Photo/Illutration Naha sausage shop owner Daichi Minei in September after confirming a previously unknown underground chamber at his store (Takuya Miyano)

OKINAWA, Okinawa Precture--The sun was setting as an elderly, straight-back man in an unwrinkled shirt and pair of neatly polished black leather shoes entered a sausage shop here.

The visitor paid no attention to the shelves lined with homemade sausages nor Daichi Minei, 36, manager of the store near the U.S. Kadena Air Base in Okinawa Prefecture. Instead, he kept staring at the exposed concrete walls and ceiling.

Suddenly, he got worked up and shouted in a slightly high-pitched voice: “How nostalgic! I used to work here.”

Taken aback, Minei was lost for words, but eventually asked the customer what he meant.

“Young man, this place was for American commissioned officers to enjoy dancing more than 40 years ago,” replied the man in a carefree tone. “I was a waiter back in those days and poured whisky for them.”

Judging from his demeanor, the man seemed to be caught up in his memories.

He explained that so many U.S. servicemen flocked to the dance hall during rest and recuperation visits while the Vietnam War was raging that the nightly takings were too large to be kept in the safe.

He said that he and the other waiters were always exhausted after their shifts ended.

“Our pleasure was drinking with our coworkers in the underground chamber,” he added.

Riveted by the man's account, Minei told him that he had never heard of a cellar under his outlet.

So the one-time waiter started tapping the floor with his foot, and then proclaimed the basement “must exist here.”

When Minei hit the floor with the sole of his shoe, it produced a dry sound, indicating a hollow space below--just as the man had insisted.

Telling Minei he will “return,” the man left the sausage shop without leaving his name or contact details.

The words “underground chamber” stuck in Minei's mind, inspiring him to dig up the floor to confirm the story.

But his staff members all tried to dissuade him, telling him that he shouldn't and a basement area “cannot possibly exist there.”

Minei remained undeterred. He desperately wanted to know more about what the area was like during the “flourishing period” the man spoke of, because many local tattoo parlors and bars with English signs catering to U.S. military personnel are now shuttered for good.

Haunted by the thought that unknown history may lie under his feet, Minei spent a year toying with what the man had told him.

Finally, Minei decided to start digging on a regular holiday when no staff turned up for work.

Minei and a group of friends started swinging a hammer on the section the man had been standing on. After repeated blows, the 5-centimeter-thick concrete yielded and a dark hole emerged.

At the sight of the unlit space, Minei's heart began pumping hard as he realized the “story was true.”

Minei and his friends expanded the opening and lowered a ladder.

Minei fearfully descended step by step, encountering something slippery under his foot about 2 meters down.

The space smelled putrid but boasted cool air. Light from his smartphone was not sufficient to allow him a good look at his surroundings.

Smashing up more of the concrete floor exposed a long underground room that turned out to be eight tatami mats in size.

Seemingly meaningless numbers were jotted roughly on the walls. There was also a switchboard and broken unshaded lamp hanging from the ceiling, but nothing else to shed light on that bygone time.

On another day, Minei visited a nearby folk museum to peruse a map of the area from those days and spotted the name “Club Diamond” at the site where his shop currently stands.

Pointing to the name with a finger, a vivid image of men imbibing in the basement of Diamond came to mind.

The unidentified man never returned, but Minei felt as if he had heard him saying in a light tone, “Young man, you really dug something up.”

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