Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

The black luxury van, like a silent shark, swam through the streets of Tokyo in the pouring rain.

The windshield wipers were swinging wildly, but they couldn't clear away the neon lights outside the window.

The radio in the car was playing a special report about "harmful books".

The commentator's sharp voice echoed in the enclosed space: "...Is the Kyoto Board of Education's ban on Kitahara Iwa, a demon who is willing to poison the minds of teenagers for the sake of sales, too late? Will tonight's live broadcast be his final performance?...

Snapped.

Editor-in-Chief Sato turned off the radio with trembling hands.

He was sitting next to Kitahara Iwa, his face pale, his legs trembling uncontrollably, his handkerchief soaked with cold sweat, and he was muttering nervously, "That Fujiwara director from the Kyoto Board of Education is a very difficult old scholar..."

"And there's Mrs. Oshima from the PTA. I heard she prepared thirty pages of data... Kitahara-sensei, please don't act impulsively... Just perform well like last time."

"If that doesn't work, the president and the others will step in..."

"Yes, I understand."

Compared to Sato's anxiety, Kitahara Iwao, who was at the center of the incident, seemed much calmer and even began to comfort Sato: "Editor-in-Chief Sato, you're sweating so much... anyone who didn't know better would think that you mixed blood into the milk."

Hearing Kitahara Iwa's joke, Sato immediately breathed a sigh of relief and gradually relaxed.

Jingle Bell!

Just then, the mobile phone placed on the armrest box suddenly rang.

This startled Editor-in-Chief Sato so much that he almost jumped up from his seat, exclaiming, "Could this be the president's call! Does it mean there's been a problem with the president? Or has the public relations department received some bad news...?"

Kitahara Iwa opened his eyes, picked up the brick-like phone, and pressed the answer button.

"Feed".

"Kita...Kitahara-kun?"

The voice coming through the receiver wasn't that of a high-ranking executive at Shinchosha, but rather a slightly hurried female voice.

The background noise was very loud, seemingly coming from a corridor on a film set.

This call was made by Sachiko Kamachi.

"Sachiko?"

Kitahara Iwa was somewhat surprised.

"Phew...finally got through!"

Sachiko Kamachi's voice sounded somewhat anxious: "Kitahara-kun, I just saw the news in the lounge."

"Over in Kyoto... there are PTA people there, hurling awful insults at you. They called you a demon and burned your books..."

Hearing this clumsy expression of concern, Kitahara Iwa's lips curled up slightly, and his tone softened: "What? Are you afraid I'll become public enemy number one in Japan, and you won't dare tell anyone you know me anymore?"

"No, that's not true!"

Upon hearing this, Sachiko Kamachi immediately became anxious, raising her voice several octaves: "What I meant to say was... they're all idiots!"

"Those adults don't understand the true meaning of 'Confessions' at all! They're just afraid to admit their mistakes!"

Kitahara Iwa gripped the heavy mobile phone, which felt like a brick, and listened to the girl's somewhat exasperated defense on the other end.

"Oh……"

Kitahara Iwa couldn't help but chuckle softly. It was a low laugh, but it carried a genuine sense of joy.

"yes."

Kitahara Iwa replied softly, "Even Sachiko noticed it. It seems these so-called big shots aren't very smart after all."

"Thank you for scolding them for me. I feel much better now."

"……etc."

There was a pause on the other end of the phone, followed by a girl's feigned angry complaint: "Kitahara-kun, are you subtly implying that I'm not smart?"

Kitahara Iwa was about to explain with a smile when there was a sudden silence on the other end for a few seconds.

Then, as if to hide her earlier shyness, or as if summoning all her courage, Sachiko Kamachi's voice rang out again, somewhat shy but unusually firm: "Um... Kitahara-kun. You'll be hungry after the live stream, right?"

"I found a fantastic yakiniku (grilled meat) restaurant in Roppongi!"

"Even though it's one of those hole-in-the-wall restaurants tucked away in a small alley, and the smoke is a bit strong... their beef diaphragm is absolutely delicious! Seriously! And it's not expensive at all!"

"I...I just received my paycheck today for being a karaoke model."

The girl's voice held a heart-wrenching sincerity and boldness: "It's my treat tonight!"

"...So, hurry up and get rid of those annoying adults, then come and eat meat!"

"You need to be well-fed to have the energy to continue writing!"

Kitahara Iwa was taken aback upon hearing this.

The next second, I couldn't help but burst out laughing.

The laughter was hearty and unrestrained, instantly dispelling the oppressive atmosphere inside the car.

Editor-in-Chief Sato sat to the side, looking at Kitahara Iwa with a puzzled expression, not understanding why he was laughing when disaster was imminent.

"it is good."

Kitahara Iwa laughed for a long time before stopping, and continued, "Leave all the diaphragm flesh for me. I'll finish this quickly."

at the same time.

A luxury apartment in Tokyo.

In front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window, Akina Nakamori, dressed in thin pajamas, curled up on the carpet like an injured kitten.

The lights were off in the room, only the cold blue light from the television screen reflected on her pale face.

On the screen, a preview of the upcoming "News Station" live broadcast was scrolling, with a third of the screen showing a photo of Kitahara Iwao, and the remaining screen showing the PTA burning "Confessions".

"An enemy of society...?"

Nakamori Akina murmured to herself.

She knows this feeling all too well.

Besieged by the media, misunderstood by the public, abandoned by the world...

She understood that feeling of loneliness, of teetering on the edge of a cliff, better than anyone else.

"Kitahara-san..."

She held the microphone in her hand, hesitating for a long time.

Finally, Akina Nakamori took a deep breath, her fingers trembling, and dialed Iwao Kitahara's number.

however.

beep - beep - beep -

All that came through the receiver was a cold, indifferent electronic busy tone.

This is obviously a situation that only occurs when a call is in progress.

Akina Nakamori was stunned.

At this critical juncture when all of Japan is watching him closely, who is holding his line?

Was it a high-ranking member of Shinchosha giving instructions? Was it a TV director? Or...?

Akina Nakamori's fingers, which were holding the microphone, stiffened, and a vague sense of emptiness welled up inside her.

But she quickly suppressed this emotion.

"Yeah, that's true... They're going to be live streaming soon, they must be really busy."

Akina Nakamori smiled to herself.

Since we can't get through, let's not bother him anymore.

Then Akina Nakamori gently placed the microphone back on the landline.

Click.

The soft sound was particularly clear in the empty living room.

Looking at Kitahara Iwa's face on the TV screen, a face that exuded a unique charm even in still photos, the disappointment in his eyes slowly faded, turning into a quiet gaze.

"Keep it up!"

Akina Nakamori spoke softly to the screen, "Teacher Kitahara."

At the foot of the Asahi TV building.

The black van slowly came to a stop.

Click.

Kitahara Iwa hung up the phone and put the mobile phone back in the armrest box.

"Teacher Kitahara?"

Sato, standing nearby, cautiously asked, "Who is it? Who can make you laugh at a time like this?"

Kitahara Iwa straightened his slightly loose tie, took a deep breath, and then said softly, "He's someone who reminds me that eating is more important than debating."

The car door opened.

Countless flashes of light surged forth like a tidal wave, illuminating the night as if it were daytime.

Kitahara Iwa stepped out of the car and strode towards the television station building, facing the glaring lights and the cacophony of questions.

"For the sake of barbecue, this debate must be won decisively."