Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

"Open the door! Akina Nakamori! Open the door!!"

Kondo Masahiko's voice came through the door, a typical, furious roar.

"You think you'll be safe just by hiding inside? What was that attitude you were using just now?! Huh?!"

"If you don't open the door now, we're finished! Think about the consequences! You're ruining me, you selfish woman!"

His hysterical roars echoed throughout the entire apartment building's hallways.

But the surroundings were deathly silent. The neighbors kept their doors tightly shut, no one dared to come out, and no one dared to meddle in such a trivial matter.

Inside the door.

Akina Nakamori, who had just been impersonating Yuko Moriguchi on the phone, completely broke down at this moment.

She slumped to the ground, leaning against the door, her thin back pressed tightly against it as if that would keep out the floods and beasts outside.

Each vibration of the door sent a jolt through her spine and throughout her body, causing her to spasm uncontrollably.

She covered her ears tightly with both hands, tears streaming down her face, and broken sobs escaped her throat.

too frightening.

The oppressive violence and the overwhelming accusations instantly shattered all her psychological defenses.

Although she was still clutching the manuscript of "Confession" tightly in her hand, the manuscript was soaked with cold sweat, but this time she could not get the courage from Ms. Moriguchi as she had last time.

The fear of reality overwhelmed the desire to perform.

She was, after all, just a young girl in her early twenties, and when faced with a raging beast, all she wanted to do was run away.

Someone please save me... anyone will do... make this voice disappear... Kitahara-sensei...

She prayed silently in her heart, like a believer waiting for a miracle.

Kitahara Iwa rushed out of the apartment and flagged down a taxi that had just dropped off a passenger.

"Go to Meguro Ward, the address is..."

Upon hearing the name of the upscale residential area, the driver glanced at his watch in the rearview mirror, shook his head somewhat hesitantly, and said, "Sir, it's very congested there at this time, and I have to change shifts soon. Unless you can give me 30,000 yen, otherwise..."

Kitahara Iwa didn't waste any words. He took out his wallet from his pocket, counted out ten Fukuzawa Yukichi bills, and slammed them heavily on the dashboard.

"There are 100,000 here."

The driver's eyes widened instantly when he saw the 100,000 yen sign on the partition.

"Drive as fast as you ever can. If there's an accident, it's on me; I'll pay double the ticket."

Seeing that Kitahara Iwa paid so readily, the driver didn't hesitate either, and immediately stepped on the gas after Kitahara Iwa got in the car.

"Fasten your seatbelts, boss!"

In an instant, the engine roared like a wild beast, and the taxi shot into the dazzling Tokyo night like an arrow.

In the corridor, Masahiko Kondo had completely shed his idol persona.

The burning sensation from the alcohol, combined with the humiliation of being ignored, made him look like a bull with bloodshot eyes.

Kondo Masahiko kicked the closed security door repeatedly.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

With each step, the heavy metal door panel emitted a dull thud that made your teeth ache.

The enormous echoes piled up in the enclosed corridor, causing the motion-activated lights overhead to flicker wildly, and stretching Kondo's distorted shadow to varying lengths, like a ferocious monster.

Just as this frenzied noise reached its peak.

Ding!

The crisp, pleasant electronic notification sound stood out sharply amidst the noise.

Then the elevator doors slowly slid open, and Kitahara Iwa stepped out with his hands in his coat pockets and a blank expression.

Hearing the noise, Kondo Masahiko turned around abruptly.

But when he saw who it was, the astonishment in his eyes instantly turned into even stronger hostility.

"ha?"

Kondo Masahiko narrowed his eyes, and under the influence of alcohol, a malicious smile curled at the corner of his mouth. "So, who's backing Akina up? Isn't this... that Kitahara-sensei who wrote that rubbish script?"

Kondo Masahiko turned around and approached Kitahara step by step, his leather boots making a harsh sound on the tiles.

"What? Why are you here in the middle of the night?"

Kondo Masahiko's tone was flippant and malicious, and his eyes kept scanning back and forth between Kitahara and the closed door.

"When did you and Akina get together?"

"Huh? No wonder she suddenly dared to talk back to me. So she found a new guy?"

Faced with this barrage of slander, Kitahara Iwa didn't even lift an eyelid, looking at him as if he were a bag of unrecyclable garbage.

"Your voice is too loud, Kondo-san."

Kitahara Iwa said, "If you're here to act like a resentful, abandoned woman, then I must say, your acting is much better than it is on TV."

"you!!"

Kitahara Iwao's words were like a red-hot iron rod, piercing directly into Kondo Masahiko's fragile yet inflated pride.

The string of reason snapped with a sudden thud.

The next second, Kondo pounced like an enraged beast, grabbing Kitahara's coat collar tightly.

The immense force caused Kitahara to stagger backward two steps, crashing heavily against the cold, tiled wall of the corridor.

boom!

The muffled sound echoed in the narrow space.

"Are you looking for death?!"

Kondo's features contorted in rage, spittle nearly landing on Kitahara's face: "Don't think I won't touch you just because you're a famous writer! This is between Akina and me, it's none of your business!!"

At this moment, Kondo Masahiko's fist was already raised high, stopping less than three centimeters from Kitahara's nose with a whoosh of wind.

His fist trembled violently from the excessive force, as if it would shatter Kitahara's high nose bridge at any moment.

However, Kitahara Iwa grabbed Kondo Masahiko's wrist with one hand, preventing him from getting any closer.

"Think carefully before you take action."

At this moment, Kitahara Iwa lowered his voice, his tone eerily calm: "If this punch lands, tomorrow's headline will be 'Kondo Masahiko assaults writer Kitahara Iwa late at night, suspected to be due to jealousy.'"

Upon hearing this, Kondo Masahiko's hand immediately froze in mid-air.

Kitahara Iwao leaned closer and whispered in his ear, "It just so happens that the reporters from Weekly Bunshun have been keeping an eye on you lately, and they're just looking for a big story."

"Are you complaining about having too many sponsors? Or are you complaining about how comfortable your life as a top idol is?"

The words "Weekly Bunshun" and "sponsors" were like two buckets of ice water, instantly extinguishing the anger on Kondo Masahiko's head.

He is the person who cares most about fame and fortune.

In this industry, image is money.

Beating up an unknown passerby might be manageable, but assaulting a currently popular and sought-after writer... the consequences are unbearable for him.

Kondo Masahiko's facial muscles twitched violently a few times, his fist, which was raised in mid-air, trembled, and finally he let it fall limply.

Then he released his grip on Kitahara's collar, and to cover his embarrassment, he shoved Kitahara hard.

"cut."

Kondo Masahiko straightened his wrinkled leather jacket, pointed at Kitahara's nose, and threatened him with a fierce but weak tone, "Fine, Kitahara Iwao, you just wait and see. This isn't over."

After saying that, he turned around and yelled one last time at the tightly closed door, as if trying to salvage a shred of his pitiful self-respect: "And that one inside... Nakamori Akina! You better not come out for the rest of your life! What good will it do you to ruin me?!"

After finishing his sentence, Kondo spat on the ground, cursed, turned around, and strode into the elevator.

Ding.

As the elevator doors closed, the corridor returned to a deathly silence.

Only the motion-activated light remained on, emitting a faint electrical hum, because of the earlier noise.

Kitahara Iwa stood still, straightened his disheveled collar, took a deep breath, and slowly walked to the security door.

He knew that Akina Nakamori was right behind the door.

Kitahara Iwa didn't knock on the door, nor did he ask to go in.

On this sensitive night, any unnecessary contact could become new pressure for Akina Nakamori.

Kitahara Iwa maintained his last shred of gentleness and restraint, saying, "That stray dog ​​has been chased away."

"No need to open the door. I'll just stand here for a while."

"You're safe now, Ming..."

Click.

A sharp metallic snap abruptly interrupted Kitahara Iwa's words.

That's the sound of the door lock being turned quickly.

Kitahara Iwa was stunned for a moment, and before he could react, the iron gate was suddenly pushed open.

Without the slightest hesitation or any restraint.

A thin, barefoot figure rushed out, his face streaked with tears, as if he had used up the last of his strength, and crashed headfirst into Kitahara Iwa's arms.

"Waaah..."

Akina Nakamori clung tightly to Iwata Kitahara's waist, her hands gripping the fabric of his coat on his back, her knuckles turning white from the force.

She buried her face deep into Kitahara Iwa's chest, as if this were the only refuge in this cold world.

Kitahara Iwa's hand froze in mid-air.

The words of comfort he wanted to say were choked back by the sudden, trembling hug.

The person in his arms was trembling violently, and even through her thick coat, he could feel the fear emanating from her very bones.

After a few seconds of deathly silence.

"Wow!!!"

The pent-up fear, grievances, and despair finally burst forth the moment they touched the physical temperature.

Akina Nakamori, no longer holding back, burst into tears in Kitahara Iwao's arms, like a child who had suffered so much and was finally seeing her parents.

The cries were heart-wrenching, echoing in the empty corridor, yet carrying a sense of relief, as if the victim had survived a catastrophe.

Kitahara Iwa sighed softly.

The hand that had been suspended in mid-air slowly fell, clumsily but gently patting her trembling back.

This time, the doorway no longer leads to an abyss.