We continued our discussion with Kiritani-san, interspersing the conversation with a bit of banter to keep the atmosphere light. Even though this property had already claimed the top spot on our list of candidates, I knew I had to nail down the details now. Otherwise, I’d find myself down the road saying, "Wait, I never heard about this..."
When dealing with high-value transactions like this, it’s better to be thorough—annoyingly so—with your questions beforehand.
This was especially true given that we were looking at a lease-to-buy agreement for land with almost zero market demand. If we couldn't find a future buyer, there was a real risk of it becoming a "negative asset"—a piece of property that becomes a permanent liability.
"Then, proceeding on the premise that you are all quite interested in this property, let’s dive into the specifics," Kiritani-san began. "As I mentioned earlier, this land was originally slated for resort development. However, the Great Cavern you saw underground made it impossible to build the planned hotel, and the project collapsed. They attempted ground improvement and even redesigned the hotel to account for the cave, but the developer’s cash flow dried up when the bubble burst, and they went bankrupt. The plan was scrapped, and while the bank seized the land as collateral, its value plummeted along with the rest of the market. It became the textbook definition of bad debt."
"I heard it was a high-profile regional revitalization project with government backing, but it certainly met a miserable end," I remarked.
"Indeed. Looking back at the plans now, they were... well, 'ambitious' is a polite way to put it. 'Reckless' might be more accurate. They were trying to cram every luxury imaginable into the project. I have no idea what kind of guest numbers they were projecting just to break even..."
Kiritani-san let out an exasperated sigh, his expression suggesting the whole thing had been a lost cause from the start. It sounded like the developer and the local government had been swept up in the irrational exuberance of the bubble era, drafting plans that defied common sense.
Watching Kiritani-san, a thought occurred to us: even if they had finished the resort, wouldn’t it have gone under the moment the economy crashed anyway? Sure, there was a road connecting it to the main highway, but it wasn't exactly a convenient location. I couldn't imagine people—whose purse strings had tightened significantly after the collapse—flocking to an extravagant, overpriced resort in numbers high enough to keep it afloat.
"I see. So, Kiritani-san, when you say the land became bad debt..."
"Well, the land for this resort was purchased when property values were at their absolute peak during the bubble. You follow? When the bubble burst, demand for this type of resort land didn't just drop—it evaporated. Prices crashed, and with no buyers in sight, the land lost its value as collateral. The bank was left with a massive deficit compared to the original loan... hence, it became bad debt."
"So they bought high and couldn't even sell low—they couldn't sell at all," I summarized. "The bank seized it to cover the loan, but the appraisal value didn't even come close to the amount they’d lent out. Since they couldn't move the property, they couldn't recoup even a fraction of their losses. That’s a total disaster."
"Precisely. And as history shows, holding too much of that bad debt is exactly what caused many banks to collapse after the bubble. It was a domino effect."
I knew about the bubble economy and its aftermath from textbooks, but hearing it firsthand from someone who lived through it added a heavy sense of reality to the story.
And here we were, about to get our hands on a piece of land that was essentially a "toxic legacy" of that era... Were we really going to be okay?
"After a long, complicated history, my company eventually... well, let's say we had this property 'entrusted' to us. We got it for a literal pittance compared to its bubble-era price. Still, it’s been a stagnant property on our books for years."
"Is it okay to be this honest with us?" I asked. "We might hear all this and decide to walk away."
"It’s not as if I’m hiding some dark secret. You already knew this was a 'troubled property' in one way or another, didn't you?"
"True," Yuji chimed in. "Since you’re offering us such a bargain, we assumed there was a catch. As long as it’s not some kind of extreme environmental hazard, we don't mind."
I nodded along with Yuji, and Hiiragi-san followed suit. If the only "problem" was that it was hard for ordinary people to access, that was a feature, not a bug, for us. Though, I did hope it wasn't like those early properties we’d seen that were practically toxic waste sites.
Kiritani-san nodded, seemingly relieved by our resolve.
"I’m glad to hear that. Some people are superstitious about land that’s been labeled as bad debt. Given the issues that usually come with such properties, I can't blame them."
"If there were no issues, it wouldn't have been bad debt for long," I noted. "Unless, of course, the owners were just stubborn, holding onto it and refusing to sell at a loss while waiting for prices to rise again... which is just a failure to cut one's losses."
"Exactly. In the case of this land, it was originally collateral for a bank that folded, and after passing through several hands, it landed with us. The only physical issue is the underground cavern I described. That’s a deal-breaker for large-scale construction like a resort, but if you don't plan on building a skyscraper, it shouldn't be much of a hurdle."
"Well, a massive, empty lot that’s impossible to develop is a 'problem' in its own right," I pointed out.
For any company looking to build a shopping mall or a large hotel, this place would be a nightmare. You’d have to sink a fortune into land improvement—filling or reinforcing the cavern—before you even broke ground. And since it wasn't near a train station or a major population center, it was a risky bet for a suburban business model. People might visit for the novelty at first, but once that wore off... yeah. It was easy to see why nobody would touch it unless they had a foolproof plan to make it profitable.
"That’s exactly why it hasn't sold," Kiritani-san admitted. "At one point, there was talk of subdividing it for residential use, but there’s no station nearby for commuters, and there aren't any local industries to support a new population. We even considered a vacation home development, but who was buying vacation homes after the bubble burst?"
"So... a total dead end."
"Yes. If there were some kind of attraction nearby to draw people in, it might have worked... but the resort meant to provide that attraction was the very thing that failed."
"It always comes back to that, doesn't it?"
The failure of the resort had effectively crippled any other chance for local development. You couldn't build commercial facilities, and residential or vacation homes were out of the question due to logistics and timing. What a mess.
With all those strikes against it, no wonder it had been stagnant for decades. Even if they wanted to sell it, there simply weren't any buyers.
"Which is why," Kiritani-san said, his voice taking on a slightly more urgent tone, "our company would very much like for you all to pur... to lease this land."
"Haha..."
I could see a flicker of desperation behind Kiritani-san's professional smile. He was basically at the goal line of finally unloading a property that had been a burden for years. He probably wanted to shove—I mean, lease—it to us by any means necessary.
I mean, we were planning to rent it, but his "salesman pressure" was starting to get a bit intense.
Once Kiritani-san finished his history lesson, we finally got down to the actual terms of the lease.
We’d already given him our budget, so I didn't think he’d try to blow past it, but I was still nervous about the final number.
"First, let me go over the layout. The area we’re talking about for this lease is approximately 50 hectares."
"It was really 50 hectares?" I asked. "I was so focused on the cave that it didn't feel that big."
"Haha, well, between the overgrown trees and the distraction of the underground cavern, it’s easy to lose your sense of scale. However, since it's right on the coast, you can't really use every square inch right up to the cliffs, so the 'usable' land is a bit smaller. Plus, as I said, the Great Cavern makes it unsuitable for large structures."
"I see... so in terms of practical construction, we’re looking at maybe half of that? Especially since the cavern and its offshoots are scattered all over the place. You really couldn't put a single large building anywhere."
Kiritani-san showed us some documents, including a surface map and a layout of the underground tunnels. Looking at the map, it was clear this land was a disaster for anyone wanting to build a shopping center or a hotel.
If you were going to spend that much on construction, you’d just buy land closer to the city, even if the price per square foot was higher.
"Correct. But for your purposes, I believe about 40 hectares would be perfectly usable. For example... perhaps as a farm or a ranch? Although you'd have to start by clearing the trees and tilling the land."
"Right. But 40 hectares... that's enough to fit several dome stadiums. I wonder if we can even use that much space..."
The sheer scale of the land started to sink in, and I felt a twinge of anxiety. A training ground the size of several Tokyo Domes... normally, that was the kind of facility owned by massive corporate explorer guilds. It felt a bit over-the-top for a tiny team of five, but then again, the size would make it much easier to keep our training hidden from prying eyes.
Plus, it came with a secret underground base in the form of a Great Cavern. Even if the surface was disproportionately large for our needs, the property was too good to pass up.
"If you find you have more space than you can use, you could always lease portions of it to third parties after you've acquired it. A training ground built by explorers, for explorers... I imagine that would be quite popular, wouldn't it?" Kiritani-san suggested.
"A rental training ground, huh? I'm sure there are plenty of explorers looking for a place to practice outside of dungeons, but managing something like that sounds terrifying."
"Terrifying? Why is that?"
"Liability," I said bluntly. "If an explorer gets reckless and has an accident, we’d be held responsible as the facility operators. Explorers are people who have gained power far beyond ordinary people. Especially those who’ve just moved past the beginner stage—they start feeling invincible, and it's hard to keep them in check. We had a classmate like that once... someone who got drunk on their own power and did something reckless. I can easily imagine a worst-case scenario where a dispute between 'customers' leads to something tragic."
In the end, that guy—Kishi—had dragged other arrogant first-years into a mess and ended up getting kicked out of school. I wondered if those guys were even still active as explorers these days.
"I see... Yes, if that’s the reality of the industry, it would be risky to open it up to the general public. It's probably better to scrap the rental idea for now."
"Yeah, let’s not go there....Well, I’m sure we’ll find some use for the space once we actually start living there."
"True. And while large-scale development is out, smaller structures are perfectly fine. For example... how about a restaurant with a view of the ocean? As explorers, I imagine you have your own 'independent channels' for procuring high-quality dungeon food."
"...That is actually a viable idea," I admitted. The scenery was good enough that someone had tried to build a resort here, after all. If we played our cards right, we could market it as a "hidden gem" or a "destination restaurant."
Procuring dungeon food through independent channels—meaning the owner hunts it themselves. That sounded familiar. I glanced over at Hiiragi-san, but she quickly looked away, looking a bit awkward.
If we actually did the restaurant thing, we’d probably buy standard ingredients and just provide the "star" of the dish ourselves. Serving something like marbled minotaur meat beef bowls in limited quantities at a reasonable price... that would probably be a huge hit.
"Indeed, the possibilities are limited only by the owner's imagination," Kiritani-san said. "Now, as for the rent... I was thinking 200,000 yen per month. How does that sound? Given the acreage, I believe it's quite a bargain."
With that, Kiritani-san handed over a document with the rent clearly stated.
200,000 yen a month. That’s 2.4 million yen a year.
For a vast, untouched wilderness... was that cheap? Or was it expensive? I honestly couldn't tell.