Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

Chapter 167 Izumi Sakai: Iwa-kun, you and Akina-san can go downstairs now.

In the early afternoon of September, a brief silence fell over the living room of the apartment, as if even the air itself was weighed down by the exaggerated number.

Akina Nakamori sat awkwardly in a corner of the sofa.

When she said the number "eight hundred million yen", there was no hint of pride on her face. Instead, she seemed to be overwhelmed by the weight of the number.

She knew the amount of money was outrageously large, and instinctively felt that something was wrong.

But her father, the bank, her agent, and those so-called "insiders" all told her that this was a rare opportunity.

She knew nothing about finance or real estate, and could only grow increasingly uneasy amidst the chorus of advice.

"My father has already signed half of the purchase contract for me. I need to sign the remaining two copies myself."

At this point, Akina Nakamori raised her eyes and gazed intently at Iwao Kitahara in front of her.

Now, with increasing pressure from family members and the agency adding fuel to the fire, [the situation is dire].

In this quagmire that was about to swallow her whole, the man who had once given her a hug in her desperate situation had become the only person she dared to entrust her complete trust to.

"I felt anxious all the time, but I couldn't pinpoint the root of the problem."

Akina Nakamori spoke softly, her tone devoid of any of the defensiveness or pretense she displayed when speaking to others: "I have no other choice but to trouble you—"

Her voice grew weaker and weaker, but her eyes held a desperate sense of entrustment: "Could you take a look at it for me?"

""

With a soft voice, Akina Nakamori tentatively handed forward the file bag she was tightly clutching in her hand.

Kitahara Iwa gazed at her face, which betrayed her exhaustion.

Faced with this silent plea for help, Kitahara Iwa didn't offer any words of comfort. He simply softened his gaze, then reached out and took the heavy file folder from her trembling fingers.

"Let me see."

Kitahara Iwa untied the tangled cotton thread and poured the documents inside onto the glass coffee table.

The three documents—a letter of intent to purchase a property, a Sumitomo Bank real estate mortgage loan agreement, and a Sumitomo second mortgage agreement—were laid out in sequence.

Kitahara Iwa didn't delve into the dense financial clauses like a typical lawyer; instead, he simply scanned the core data.

The address of the property, printed in bold on the first letter of intent to purchase, is "Tokyo Bay Harbor Island Seaview Townhouse, 2-chome, Odaiba, Minato-ku, Tokyo".

Moving the gaze downwards, the total transaction amount circled in red is clearly marked as "eight hundred million yen".

Next was a second mortgage loan contract from Sumitomo Bank, with a loan amount of "600 million yen".

The final second mortgage contract for a residential property, with an additional financing amount of 100 million yen.

The entire reading process took only a few seconds.

Kitahara Iwa then carefully put the three documents back together and placed them back in the center of the glass coffee table.

Akina Nakamori was stunned as she watched the contract being returned in just a few seconds.

She knew perfectly well that Kitahara Iwa was a novelist, not a lawyer, and she never expected him to be able to analyze the traps word by word like a financial expert.

But she never expected that Kitahara Iwa would be so fast. He finished reviewing the 800 million yen contract in just a few seconds without even turning the pages.

Before she could react, Kitahara Iwa had already said, "Don't sign."

Upon hearing this, Akina Nakamori quickly asked, "Why?"

"Because of the next few years."

Kitahara Iwa explained, his tone calm yet revealing a chilling reality: "House prices in Japan will continue to fall. Once you sign the papers, when the property's value drops below your loan limit, the bank will ruthlessly liquidate you."

"By then, you will not only lose all your current savings, but also be burdened with a huge debt that you can't fill even if you sell everything you own."

As soon as the words were spoken, the space fell silent.

Even sitting at a distance, Izumi Sakai maintained her upright posture.

Akina Nakamori stared blankly at the stack of returned contracts in the center of the coffee table.

Deep down, she didn't want to sign that document.

She subconsciously felt an instinctive fear of this huge debt, but because she lacked financial knowledge, she thought of seeking Kitahara Iwao for a reason that could support her in refusing her father.

But she had no idea that the real cost behind this contract would be so terrifying.

Kitahara Iwa's conclusion had nothing to do with the loopholes in the terms themselves, but rather pointed directly to the fact that the transaction itself was a bottomless abyss that could completely engulf her.

"But----"

At this moment, Akina Nakamori's voice was extremely dry as she said, "Manager Takahashi of Sumitomo Bank said that this area in Tokyo Bay is prime real estate, and prices will only keep rising. He said that if we don't buy now, the price will rise by another 30% by the end of the year—"

Akina Nakamori stopped mid-sentence.

Under Kitahara Iwa's gaze, the sales clichés repeated by the bank manager seemed thin and powerless.

Kitahara Iwa didn't interrupt, and his expression remained unchanged. He simply glanced down at the contract on the coffee table.

For Kitahara Iwa, who had crammed a lot of financial knowledge over the past month and possessed memories of his past life, these financial tricks disguised in fancy rhetoric were utterly ineffective.

"Akina."

Kitahara Iwa leaned forward slightly and continued, "I've reviewed a lot of macroeconomic data for my new book. The situation going forward is far less optimistic than the banks have promised."

"In March of this year, the Ministry of Finance of Tibet introduced regulations to control land financing, which has already forcibly cut off the flow of funds to the real estate sector."

"This is an irreversible policy signal. The Bank of Japan has been raising interest rates continuously since May, and the discount rate has been rising all the way up. It will inevitably continue to rise before the end of the year."

"This means that the interest payments on those floating-rate loans issued by those vampires will snowball next year."

At this point, Kitahara Iwa extended his finger and tapped the surface of the contract.

"Look at this contract. It has a fixed interest rate for the first three years, and then it automatically switches to a floating interest rate."

"In other words, three years from now, your monthly mortgage payment will increase along with the national interest rate."

"By then, the actual value of this property will be halved from its current 800 million, or even drop to between 300 and 400 million."

After listening to Kitahara Iwao's analysis, Nakamori Akina's face gradually paled.

She had initially just felt uneasy, but it wasn't until this moment that she truly realized how much risk was hidden behind this document.

"What does this mean?"

Kitahara Iwao continued, "This means that the 700 million yen you owe the bank is worth more than this house itself."

"The bank will require you to provide additional collateral. If you can't provide it, they will invoke the joint and several liability clause in the contract and seize all your other assets, including the apartment in Nishi-Azabu and the house you bought for your mother in Setagaya."

Kitahara Iwao looked into Nakamori Akina's eyes, which were filled with fear, and cruelly but unavoidably revealed the truth: "All the savings you've accumulated as a singer over the past ten years will be completely wiped out within two or three years."

"This is the real reason why you've been feeling anxious all along."

Kitahara Iwa has provided a definitive conclusion.

As she listened to Kitahara Iwa's words, Nakamori Akina's eyes gradually reddened.

She bit her lip hard, not crying out immediately, but just sitting there stiffly, her gaze fixed on the contract on the coffee table.

She was pondering this debt that she had never dared to think about in detail.

According to Kitahara Iwao's calculations, the future monthly mortgage payment will soar from the current 4.2 million yen to 7 million yen, turning into a shackle tightly around his neck.

Although her current monthly after-tax income can barely cover it, this requires her to work like a machine that never stops to fill this bottomless hole for the rest of her life.

Even a chance cold, a temporary loss of voice, or a natural decline in new album sales could trigger an avalanche that could crush her.

Having navigated the world of fame and fortune for nearly a decade, Akina Nakamori knows all too well how fragile this tightrope-walking career is.

The father and brothers, immersed in their dreams of a luxurious mansion, didn't understand these things.

Although the president of the agency, who was well aware of the industry's rules, was completely unconcerned, he didn't care at all.

In the eyes of these so-called relatives and partners, their own suffering is insignificant; they are merely a tool to be cashed out and have their last remaining value extracted.

In this situation where everyone was tacitly pushing her to the brink, only the man in front of her, who could have remained uninvolved, refrained from uttering any flattering words.

It simply laid out the ending that Akina Nakamori herself was avoiding calmly.

Hearing this, Nakamori Akina raised her eyes and looked at Kitahara Iwao, saying, "Kitahara-sensei—"

Her voice trembled uncontrollably: "If I refuse to sign now, my father—he will—"

"What will happen?"

Kitahara Iwao calmly replied.

He said, "This isn't just my money."

Akina Nakamori lowered her head, her fingers unconsciously twisting the edge of her clothes, her voice slightly unsteady as she said, "He said that I am where I am today because my family scrimped and saved to support me. They sent me to competitions and bought me decent clothes—so now that I'm famous, it's my turn to pay back the debt."

At this point, Akina Nakamori forced a smile that looked more like a grimace, her eyes revealing an unfathomable weariness.

"And my brother said the same thing. He said I live in an apartment in Nishi-Azabu, wear designer clothes, and am fawned over by fans, while my own family is still struggling to make ends meet. He said, 'Sister, you're a big star now. What's 800 million? Just sign your name, and our whole family will be free.'"

Akina's eyelashes twitched uneasily.

"But----"

Nakamori Akira's thin shoulders twitched slightly, as if an invisible hand was gripping her throat.

The living room was so quiet that only her suppressed breathing could be heard.

After a long while, she managed to squeeze out those words.

"But I've already given it to you too many times."

Once the words are spoken, those festering grievances can no longer be contained.

She didn't dare look at Kitahara Iwa, but stared intently at the corner of the coffee table, muttering almost incoherently: "Buying a house, buying a car, the money my father lost in business—whoever gets into trouble, they all come to me. Every time I swear it's the last time, but every time it happens again."

She hastily raised the back of her hand and pressed it against her eyes, trying to hide this unspeakable embarrassment.

"If I hesitate even slightly, they will say that I have changed, that I despise my family, and that I don't even care about the life or death of my biological father and brother."

As she finished speaking, tears welled up between her fingers, and Nakamori Akina's voice was hoarse and almost broken as she said, "I'm just scared—Kitahara-sensei, that's 800 million."

She slowly moved her hand away, her bloodshot eyes looking at him with a pleading expression, like a trapped beast forced to the edge of a cliff.

"They said withdrawing would be so easy, all I have to do is nod, and the money will be back in the bank. But what if it actually goes down? What if it really does drop like you said?"

She gave a bitter laugh, and large tears fell onto her legs.

"In the past, I was the one who signed the document; I was the one who was forced to jump off the building by the bank; and I will be the one who makes the news and is condemned by tens of millions of people."

"But they're not even alive anymore."

At this moment, Akina Nakamori closed her eyes, her voice filled with suffocating despair, "In their eyes, it's just that my servant is willing to save them."

The words fell.

Only Nakamori's suppressed breathing could be heard in the air.

She hunched her thin shoulders slightly, her head bowed low, as if revealing all her scars and fearing further blame and reproach.

However, Kitahara Iwa did not break the silence, but simply watched Nakamori Akina quietly.

Kitahara Iwa could see it very clearly.

Akina Nakamori's fear stems not from cowardice, but from the instinctive fear of losing her family, a fear that comes from being someone who has long been ensnared by her loved ones.

She had long been accustomed to exchanging your compromises for that meager bit of family warmth, to the point that even self-recommendation felt like a form of evil.

After making a vow, Kitahara Iwao spoke, "Akina."

Kitahara Iwao looked into Nakamori Akina's eyes and said in a steady voice, "You're called selfish."

"Your father and brother, you are not seeking help from your family, but exploiting your longing for them, trading your remaining years of life for their comfortable lives in Tokyo Bay."

Kitahara Iwa met her eyes, which were full of struggle and pleading, and punctured her illusion of longing for family with clear words: "Compromising all the time to get you real family will only feed your insatiable greed."

"When they put you on the altar without any qualms, they have already crossed the line of family."

"Your servant must apologize to everyone for refusing to be a vessel for supply."

Hearing these words, Akina Nakamori was not immediately relieved.

Instead, her first reaction was panic.

The sense of indoctrination she had been instilled with for so long made her instinctively shrank her shoulders and shake her head, trying to refute him and continue to find excuses for her family.

"But—but my father might just be what you understand—and my brother is just—"

Akina Nakamori's lips trembled.

Faced with this cruel truth, her brain instinctively began to resist.

"You are not like that."

Akina Nakamori gripped her fingers tightly, her knuckles turning white from the force, trying to rummage through her sparse memories to refute, "You...you know them—my father was just stubborn, and my brother carried me on his back when we were little—they're just like you, who understands finance, and were just fooled by that manager—"

She stammered, trying to find excuses for her family, but her voice was weak and pitiful.

She made this vow because you should stop and think it over carefully.

Because acknowledging Kitahara Iwa's words would mean acknowledging all the grievances she had suffered in the world of fame and fortune over the past year.

All those countless compromises made to please family members have become an absurd joke.

The factory signifies the "parental elephant" she devoted everything to supporting; it was merely a one-sided sacrifice.

This panic of a collapse in self-perception was more suffocating to her than the 800 million yen debt.

She preferred to believe that her family was simply foolish, rather than confront that self-righteous evil.

However, when her gaze fell back on the thick stack of contracts on the coffee table, all her self-deceptive defenses were choked in her throat by an invisible hand.

They couldn't come up with any more excuses.

Because the amount printed on it is too large.

The sheer size of the evidence is enough to crush any excuses about "being ignorant" or "being deceived".

The terms and conditions, written in black and white, lay there coldly, revealing without reservation the fact that, faced with the allure of the townhouses in Tokyo Bay, the path of self-recommendation, and even the risk of life and death, were utterly insignificant in the eyes of the father and brothers.

Akina Nakamori opened her mouth, her chest rising and falling slightly, trying to find more evidence to prove that her self-recommendation was loved.

But under Kitahara Iwa's calm gaze, she only saw the self-recommended soul riddled with holes, even uttering a single lie to the self-recommendation.

That psychological defense, painstakingly maintained for years, finally crumbled completely at this moment.

At this moment, Nakamori Akina, like a puppet whose strength had been drained, slumped her shoulders helplessly and stopped shaking her head in vain.

Tears welled up uncontrollably and fell in large drops onto the hem of her trench coat.

She frantically tried to wipe it with the back of her hand, wanting to preserve the last bit of dignity, but she couldn't dry it no matter what she did.

She didn't utter a sound of crying, but simply buried her head deeply, her thin shoulders trembling uncontrollably.

At the other end of the sandstorm, Sakai Izumi, who had been sitting quietly, stood up, walked to the open kitchen, and pressed the burner button again.

She moved very quietly during this time to avoid disturbing Akina Nakamori's loss of composure.

The subtle sound of the kettle heating up broke the silence in the living room and also masked Akina's suppressed sobs.

A few minutes later, Izumi Sakai returned with a cup of tea.

Out of consideration for someone she was just meeting, she kept a respectful distance, simply bending down and placing the freshly brewed tea steadily on Akina's face.

The porcelain cup touched the glass coffee table, making a soft, crisp sound.

Then, Izumi Sakai took out a tissue and placed it next to the teacup.

Considering the awkwardness between them, having only just met today, she stopped at a suitable distance: "It's okay, everything will be alright."

Listening to Sakai Izumi's words of comfort, Nakamori Akina's sobs gradually subsided. She lowered her head and used the tissue left by Sakai Izumi to dab at the corner of her eye.

Her years in the entertainment industry made her subconsciously try to hide her embarrassment. When she raised her head again, her eyes were still red, but she had managed to piece together a presentable appearance.

Kitahara Iwa watched her finish adjusting, then pushed the thick stack of contracts in the center of the coffee table toward her.

"Akina."

Kitahara Iwa said, "Take the documents with you."

Hearing these words, Akina Nakamori was stunned for a moment.

"You need to confront them."

Kitahara Iwao spoke calmly and offered a suitable solution: "You just need to return the contract and tell your president that Kitahara Iwao has reviewed it and believes it's full of traps."

He paused briefly, then handed her that invisible shield: "If the agency continues to put pressure on you, just tell him verbatim that Kitahara Iwa is currently preparing a new column for 'Shincho' magazine and is very interested in the inside story of how the entertainment industry colludes with banks to operate funds. That's enough."

After finishing speaking, Kitahara Iwatsu picked up his wine cup and took a sip.

Kitahara Iwa's seemingly plain words contain absolute deterrent power.

Given his current influence in the cultural world, any firm that weighs the pros and cons would be willing to risk the company's reputation.

Kitahara Iwa's words are tantamount to lending his self-recommendation name to Nakamori Akina as a line of defense against exploitation.

However, after hearing these words, Akina Nakamori's tense nerves did not relax.

The long-term psychological oppression had long since extinguished her instinct to fight back.

For someone accustomed to compromise, even if someone offers her solid leverage and teaches her how to protect her self-recommendation, what still flashes through her mind is the president's furious face and the storm that might ensue after a complete breakdown in relations.

The instinctive panic about the unknown conflict completely outweighed the relief of being rescued.

Her slender body instinctively shrank back.

The factory's tiny attempt to evade was clearly seen by Izumi Sakai, who had quietly retreated to the side.

"Useless—Old Jiang from Kitahara."

Akina Nakamori spoke these words softly, yet they were like a piece of completely burned-out ashes, conveying a sense of despair and trembling after years of being utterly exhausted.

A few words of resigned despair made the atmosphere, which had eased slightly, heavy again.

Kitahara Iwao subtly frowned.

He originally thought that offering a solution with absolute dominance at the strategic level would give Akina Nakamori the confidence to retaliate, just like his self-recommendation to Masahiko Kondo.

However, Kitahara Iwao clearly underestimated Nakamori Akina's shrinking influence after being subjected to long-term mental suppression and being held accountable.

A rational cure cannot truly heal psychological disabilities.

Akina Nakamori's gaze remained lowered, her thin chest rising and falling with difficulty, as if she needed to use all her strength to barely suppress the surging panic.

She stared intently at the crumpled tissue in her hand, her knuckles turning slightly white, as if it were the only fulcrum she could muster to speak, the only thing that could make her break down on the spot.

Then, Akina Nakamori shook her head and said, "My brother and the president are in the coffee shop downstairs right now."

Akina Nakamori said, "They brought me up here and said they only gave me a minute to think about it. They just sat downstairs waiting for me to come down with the contract—in case I ran away."

After saying that, Akina Nakamori shrank back even further.

"If my brother sees me go down empty-handed, he'll go crazy on the spot."

As Nakamori Akina closed her eyes, as if she could already foresee the future, her voice trembling violently: "He doesn't care whether you're in a coffee shop or on the street, he'll smash everything he can get his hands on."

"In Osaka, Kang smashed the TV in our house just because I was willing to hand over all my living expenses—"

"Once he has finished feeling the consequences, the president will step in."

Akina Nakamori twitched the corners of her mouth, revealing a bitter smile that was more like a grimace: "You'll scold me for that. He'll just sigh and tell me, with that kind of caring smile like an elder, how much the company has advanced over the years, and how those endorsements would be voided if you signed them."

"Then, they would work together to pry my fingers open, shove the stamp in, and force me to stamp it."

"My brother has already done that twice."

The memory of being crushed by both violence and guilt made her thin shoulders hunch over.

Akina Nakamori buried her head deep in her chest, only able to murmur in a pleading tone, "I really—don't have the strength to face them alone."

Kitahara Iwa did not respond with a vow.

His proposed strategy, in terms of game theory, is indeed sufficient to suppress a brokerage firm.

But Kitahara Iwa overlooked a cold reality: no matter how strong the shield is, the person wielding it needs the courage to face their fear.

Meanwhile, Akina Nakamori, who was suffering from hyperopia, had long been drained of the strength to stand up by the repeated coercion and encirclement by her so-called "family" and "benefactors".

She was threatened by her family when she was young, and was coerced by her company after her debut. Her life has never truly belonged to her self-recommendation.

What Nakamori Akina lacks now is not a way to retaliate, but someone who can stand in her way and face her fears for her.

Just as Kitahara Iwa was deep in thought, his sleeve was gently tugged by a slightly cool hand.

Kitahara Iwa turned his head to look.

Izumi Sakai, do you know when you left first and offered yourself up?

She didn't look at Nakamori Akina, but quietly gazed at Kitahara Iwao.

"Iwa-kun."

Izumi Sakai spoke softly, in a voice only the two of them could hear, "Akina-san is dealing with those people downstairs by herself now."

"Since we've already revealed our hand to her, let's help her out by revealing our hand first."

97

Izumi Sakai paused for a moment, then said gently, "Why don't you accompany her down there?"

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