Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

Tokyo, Kitahara Iwa apartment.

As the hot water from the showerhead washed over his body, the black muddy water slowly flowed down Kitahara Iwa's muscle lines, eventually swirling into the white drain and disappearing.

This is the smell of the valley, a mixture of cheap liquor, sweat, mold, and the desperate smell of poverty.

Kitahara Iwa closed his eyes, letting the fragrance of the shower gel cover his entire body.

This short six-day experience of homelessness led him through a spiritual transformation.

Half an hour later.

When Kitahara Iwa stepped out of the bathroom, the person in the mirror had shaved off his messy stubble, revealing a sharply defined jawline, and changed into a well-tailored black shirt.

Now, Kitahara Iwa is back.

Ding dong.

Just then, the apartment's tranquility was shattered by the urgent ringing of the doorbell.

Kitahara Iwa opened the door while drying his wet hair.

Standing outside the door was Akina Nakamori, dressed casually with her hat pulled low.

She wasn't wearing makeup, her face looked a little pale, her chest was still heaving from running, and she was still tightly clutching a mobile phone in her hand.

Since finally getting rid of that scumbag Masahiko Kondo, this diva, who just announced her breakup and is currently in a period of being single and adjusting her career, seems to regard Kitahara Iwa as her only lifeline in this world.

"Teacher Kitahara..."

Seeing Kitahara Iwa standing unharmed before her, Nakamori Akina's tense shoulders instantly slumped, and her eyes reddened slightly as she said, "You're finally back... I saw on the news that you hadn't been heard from for a long time. I called you but no one answered, and the people at the publishing house didn't know where you were... I thought..."

"Sorry, I went to a closed-door interview, so I didn't bring my phone..."

Hearing Kitahara Iwao's answer, Nakamori Akina's heart, which had been in her throat, finally settled down.

After confirming that Kitahara Iwa was really alright and hadn't vanished like some others, her rationality slowly returned.

Immediately afterwards, a huge sense of shame welled up inside me.

What am I doing?

She rushed over in a panic because she couldn't get through on the phone, without even putting on makeup and still in casual clothes, looking like...

"Ah...yes, I see."

Akina Nakamori's face instantly turned red to her ears. She lowered her head, fidgeting nervously with the hem of her clothes, and said in a voice barely audible, "Um... since Kitahara-sensei is alright, I'll be going now. Sorry for bothering you so suddenly..."

After saying that, she turned around and tried to run away.

"Since you're here, please come in and have a seat."

Kitahara Iwa stepped aside to make way for him, and said gently, "You're all sweaty and don't look too good."

"Come in, have a glass of water, and rest for a bit before you leave."

"Why?"

Akina Nakamori stopped and turned around, looking at Iwao Kitahara with some hesitation.

But after seeing Kitahara Iwa's eyes, she finally blushed and nodded, saying softly, "Well... I'm sorry to have bothered you."

Step into the entryway and change into slippers.

Nakamori Akina walked into the living room somewhat reservedly and sat obediently on the large leather sofa.

"Is warm water enough?"

"Y-Yes, that's fine! Thank you, Kitahara-sensei!"

Seeing Kitahara Iwa turn around and walk into the open kitchen to get water, Nakamori Akina finally relaxed a little.

She then took a deep breath, trying to calm her still somewhat rapid heartbeat.

however.

As she idly looked around, her gaze inadvertently swept over the desk next to her.

The desk, which should have been tidy, was now piled with messy papers and several old-looking notebooks.

Out of curiosity, and also out of boredom while waiting, her gaze involuntarily fell on the clippings above.

With just one glance, her body, which had just relaxed, instantly stiffened.

"Quotation for Cleaning Up the Scene of a Lonely Death", "One Hundred Ways to Defraud Insurance Companies", "An Investigation into the Link Between Female Poverty and the Sex Industry"...

Each title is like a bloodstained knife.

"this……"

Akina Nakamori instinctively picked up the notebook and looked at the detailed handwritten notes about the smell of rotting corpses and the hell of loan sharks. Her face turned pale.

Here, warm water.

At that moment, Kitahara Iwa walked over with a water glass and gently placed it on the coffee table in front of her.

Akina Nakamori looked up, still clutching her notebook tightly in her hand.

She looked at Kitahara Iwa in front of her, a hint of inquiry in her eyes: "Teacher Kitahara... you've suddenly disappeared these past few days and we haven't been able to contact you. Were you investigating these things?"

Kitahara Iwa sat down on the sofa opposite her, glanced at the notebook, and nodded without hiding anything: "Ah. I went to a place called the Valley. I wanted to see for myself how people live at the very bottom of this bustling Tokyo."

"valley……"

Nakamori Akina murmured to herself.

Although she was a glamorous superstar, she had also heard of this terrible place known as the Land of the Outcasts.

Akina Nakamori lowered her head, looked again at the notebook in her hand, and said softly, "So, this is your next book?"

"It looks... terrifying. It feels even more realistic than the psychological oppression in 'Confessions,' making it hard to breathe."

At this point, Akina Nakamori looked up, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, and cautiously asked, "Could you... tell me? What kind of story is it?"

Seeing her expression, a mixture of fear and eagerness to hear, Kitahara Iwa chuckled softly, took the notebook from her hand, closed the cover, poured himself a glass of water, and said, "This book is indeed very depressing, but also very exhilarating..."

Kitahara Iwao paused, then continued, "Akina, do you know?"

"Compared to those deranged killers who wield knives and slash indiscriminately, the most terrifying people in this world are ordinary people who have reached the end of their rope."

"Ordinary people?"

Akina Nakamori blinked, somewhat puzzled.

"Yes. This is the story I'm going to write. The protagonist is named Suzuki Yoko, a woman who would be lost in a crowd."

Kitahara Iwao looked at the water glass in his hand, as if seeing the woman's life through the ripples: "She was neither smart nor beautiful. From a young age, she listened to her mother, her teachers, and later her boss and men."

"She desperately wanted to live like a normal person, to own a house in Tokyo, to have a home."

"But society has taken advantage of her completely."

"Her family of origin leeches off her, her company treats her like disposable material, and her so-called husband betrays her..."

Upon hearing this, Akina Nakamori involuntarily gripped the hem of her skirt.

This feeling of being obedient yet betrayed felt strangely familiar and suffocating.

"So...did she commit suicide in the end?"

Akina Nakamori asked softly, her voice trembling slightly.

Kitahara Iwa shook his head and continued, "No. If she committed suicide, it would just be a third-rate tragedy."

"However, in this book, the weak and obedient Yoko Suzuki is indeed dead."

"In its place is a monster that will exploit any rule in order to survive."

Kitahara Iwa raised his head, looked directly into Nakamori Akina's eyes, and continued, "She discovered that since she couldn't survive as a good person, she would become a bad one."

"She began to exploit loopholes in the insurance system, taking advantage of greedy men, and even turning elderly people who died alone into her ATMs."

"Akina, this isn't actually a crime story, but a woman's survival story."

"When society cornered her, she stopped begging for help. She chose to climb out of the sewers herself, stepping over the corpses of others."

"This is the 'Screaming' I'm going to write."

A brief silence fell over the room.

Akina Nakamori looked at the man in front of her, and then at the shocking notes on the table.

She instinctively felt afraid, but strangely, beneath this chill, a strange sense of dread welled up deep within her.

This resolute determination—to no longer beg for anyone to save her and to climb out on her own—was like a seed that fell into her now desolate heart.

The day after Kitahara Iwa returned to civilized society, a bombshell dropped in Tokyo's entertainment industry.

Empire Hotel, Peacock Hall.

The scene was packed with cameras and microphones from hundreds of media outlets.

The flashes of light were like a storm, almost blinding people.

At the center of this stage, under the spotlight, Haruki Kadokawa wore his signature white suit and sunglasses.

"Ladies and gentlemen, whether in the literary or film world, the boring days are over."

Without much small talk, Haruki Kadokawa grabbed the microphone and dropped a bombshell: "The monster-level novel that has sold over a million copies, the first impactful work of the Heisei era—'Confessions'—is officially being adapted into a film!"

Before the reporters below could even process this already-heard news, Haruki Kadokawa's lips curled into an arrogant smile as he held up five fingers: "Production and promotion budget: 5 million yen!"

boom!

As soon as Haruki Kadokawa finished speaking, the audience erupted in chaos.

In an era when art films typically have budgets of only tens of millions and big productions are no more than one or two hundred million, why spend 5 million to make a psychological thriller with no special effects and relying solely on the plot?

This is absolutely insane!

"Quiet!"

Haruki Kadokawa gave a low shout, unleashing his full aura and immediately quelling the commotion in the room.

Then Haruki Kadokawa took off his sunglasses, his sharp eyes staring directly into the camera, as if scrutinizing the entire Japanese audience through the camera, and said: "Don't judge my films with your barren imaginations."

"This is more than just a movie."

"This is a trial about evil."

"I want to use the most extreme visuals and the most oppressive shots to make all 120 million people in Japan tremble in movie theaters, to let them see with their own eyes just how deep the wounds hidden beneath this seemingly warm and compassionate society truly are!"

This highly inflammatory speech made the reporters present so excited that their hands were trembling.

When a reporter from Weekly Bunshun grabbed the microphone and asked the question that everyone present was most concerned about: "Who will play the crazy, vengeful female teacher, Yuko Moriguchi?", Haruki Kadokawa laughed.

"About the female lead..."

He deliberately paused for a full ten seconds, whetting everyone's appetite, before slowly raising a finger and gently shaking it: "We have invited a national-level actress whom no one in Japan would ever expect."

"This is Kadokawa Pictures' first great gift to the Heisei era."

Following the press conference, sales of the original novel of "Confessions" skyrocketed once again.

The whole of Japan seemed to have fallen into a nationwide detective game called "Finding Yuko Moriguchi".

On the train, at school, in izakayas, everyone was talking about the same thing: "Who will play Yuko Moriguchi?"

"It must be Nakamori Akina, right?"

This is the mainstream speculation.

After all, Akina Nakamori had just gone through a breakup, and her gloomy and broken temperament was practically a reflection of Yuko Moriguchi herself.

"No, no, no, Nakamori Akina is too young."

Some self-proclaimed film critics countered, "Kitahara-sensei would definitely have chosen Tanaka Yuko or Otake Shinobu. Only veteran actors with such acting skills can handle this kind of psychologically disturbed role."

There were even outrageous rumors: "Could it be that Momoe Yamaguchi is making a comeback for Kitahara Iwao?"

Unlike the hustle and bustle of Tokyo, ancient Kyoto seems to exist in another time and space.

Four elderly men dressed in crested haori and hakama sat around a rosewood table.

The kaiseki meal on the table was almost untouched, while the newspapers about the film adaptation of "Confessions" were carelessly tossed aside, as if they were something dirty.

"It's actually getting made into a movie..."

Breaking the silence was Yoichi Katsuragi, the former director of the Ministry of Education's Elementary and Secondary Education Bureau and current advisor to the National Conference on Educational Reform, who sat in the main seat.

He raised his glass and said calmly, "Last month, the Kyoto Board of Education was forced to rescind its designation of 'Confessions' as a harmful book."

"When that official document was stamped, I felt like my face was being covered up as well."

Recalling the embarrassing situation they were forced to accept by public opinion, the four bigwigs present all looked a bit gloomy.

That was a Waterloo they had never experienced in their decades-long dominance of the Kansai cultural sphere.

"Mr. Katsuragi, the book is already like that, there's no point in saying more."

Sitting opposite him was Soichiro Dojima, the chairman of the Kansai branch of the All Japan PTA Association.

The elderly man, who controlled the votes of millions of parents in the Kansai region, gently closed his folding fan with a crisp snap, saying, "Words leave room for imagination, so it's indeed difficult for us to find fault with them. But this time is different..."

Dojima pointed with his folding fan to the photo of Kadokawa Haruki on the newspaper, a cold smile curving his lips: "This time it's a movie."

"If even a single drop of blood appears on the big screen, or a scene of a student committing murder, that constitutes concrete violence. This is no longer a matter of freedom of speech; it's a matter of protecting youth."

"Chairman Dojima is right."

The third elderly person, who had been resting with their eyes closed, slowly opened them.

He is the renowned conservative literary critic and chairman of the Kyoto Metropolitan Library—Kōmei Saionji.

"I've already spoken with my old friends at Yinglun (the film ethics organization)."

"A movie about a teacher's revenge and a student's revenge, if we put some thought into the rating... for example, we could rate it as R15+, or even more restrictive."

Saionji Kinmei let out a short, cold laugh: "Without students, our largest audience, Kitahara Iwao and Kadokawa Haruki's 5 million yen investment is like a stone thrown into water. It won't even make a sound."

But that's not enough.

The last to speak was Tadashi Nijo, the editorial writer for the Kyoto Taisei Shimbun.

He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and said gently, "Banning movies is just a temporary solution. To cure the root cause, we need to destroy Kitahara Iwao as a person."

"We lost last time because the public saw him as a fighter. What if... he becomes an ordinary person?"

Tadashi Nijo pointed to the newspaper headline boasting an extravagant 5 million yen production cost: "Look who he's hanging out with? Haruki Kadokawa. That nouveau riche reeking of money."

"We'll use our pens to change the wind. Instead of attacking his book, we'll attack his motives."

"We want to tell our readers: the genius who wrote Confessions is dead."

"The only one alive now is a writer who sells his soul for money and will stop at nothing to boost box office sales."

At this point, Nijo Tadashi raised his wine glass, his eyes gleaming with the glint of an old hunter: "Once the idol is tainted with the stench of money, the believers will naturally scatter. At that time, without us lifting a finger, the betrayed readers will tear it to shreds."

"very good."

Yoichi Katsuragi nodded slightly, the gloom on his face gradually fading, replaced by the arrogance and composure characteristic of bureaucrats: "Does Kitahara Iwa think he can win again at the movie theater just because he won once at the bookstore?"

"Innocent."

"From the moment he chose to adapt it into a film, he essentially stepped down from his pedestal and handed the hilt of the sword to us."

Katsuragi raised his glass in a gesture of respect: "Gentlemen, for the sake of a clean educational environment, and also to teach that Tokyo nouveau riche some manners."

Four exquisite lacquerware wine cups gently clinked together, producing a crisp, clear sound.

There were no impassioned vows, only a silent understanding.

As the crisp sound faded, a large net targeting Kitahara Iwa was silently unfurled.