Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

Inside the apartment in Koenji, the smoke was so thick it looked like a fire scene.

The cheap ashtray was piled high with cigarette butts, and a few still-burning cigarette butts emitted a pungent tar smell.

The bowl of Nissin cup noodles next to it had completely spoiled; the swollen noodles had absorbed all the soup and emitted a nauseating, rancid smell.

But Kitahara Iwa was completely unaware of this.

At this moment, he was in a state of near-divine frenzy.

The pen in my hand is not writing, but performing a delicate neurosurgery on the paper fibers.

Kitahara Iwa is reconstructing the midnight horror ringtone.

The original novel was actually more of a science fiction thriller, but in 1989, readers didn't need scientific explanations; they needed a visceral, soul-searching fear.

Therefore, Kitahara Iwao drew upon the visual memory of that classic film from later generations, forcibly transforming those images into text.

……

The screen was filled with constantly flickering black and white noise, like a swarm of restless electronic insects.

An abandoned, dry well stands alone in the gloomy woods.

There was no wind, but the grass by the well was swaying wildly.

Something is about to come out.

……

In an era where every household has a television and a VCR, Kitahara Iwao wanted to write about this fear as an electronic virus.

It doesn't rely on ancient grievances, but rather climbs along the cables into the warm living rooms of every middle-class family.

"Gurgle..."

At that moment, a voice broke the eerie silence in the room.

The intense protests from his stomach finally pulled Kitahara Iwa back to reality from the cold depths of the well.

He had to stop writing, rub his convulsing stomach, and look up at the clock on the wall.

7 PM.

"I never imagined that even being a creator required clocking in on time."

Kitahara Iwa chuckled self-deprecatingly and carefully put away the still-wet ink manuscript.

This is his ambition, but now his body belongs to that video rental shop where he earns 800 yen per hour.

……

8 PM, TSUTAYA, Koenji Store.

The store was very warm, and the air was filled with a unique smell, a mixture of the heat from the plastic casing and carpet cleaner.

Kitahara Iwa changed into his green uniform vest and began his first day of work.

"Kitahara-kun, this is the action movie section, and the adult section is behind that curtain... Don't get them mixed up, lending movies from there to minors will get you reported."

His mentor was a girl whose name tag read: Sachiko Kamachi.

Kitahara Iwa replied, "Understood, Puchi-san."

Then he couldn't help but glance at her again.

The girl in front of me was wearing a pair of old-fashioned black-rimmed glasses, and her thick bangs covered most of her forehead. Her hair was casually tied into a ponytail at the back of her head.

She seemed to be deliberately minimizing her presence, like a plant hiding in the shadows.

But in Kitahara Iwa's eyes, those black-rimmed glasses couldn't hide his stunning profile behind the lenses at all.

That kind of temperament is too unique.

In this flamboyant era where all women dress themselves up like Christmas trees and try to stuff shoulder pads next to their ears, she possesses a clarity as pure as spring water.

This Sachiko Kamachi will later be better known by the name Izumi Sakai.

In my past life, when I was studying alone in Japan, I listened to her songs a lot, which gave me a lot of strength.

I never expected to run into him here.

At this time, Sachiko Kamachi spoke very little, but she was surprisingly meticulous when teaching business.

"Listen carefully, this demagnetizer is crucial. You need to demagnetize it when you lend it out, and check if it's been rewound when you return it."

Sachiko Kamachi extended her slender fingers and skillfully demonstrated the operating procedure.

When demonstrating how to process cards for new members, she deliberately lowered her voice to remind them: "Some customers will deliberately delay paying their extension fees, especially those from the adult section... You need to learn to read their eyes. If they look away, you need to carefully check their ID cards."

"I've learned a lot, Senior Puchi."

Kitahara Iwa nodded in agreement.

The next few hours are the evening rush hour for the videotape rental industry.

Although entertainment options were plentiful in 1989, for most ordinary office workers, renting a videotape to take home was still the most cost-effective form of entertainment.

The two stood side by side behind the narrow counter, like two precise assembly lines.

Kitahara Iwao was in charge of cashiering and bagging, while Sachiko was in charge of demagnetizing and registering.

Although there was no extra communication, a tacit understanding was quietly established through mechanical repetition.

It wasn't until 1:30 a.m., when the last wave of commuters rushing to catch the last tram home to rent movies dispersed, that the noisy atmosphere in the store finally subsided.

Sachiko Kamachi let out a sigh of relief, took off her glasses, rubbed the bridge of her nose, and relaxed her tense shoulders. She turned to look at Iwao Kitahara, her tone softer than before: "Um... Kitahara-kun."

"exist."

"There's no need to stand so straight when the store manager isn't around."

Sachiko Kamachi pointed to the clock on the wall and said softly, "Usually after 2 a.m., there are very few customers."

"Just let me know when someone comes in. The rest of the time... if you have nothing to do, you can rest or do something of your own."

"Your own business?"

Kitahara Iwa raised an eyebrow.

"Um."

Sachiko Kamachi looked away somewhat embarrassedly, her hand unconsciously reaching for the canvas bag under the counter. She whispered, "Whether you're reading or just spacing out... just don't fall asleep. That's... the unspoken rule of the night shift."

After saying that, as if to prove something, she took out a worn-out notebook and a ballpoint pen from her bag.

"Thanks, Senior Puchi. Then I won't be polite."

Kitahara Iwa smiled.

This unspoken rule was a lifeline for him.

Then Kitahara Iwatsu took out the manuscript paper and pen he had prepared beforehand from the inside pocket of his old jacket and spread them out on his side of the counter.

Two o'clock in the morning.

The fluorescent lights overhead emitted a slight buzzing sound, and several televisions hanging in the center of the store were playing late-night variety shows, occasionally punctuated by exaggerated laughter.

In this late-night counter where there were only two people, they seemed to have an unspoken agreement, each occupying a corner and immersing themselves in their own world.

Sachiko Kamachi lowered her head, her pen hesitantly drawing circles on the paper.

She wrote very slowly, each word seeming to be squeezed out from her heart. Every now and then she would rest her chin on the pen, staring blankly ahead, and after a moment she would sigh and irritably scribble those immature sentences into fragments.

In contrast, Kitahara Iwa experienced a thoroughly enjoyable catharsis.

The moment he uncapped the pen, he seemed like a completely different person.

If Sachiko Kamachi was carefully building with blocks, then Iwao Kitahara was wielding a sharp scalpel.

His wrists flicked rapidly, and lines of text quickly filled the blank manuscript paper.

The scratching sound of the pen tip gliding across the paper was rapid and continuous, creating a chilling sense of oppression in the quiet of the night.

Hesitant pauses and rapid friction, two completely different rhythms intertwined in the quiet air, creating a wonderful resonance.

Before long, Sachiko Kamachi's thoughts were interrupted by the continuous sound of writing.

She stopped writing, subconsciously raised her head, and looked at the man beside her who was writing so swiftly.

"that……"

Her voice was soft, tinged with a hint of probing, as she asked, "Are you a university student?"

Kitahara Iwa didn't even look up, his pen still scratching on the paper: "Just graduated, unemployed."

"Huh?"

Sachiko Kamachi was somewhat surprised, then her gaze fell on the manuscript paper filled with dense writing, and she continued to ask, "So you're... writing a novel?"

Kitahara Iwa's pen paused.

Then he turned his head and stared intently at Sachiko Kamachi for a long while, until she became somewhat uncomfortable, before revealing an enigmatic smile: "I'm writing something that can scare people to death."

After uttering this nonsensical remark, Kitahara Iwa once again severed all contact with the outside world, his pen continuing to dance across the paper as if the conversation had never happened.

This attitude of killing without regard for burial only made Sachiko Kamachi, who was standing nearby, even more concerned.

After all, once a person's curiosity is aroused, it's like being gently scratched on the heart by a cat's paw, an incredibly itchy sensation.

She wanted to speak several times, but she was afraid of interrupting the other person's focused aura, so she could only hold back.

But now, she can't concentrate on reading a single word in the lyric book in her hand.

This torment didn't end until 3:30 a.m.

Kitahara Iwa let out a long sigh of relief, stretched out his arms and legs, and his joints cracked slightly.

The most crucial chapter, the curse of the videotape, is finally complete.

Sachiko Kamachi, who had been eyeing the area countless times out of the corner of her eye, finally seized the opportunity.

The long nights are tough, and the monotonous work of minding the shop really needs a break, even if it's just reading some newbies' clumsy work to pass the time.

"Um... if you don't mind, could I take a look?"

Sachiko Kamachi asked tentatively.

"certainly."

Kitahara Iwa generously handed over the few sheets of paper that still smelled of ink, adding, "But don't blame me for not warning you, you might not be able to sleep after reading this."

"It's just a novel."

Sachiko Kamachi smiled politely and reached out to take the manuscript.

Then she adjusted her posture, looking very relaxed.

At this moment, Sachiko Kamachi only considered this a book to suppress her curiosity, and perhaps... she could also find some inspiration for her stuck lyrics from other people's words.

However, as I read on, the air in the store seemed to freeze.

Sachiko Kamachi, who had been leaning against the counter, slowly sat up straight.

Her brows furrowed more and more, her knuckles began to turn white as she gripped the manuscript, and her breathing became rapid.

In this chapter, Kitahara Iwao did not use cheap scare tactics, but instead meticulously replicated the absurd and eerie scenes from the cursed videotape.

Sachiko Kamachi's gaze moved across the manuscript paper, and her relaxed expression had vanished without her noticing.

……

The scene shows a woman combing her hair in front of a mirror, but the reflection in the mirror is not her face.

Someone had a white cloth covering their head, but their finger was pointing towards the crater.

Finally, a dry well appeared on the screen.

The heating in the store didn't seem to be on enough.

Sachiko Kamachi instinctively pulled her green uniform vest tighter around herself, her knuckles turning slightly white from gripping the manuscript paper so tightly.

She could feel a sticky malice in the words, creeping up her spine from her fingertips.

Then, she read the moment the videotape ended:

Without any warning, the video abruptly stopped with a piercing electrical hum.

The screen instantly plunged into a deathly darkness, leaving only countless black and white noise dots jumping around like a swarm of frantic insects.

Sizzle, sizzle...

At that moment, the room was deathly silent.

Only after the video recorder stopped running did the still-warm sound of the current echo in the empty living room.

has it ended?

No, this is just the beginning.

Sachiko Kamachi's gaze trembled as she scanned the next line of text:

Just then.

The phone, which should never have rung, suddenly rang sharply in the dead of night—

"bell!!!"

The old red landline in the shop, which had been silent all along, suddenly and unexpectedly rang out at that very moment, just like the description in the novel.

The piercing ringing of the bell was like the howl of a vengeful ghost in the silent night.

"ah!!!"

A short, sharp scream.

The manuscript paper in Sachiko's hand scattered on the ground like snowflakes. She sprang back like a startled cat, shrinking into the far corner of the counter, covering her ears tightly with her hands, her eyes filled with disbelief and terror.

Meanwhile, Kitahara Iwao calmly reached out and answered the phone.

"Hi, this is TSUTAYA Koenji store... Yes, Die Hard still has stock... Okay, we'll reserve it for you until tomorrow morning."

After hanging up the phone, Kitahara Iwa turned to look at the corner.

Sachiko Kamachi stared at him with wide eyes, her chest heaving violently, and tears even welling up in the corners of her eyes.

"Kitahara-kun..."

Her voice trembled, choked with sobs, as she said, "Are you a monster? Why...why write this kind of thing during the night shift?!"

……

Sachiko Kamachi took a big gulp of hot tea, and her complexion finally regained some color.

But she no longer dared to look at the black videotapes on the shelves in the store, as if each box contained a well.

"Sorry, I startled you."

Kitahara Iwa said as he tidied up the scattered manuscript papers.

Sachiko Kamachi took off her glasses and wiped the fog off with her sleeve.

Without the frames of glasses to conceal her face, her bare face, revealed in that instant, was breathtakingly beautiful.

She remained silent for a long time before softly saying, "It's terrifying... really terrifying. But I just can't stop."

Sachiko Kamachi took a deep breath, looked up at Iwao Kitahara, her eyes still showing a lingering fear, but more so a pure surprise and admiration: "It's just words, yet it has a strange magic."

"As I read, I felt the air around me grow colder. Even though I knew it was dangerous, I couldn't help but want to read the next line... until the phone rang."

"That means I've achieved my goal."

Kitahara Iwa smiled slightly.

The fact that this novel could scare a future national superstar like this speaks volumes about its quality.

Just as he withdrew his hand, Kitahara Iwa's gaze naturally fell on the notebook next to Kamachi Sachiko.

This is what she had been protecting by her side.

On the open page, a few short, poetic sentences were scattered about, surrounded by numerous lines of corrections and large swaths of ink revealing the writer's inner turmoil.

"You also enjoy writing?"

Kitahara Iwa suddenly asked.

Upon hearing this, Sachiko Kamachi hurriedly closed the notebook, her fingers gripping the cover tightly, as if it were a scar she desperately wanted to hide.

"No... these are just some random things I wrote down... they don't really mean anything."

Hearing the slightly self-conscious reply from Sachiko Kamachi, Iwao Kitahara did not try to comfort her, but instead leaned against the counter in a more relaxed posture.

He looked at the future superstar before him, a candid smile playing on his lips: "Since we're on the topic, Senior Puchi, what is your dream?"

Before Sachiko could speak, Kitahara Iwa pointed to the thick stack of horror novel manuscripts in front of him, his eyes devoid of any hint of jest, and said, "Let's start with mine."

"I want to become a great writer, the kind of writer whose name will be etched into this era."

Upon hearing this, Sachiko lowered her head and said softly, yet with a hint of stubbornness, "My dream is to become a singer... or an idol."

"Now I work as a model during the day and come here to work at night to save money, all for this dream."

"I want to try writing some decent lyrics, but..."

At this point, she glanced at the notebook in her hand, which was covered in scribbles, and gave a bitter smile: "The more I try to write beautifully, the more empty my writing becomes."

"Someone like me, who only has experience working odd jobs, probably couldn't write those brilliant lyrics."

"Why write it in a dazzling way?"

Kitahara Iwa interrupted her, looking into Kamachi Sachiko's eyes, which, though bloodshot, remained clear and stubborn, and said firmly, "Your current anxiety, your exhaustion, and the confusion of not seeing a future in this late-night video store... these are the most valuable materials."

Sachiko Kamachi was stunned and looked up at Iwao Kitahara in a daze.

Kitahara Iwa pointed to the notebook in her hand and continued, "Rather than deliberately piling up fancy words or even imitating the affected sentimentality of pop songs, your own genuine feelings at this moment are the most important."

"Even if it is rough and imperfect, as long as it is true, it is more powerful than any flowery rhetoric."

These words were like a heavy hammer blow, shattering the glass of inferiority that lay in Sachiko Kamachi's heart.

She looked at Kitahara Iwa somewhat bewildered, a hint of panic flashing in her eyes as if her thoughts had been exposed, but more than that, a glimmer of understanding trembled within her.

"Genuine emotions..."

Sachiko Kamachi unconsciously stroked the rough cover of the notebook, muttering to herself, "Really...is it okay?"

"certainly."

Kitahara Iwa smiled and said, "Believe me, this is the kind of thing that can pierce the heart."

……

At six o'clock in the morning, the shift handover ended.

The two walked out of the store.

On a chilly winter morning in 1989, Tokyo was still freezing cold as street cleaning trucks washed away the trash left behind from the previous night's revelry.

"Um, Kitahara-kun."

When they parted ways at the intersection, Sachiko Kamachi put her old-fashioned black-rimmed glasses back on, hiding herself in her camouflage.

"This novel...if it gets published, it'll definitely be a bestseller. Please let me know first when it does."

"Ah, yes."

Kitahara Iwa, hands in his pockets, looked at her slender back and said with a smile, "In exchange, when you become a big star, don't forget to sign my autograph."

Sachiko Kamachi stopped, glanced back at him, waved with a smile, and then walked into the bustling crowd.