Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

"Teacher Kitahara, please."

The producer, wearing sunglasses, was already waiting by the car door.

When he saw Kitahara Iwa coming over, he didn't waste any words, bowed slightly, and then reached out to open the car door.

There was a man sitting in the back seat.

He was wearing a slightly flamboyant white suit and had a still-burning Cuban cigar between his fingers.

Amidst the swirling smoke, the man known as the "publishing madman" turned his head and scrutinized Kitahara Iwa with a gaze that was both like that of a predator and filled with undisguised admiration.

I never expected that Haruki Kadokawa would come in person.

This is an unprecedented treatment in the Japanese publishing industry.

It's worth noting that even renowned authors who have won the Naoki Prize usually have to patiently wait in line at Kadokawa Shoten's offices to meet Haruki Kadokawa.

"Get in the car, Kitahara-kun."

Haruki Kadokawa moved over to the side, speaking in a familiar tone as if he were greeting an old friend he hadn't seen in years: "The sunlight outside is too bright, let's find somewhere else to talk."

Just as Kitahara Iwa bent down to get into the car and sat down next to this industry tycoon, several flashes of light went off wildly from the bushes next to the apartment.

Click!Click!

This is a gossip magazine reporter who has been lying in wait for a long time, squatting downstairs at Kitahara Iwaro.

The reporters were absolutely stunned by what they saw.

What did they film?

It's not just Kadokawa's Rolls-Royce, it's Kadokawa Haruki himself!

He was actually in the same frame as Kitahara Iwa!

However, the most ironic thing happened.

Just as the white behemoth started its engine, a small car bearing the Shinchosha logo drove into the apartment building's driveway.

The driver was editor Machida, and there was an exquisite gift box on the passenger seat.

This is the 100 millionth commemorative gold edition, which the publishing house rushed to produce overnight to celebrate the book's sales surpassing one million copies.

Editor Machida was humming a little tune, his face beaming with joy.

But the smile on his face froze the next second.

squeak!

The editor slammed on the brakes, and the tires screeched as they rubbed against the pavement.

Through the windshield, he watched as Kitahara Iwa bent down and got into the white Rolls-Royce that struck fear into the hearts of the entire publishing industry.

As the car window slowly rolled up, Editor Machida got a clear look at the profile of the person sitting in the back seat.

"That...that's Haruki Kadokawa?!"

Editor Machida's mind went blank.

Even the commemorative sample book next to it fell onto the foot mat because of the large movement.

As an editor at the publishing house, Machida naturally recognized the man; in fact, no one in the entire Japanese entertainment industry didn't recognize his face.

A man known as the "Caesar of the publishing industry," who controls hundreds of billions of dollars and acts like a madman, actually came to Kitahara Iwa's doorstep and invited him to get in the car!

boom!

The white Rolls-Royce emitted a deep roar, like a well-fed beast, arrogantly brushing past the Shincho Company's small car, leaving behind an expensive trail of exhaust fumes.

Watching the Rolls-Royce drive away, cold sweat instantly soaked through Editor Machida's shirt.

After a moment of stunned silence, Editor Machida finally reacted and quickly grabbed the car phone to call Editor-in-Chief Sato.

12:30 noon.

Location: Matsukawa, a high-end restaurant in Akasaka, Tokyo.

Although it was noon, this century-old restaurant was as quiet as an ancient temple deep in the mountains.

Sunlight streamed through the exquisite paper door onto the tatami mats, and the air was filled with expensive incense.

"Spring waters fill the four marshes, summer clouds form many strange peaks."

Haruki Kadokawa, dressed in an extravagantly tailored pure white suit, stood in front of the hanging scroll.

He held a lacquerware wine cup, which was only used during celebrations, and recited Chinese poems while facing the dry landscape garden in the courtyard, seemingly oblivious to everyone else.

In this man, known as the "publishing madman," one sees not the cautiousness typical of Japanese businessmen, but only a kind of madness.

It's a blend of literary romance, business cunning, and the tyranny of a dictator.

"Kitahara-kun, please try this grilled scallop with shredded scales."

After finishing his recitation, Kadokawa Haruki turned around, his eyes fixed on Kitahara Iwa sitting opposite him through the rising wisps of cigar smoke, and said, "This is a delicacy that can only be enjoyed in this season and in this special private room."

"Just like you, you are now a 'season' (often used to describe the time when a certain ingredient is freshest and tastes best during a particular season)."

Faced with this slightly offensive compliment, Kitahara Iwao picked up his wine glass, looked at Kadokawa Haruki through the clear liquid, and suddenly chuckled, saying, "Mr. Kadokawa, your analogy is brilliant."

Kitahara Iwa put down his glass and said calmly, as if chatting casually, "But I have to correct one point: while 'seasonal' is delicious, it often means 'discard when it's out of season'."

At that moment, Kitahara Iwao looked directly into Kadokawa Haruki's eyes and slowly said, "To be devoured by the masses, and then forgotten completely when the next season comes. That's not the ending I want."

Haruki Kadokawa paused for a moment, then burst into laughter: "Hahahaha! Good! That's greedy enough!"

He walked up to Kitahara Iwa and personally poured him a full cup of wine, his tone carrying a sense of closeness, as if he were the only hero in the world who could rival him: "What the Japanese literary world lacks right now is a clear-headed fellow like you."

"The rest of the group? They're nothing but a bunch of pedantic scholars starving to death in the ivory tower of so-called pure literature."

Then Kadokawa Haruki sat back in the main seat, arms outstretched, and cut to the chase: "What can Shincho-sha offer you? A Naoki Prize nomination? Or some empty title of literary orthodoxy?"

At this point, Kadokawa Haruki extended a finger adorned with a huge jade ring, pointing it directly at Kitahara Iwao, and said, "Kitahara-kun, I know you have talent. But what I can give you is a phenomenon."

"You just need to give me the rights to 'Confessions.' I will use all the resources of Kadokawa Pictures to make it a movie that will make all of Japan tremble. Not a low-budget art film, but a monster that will gross 10 billion yen."

At this moment, Haruki Kadokawa leaned forward, his voice full of seductive power, like a devil whispering: "And your next book. Let's publish it through Kadokawa Shoten too. I can offer 15% royalties, with a starting print run of 10 copies, and a movie adaptation will be launched simultaneously."

"This is my Kadokawa business strategy. Books, movies, music—I'll make you a rock star in Japan."

"And this kind of whole-industry chain approach is something that those old fogies from Kodansha and Shinchosha, who are still clinging to their calculations, will never learn in their lifetime."

This is an offer that would drive any writer crazy.

In this day and age, there are very few people who can get such a promise from Haruki Kadokawa.

However, Kitahara Iwa did not appear flattered, nor did he even raise an eyebrow at the astonishing royalty figure.

Kitahara Iwa simply picked up a piece of piping hot tilefish and put it in his mouth.

The crisp fish scales cracked between my teeth with a snapping sound.

Savoring the delicious taste, Kitahara Iwa smiled and then slowly said, "The taste is indeed very good."

"But I refused."