Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

That night, Shinjuku Ward, Kawada Town.

This is the site of the former headquarters of Fuji Television.

In 1989, this place was not only the transmission center for television signals throughout Japan, but also a battlefield where the dreams and ambitions of countless young producers intertwined.

At 10 p.m., the production bureau's office was still brightly lit.

The air was thick with the smell of tobacco and the burnt smell of heated instant coffee.

The sounds of telephones ringing, printers buzzing, and directors' anxious shouts mingled together, creating the unique background music of television professionals.

Ochiai Masayuki clutched his messy hair tightly, a few strands of hair that had fallen out due to extreme anxiety caught between his fingers.

On the desk in front of me, crumpled scraps of paper were piled up like a snow-capped mountain that could collapse at any moment. The cigarette butts in the ashtray next to me had overflowed, emitting a nauseating, burnt smell.

As the executive director of the station's newly launched program, "Strange Events," he is currently facing the biggest crisis of his career.

The source of all this pressure is the name that has recently turned Japan upside down—Kitahara Iwao, and his novel "Ringu".

It was precisely because of the horror craze sweeping Japan during this period that the station's top management made a last-minute decision to elevate this previously neglected late-night experimental drama to a strategic level.

Although the budget was far less than that of a prime-time Taiga drama, the production director's roar still echoes in Ochiai's ears:

"Everyone in Japan is talking about Sadako right now! Horror is all about viewership! It's all about ratings! We have to hold onto this trend! We must create something that will keep those thrill-seeking young people glued to their TVs!"

The director's final, chilling ultimatum plunged him into an icy abyss: "If the ratings don't meet the target, this will not only be the end of this program, but also the last program that Masayuki Ochiai will direct for Fuji TV."

Thinking of this, Ochiai Masayuki grabbed the scripts beside him in frustration and threw them to the ground without even looking at them.

"Damn it...it's all garbage! All garbage!!"

The pages were scattered all over the floor, revealing embarrassing titles: "The Woman in Red on a Rainy Night," "The Hair That Cries," "The Revengeful Scarecrow"...

You can guess the ending of these scripts just by looking at the titles, and the screenwriters who submitted them seem to be stuck in the Showa era.

The things he writes are either about cause and effect, encouraging people to do good, or they are just old tricks that rely on sound effects to scare people without any logic.

"What era are we living in? The Heisei era is almost here, and we're still doing this kind of thing?"

At that moment, Masayuki Ochiai felt a deep sense of powerlessness.

If this kind of thing were broadcast, it wouldn't attract young people who have seen "The Ring," let alone be as popular as a midday drama that only old people watch. It would be laughed at by the audience.

"Isn't there anything original? Isn't there any modern creativity that sends chills down your spine, making you feel scared even if you turn off the TV and go to the bathroom?!"

At this moment, Ochiai Masayuki slumped into his chair in despair, staring blankly at the fluorescent light on the ceiling, feeling that his future was as bleak as the office in the dead of night.

"Ring ring!!"

In the midst of this deathly silence, the black internal telephone on the table suddenly shrieked without warning.

The sudden, piercing ringing of the bell sounded particularly eerie in the empty office late at night.

Ochiai Masayuki's already taut nerves almost snapped. He shuddered and subconsciously thought that Sadako was about to crawl out of the TV next door.

But then he paused for a moment before realizing he was still working overtime in the office. He quickly took a deep breath, grabbed the microphone, and said, "Hey... this is the production department, this is Ochiai."

"Ochiai, stop looking so gloomy and sighing. I can smell the dejection on you even through the phone line."

Kume Hiroshi's signature, energetic voice came through the receiver: "I have good news for you, things... are done."

"Why?"

Upon hearing this, Ochiai Masayuki paused for half a second, then sprang up from his chair as if electrocuted, straightening his back ramrod straight, and said, "Mr. Kume? You mean...?"

"That's right, Kitahara Iwa nodded."

Kume Hiroshi said with a smile, his tone tinged with pride: "And we talked on the phone for a long time, and he said he was very interested in the idea for this program."

"Really...really?!"

The moment he heard those words, Masayuki Ochiai's previously dim eyes lit up with an astonishing light, his voice cracking with excitement: "The author of 'Ringu'... Kitahara-sensei... is really willing to write a script for a small segment like ours that could be canceled at any moment?!"

"Go directly to his apartment tomorrow afternoon. I'll fax you the address in a bit."

Kume Hiroshi nodded, then his joking tone turned serious as he earnestly instructed, "Make the most of this opportunity, Ochiai. I risked my reputation to get this help for you, so don't let me down."

"Yes!! Thank you so much! I absolutely, positively won't mess it up!!"

After hanging up the phone, Masayuki Ochiai felt the despair he had felt a second ago vanish instantly, replaced by a burning sensation of his blood boiling.

This is the ecstatic joy of a drowning person grasping at the last straw.

"There's hope...there really is hope!"

Ochiai Masayuki suddenly jumped up from his chair and started rummaging through his messy workspace like he'd been injected with adrenaline.

After searching for a while, he finally found the "Strange Events" proposal, which had been revised more than a dozen times and whose edges were even starting to wear out. Then he began to check the details word by word, afraid that even a single punctuation mark might be wrong.

Immediately afterwards, Ochiai Masayuki pulled out an exquisite velvet box from the deepest part of the drawer.

Inside the box lay a Montblanc fountain pen that he would never normally use.

Ochiai Masayuki carefully wiped the pen with his sleeve, his movements as gentle as if he were wiping a samurai's sword before he went into battle.

He wanted to give the pen to Kitahara Iwa so as to leave a good impression on him.

In his view, Kitahara Iwa is the god who understands fear the most in all of Japan right now.

If we can obtain the divine oracle from Kitahara Iwa, the "Strange Events" segment will definitely become an instant hit!

"Hey, Ochiai, what's wrong? What's wrong with you in the middle of the night?"

At that moment, an elderly man with gray hair and heavy eye bags was startled by the sudden commotion from Masayuki Ochiai at the next desk.

He was Hisao Murakami, a senior producer at the station, who was currently puffing on a cigarette while scrutinizing the budget sheet in his hand that made him shake his head.

"Murakami-san! There's hope!"

Masahiro Ochiai couldn't hide his excitement. While quickly tidying up the scattered documents, he excitedly said, "Mr. Kume helped me get in touch with Iwao Kitahara! That's the popular author who wrote 'Ringu'! He agreed to write a script for us, and I'm going to see him tomorrow!"

Upon hearing the name, Hisao Murakami did not show the expected surprise.

Instead, he merely scoffed dismissively, exhaling two plumes of gray smoke from his nostrils, and said, "Kitahara Iwa? Hmph, that's the newcomer the media's been hyping up lately?"

Then, Murakami Hisao flicked his cigarette ash and, in a tone of someone who had been through it all, poured cold water on Ochiai Masayuki without any mercy, saying, "Ochiai, aren't you taking this too seriously? He just got lucky and wrote a best-selling novel by riding the wave of a social trend."

"You need to understand that writing novels and writing screenplays are completely different things."

Murakami pointed to the rejected manuscripts on the table, his eyes filled with disdain, and said, "Do you know what novelists like to do most?"

"They are used to using long passages of psychological description, piling up thousands of words to express an emotion, making the pacing incredibly slow."

"And what about us?"

"This is a TV series! It's only 30 minutes long! Every second needs precise visual language, and it needs exciting moments with a clear beginning, development, climax, and resolution!"

"Hiring an amateur like this to write a script will only give you a bunch of literary garbage full of fancy adjectives, but it's completely unfilmable."

"You'll have to clean up his mess later."

"No, Murakami-san, you might be wrong this time."

Upon hearing his senior speak so disparagingly of his savior, Ochiai Masayuki stopped what he was doing.

Ochiai Masayuki, who was usually obsequious to his seniors, had an unusually serious and firm expression at this moment as he said, "I have read 'Ringu,' three times in a row."

"That book... is different."

Ochiai Masayuki recalled his reading experience, his eyes gleaming with fervor: "It didn't feel like a traditional novel at all."

"Every scene transition, every build-up of terror, even the description of Sadako crawling out of the TV—the visuals are incredibly vivid; it's like a storyboard written in words!"

"I have a strong feeling that Kitahara Iwao-sensei definitely understands film, even better than many professional screenwriters who only know how to apply formulas."

At this point, Masayuki Ochiai's voice carried an undisguised longing as he said, "To be honest, if I become qualified in the future, my biggest dream as a director is to personally direct the movie version of 'Ringu'."

"...Ha, how naive."

Upon hearing this, Hisao Murakami shook his head, thinking that Masayuki Ochiai had been completely blinded by the aura of being a popular author.

Then, Murakami Hisao stubbed out his cigarette, a mocking smile playing on his lips, and said, "Since you're so confident, how about we make a bet?"

"bet?"

"That's right."

Murakami picked up the phone, scrolling through his contacts as he explained, "Just to be on the safe side, I'll contact Yamamoto."

"He has written several B-movie horror scripts before. Although the formulas are a bit old, they are reliable and definitely more dependable than that novelist who knows nothing."

At this point, Murakami Hisao stared into Ochiai Masayuki's eyes and said provocatively, "When the time comes, let's put that Kitahara Iwao's script together and compare it with Yamamoto's script."

"If your great writer's work proves unusable, or if you lose to Yamamoto, then at the next victory celebration, this entire floor of Jojoen BBQ will be on you."

"...Okay! It's a deal!"

Without flinching, Ochiai Masayuki readily agreed: "But if Kitahara-sensei wins, Murakami-san, that bottle of whisky you've been keeping will be mine."

It's a deal.

Hisao Murakami sneered and then ignored this arrogant junior.

Ochiai Masayuki took a deep breath, stuffed the organized proposal into his briefcase, and then turned to look at the dazzling night view of Kawada-cho outside the window.

Although his seniors were full of doubts about Kitahara Iwa, Ochiai Masayuki trusted his intuition and believed even more in Kitahara Iwa, who could write the cursed videotape.

The following morning, in front of the luxury apartment building in Kitahara Iwa.

Standing in the gleaming marble corridor of the luxury apartment, Masayuki Ochiai took a deep breath and, using the reflection of the stainless steel doorplate, straightened his collar for the fourth time.

Although he had ironed the tie three times before leaving the house, it still felt irritatingly crooked.

Then Ochiai Masayuki raised his hand and wiped the fine beads of sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.

At this moment, his palms were covered in slippery, cold sweat.

This was not only because he was about to face the hottest bestselling author in all of Japan, but also because of the bet he made with his senior, Hisao Murakami, in the smoke-filled office last night.

Murakami's mocking remark, "Don't bring back a pile of literary garbage," stuck in his throat like a thorn.

"The barbecue at Jojoen is a small matter... but it concerns the life or death of 'The Strange Incident'... I hope Kitahara-sensei's story is good enough..."

Ochiai Masayuki gritted his teeth, calmed his heart which was pounding in his throat, and finally reached out and rang the doorbell.

ding dong...

The crisp, melodious sound of the doorbell echoed through the quiet corridor.

A few seconds later, with a slight turning sound of the mechanical lock, the heavy security door slowly opened.

"Hello, are you Director Ochiai? Mr. Kume mentioned you to me."

Kitahara Iwa, who appeared behind the door, was not wearing a shirt reeking of ink, as Ochiai Masayuki had imagined.

On the contrary, Kitahara Iwa was dressed in a well-tailored casual home outfit and held an exquisite bone china cup in his hand, with wisps of steam rising from the rim.

Moreover, he doesn't have the rigidity and oppressive feeling of a serious literary writer; instead, he exudes a relaxed feeling that makes people feel like they are bathed in a spring breeze, yet they have to look up to him.

"Nice to meet you!"

Masayuki Ochiai quickly bowed deeply at a ninety-degree angle, his voice tense with nervousness, and said, "I am Masayuki Ochiai from the Production Department of Fuji Television! I am truly sorry to bother you in your busy schedule!"

After saying that, he hurriedly pulled out a business card he had prepared beforehand from his pocket and handed it over with both hands: "This is my business card, please take care of me!"

"No need to be so polite, come in."

Kitahara Iwa smiled as he accepted the business card, glanced at it, casually placed it on the cabinet in the entryway, and stepped aside to make way for him.

"Sorry to bother you..."

Ochiai Masayuki carefully stepped over the threshold, took off his leather shoes in the entryway, and habitually arranged them neatly.

"Don't be so formal, sit wherever you like."

Kitahara Iwa casually pointed to the leather sofa in the center of the living room, then turned and walked towards the open kitchen bar.

"Sorry to bother you..."

Ochiai Masayuki carefully walked to the sofa, only daring to sit on a third of the sofa, his back straight, his hands neatly placed on his knees, looking just like a primary school student waiting for a scolding from his teacher.

"Want some coffee? I just happened to buy some good Blue Mountain beans."

"Ah! No need for that! I'm not thirsty..."

Ochiai Masayuki said politely, almost instinctively.

"It's cooked, have a taste."

After saying that, Kitahara Iwa came over with two cups of coffee and placed one of them in front of Ochiai Masayuki.

"Thank you for the treat!"

Ochiai Masayuki quickly picked up the coffee cup with both hands, as if it were a sacred object.

He then took a small sip, and the hot and fragrant liquid slid down his throat, easing his tense nerves a little.

"This is...a really great apartment."

Ochiai Masayuki surveyed the spacious and bright living room, his gaze lingering on the bustling view outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. He couldn't help but exclaim, "Not only is it quiet, but the view is also superb. It's no wonder Kitahara-sensei can create such amazing works while living in a place like this."

"It was just good luck, thanks to the readers."

Kitahara Iwa chuckled softly, not lingering on the topic of flattery, and asked, "Enough of the small talk. Mr. Kume mentioned on the phone that your new program is currently lacking good scripts?"

"Yes!"

Seeing Kitahara Iwa get to the point, Ochiai Masayuki quickly put down his cup and said seriously, "Although we have received many submissions, but... how should I put it, most of them lack originality and are difficult to achieve the 'impact' required by the station."

"Indeed, the horror genre is prone to falling into a vicious cycle these days."

Kitahara Iwa nodded in understanding.

Immediately, Kitahara Iwa stood up, walked to the desk by the window, and picked up the neatly bound documents.

"This is the story I pieced together overnight after hanging up the phone last night."

Kitahara Iwao walked back, gently pushed the document in front of Ochiai Masayuki, and said, "If you don't mind, you can take a look first."