed into the "Second Floor."

Orange Card – Real power. These members didn't just attend—they influenced. Meetings were held around them. Parties were organized by them. Staff called them "Owners" behind closed doors.

But that wasn't all.

Every thread, every whisper hinted at something beyond those colors.

Some spoke of a Red Card. Others mentioned a Silver one.

But the most persistent rumor... was Black.

People argued it didn't exist.

Or if it did, it wasn't issued. It was chosen.

No photos. No verifiable holders.

Only one phrase repeated again and again like a haunting echo:

"If someone holds the Black Card, you don't ask how. You ask what they want."

___

Riku scrolled further, his coffee now forgotten.

A viral clip.

A bratty-looking kid barely out of college, drenched in designer brands, standing in front of a nightclub.

"Young Master Haruto, son of Takeda Group's Vice-Chairman, flaunting his Blue Card again."

The boy held it up like a trophy. It shimmered in the Tokyo streetlight, sleek and metallic, with a vertical moon on its edge. Girls clung to his arms. Cameras clicked. One of the comments read:

"Imagine being so desperate to show off your card just to enter the Circle. That's not even the top floor."

Riku watched in silence.

So this was the world she came from.

Yumi hadn't given him a key to a club.

She'd thrown him into an entire ecosystem of power, privilege, and politics hidden beneath Tokyo's surface.

And what's worse...

He still had no idea why.

He pulled it out slowly.

The one thing she left behind other than the house.

The Card.

A sleek, black card with gold trim.

Heavy. Expensive, in a way that whispered luxury, authority.

"Midnight Club."

Etched in elegant silver lettering beneath it:

"Riku Asano."

He turned it in his hand, comparing it to the images online.

There were no photos like this.

Not one.

His lips parted, breath shallow.

"What the hell are you, Yumi?"

No White. No Blue. Not even Orange.

Black.

And if the rumors were true, this wasn't an invitation.

It was a statement.

He was being placed, no, launched, into the heart of a world people sold their souls to enter.

___

He leaned back in the chair, the card resting on his chest.

Suddenly, this wasn't just about curiosity.

It wasn't even about Yumi anymore.

It was about him.

What he would become in that world.

If White Cards let you in the door...

If Blue let you speak…

And Orange let you rule a room...

What did Black mean?

Did it give him power? Or paint a target on his back?

And why him?

He didn't have a rich family. No corporation behind him.

No criminal empire. No clout.

Just… a system.

And a woman who left without saying goodbye, only leaving behind a trail of moans, a house, and a card from a place that shouldn't exist.

Riku stared at the glowing city outside the studio window.

Tokyo suddenly felt unfamiliar. Like a creature showing its real face for the first time.

And he was staring into its hungry mouth.

"Fine. You want me in?"

He tucked the card back into his wallet.

"Let's see what happens when a nobody steps onto your stage."

___

Just as Riku was turning the black card over in his fingers for the fifth time, his phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

Location : Tokyo.

He nearly ignored it.

But something, call it instinct, call it fate, urged his thumb to swipe.

"Riku?"

That voice.

It froze him mid-breath.

Smooth. Icy. Crisp like champagne in crystal.

Kanzaki.

His former boss.

The voice alone dragged up everything....

The late nights.

The pencil skirts.

The way her legs crossed just right.

The click of heels on polished floors.

The low bun that threatened to unravel every time she got serious.

The faint scent of oud and vanilla that clung to every room after she left.

A finesse of mature dominance.

A walking contradiction, poised chaos in a tight waistcoat.

The kind of woman who didn't walk into a room… she claimed it.

He had fantasized about her almost daily at work.

She was his boss, yes. But god, what an epitome of control and beauty.

No one could compare.

And yet, he'd walked out.

No two-week notice.

No exit email.

He'd stared at her office door one last time… and walked away.

Because he thought he could make it on his own.

Because something inside him had started to burn.

Because for once… he didn't want to just imagine her.

He wanted to be on her mind.

To be the one she couldn't ignore.

And now… she was calling him.

Riku let the silence stretch as he leaned back on the bed, eyes on the ceiling, lips curling slightly.

"Yua…"

He whispered her name like it was a sin.

She was the kind of woman that shaped your standards for life.

And somehow, even now…

She still had a grip on his thoughts.

____

Author's Note:

Well, well... Yua Kanzaki has finally entered the game. And let's just say, Tokyo's boardrooms won't be the same.

She's not just a boss.

She's The boss.

Beautiful, untouchable, and wickedly in control.

But here's the real question:

Can he survive her world… or will she make him beg to stay in it?

You've only seen a glimpse of her power.

In the next chapters, things will get hotter, sharper, and a little more dangerous.

Stay tuned.

Yua never plays fair, and she always gets what she wants.