Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

Tokyo in mid-February.

Since quitting his job at the video store, Kitahara Iwa has been living the life of a true literary giant.

No more working the night shift in that musty-smelling shop, and no more arguing with people over a few dollars in consumption tax.

Kitahara Iwa's daily routine is very simple: sleeping, writing, reading, or sitting on a park bench, watching pigeons fly overhead.

As for the promotion of The Ring?

Kitahara Iwa completely ignored it.

However, an editor from Shinchosha, the publisher of The Ring, called to ask Kitahara Iwao if he wanted to participate in the discussion of the marketing plan, but he flatly refused.

Having lived two lives, Kitahara Iwa naturally understood that professional matters should be left to professionals.

I can contribute some effort in writing books, but when it comes to marketing, I'm far inferior to those veteran editors.

That afternoon, the phone in the apartment suddenly rang.

"Hey, this is Kitahara."

"...Kitahara-kun?"

Sachiko Kamachi's hesitant voice came through the receiver.

The background noise was very loud, like being in a public phone booth on the street.

"This is Sachiko. Um... I hope I'm not disturbing your writing by calling at this hour?"

"Not at all, I'm just watching TV to kill time."

Kitahara Iwa leaned back on the sofa in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, dangling a can of ice-cold beer covered in water droplets, looking languid.

Today, Kitahara Iwa has moved away from that dilapidated apartment where it was difficult to even turn around.

The newly rented apartment is spacious and quiet, with a nice street view.

Although the five million in his hand couldn't even buy a toilet in this crazy era, as a time traveler who knew the housing market was about to collapse, renting a house was the most luxurious and smartest enjoyment.

After all, rushing into the housing market on the eve of a bubble bursting and becoming a sucker is something only a fool would do.

Cash is king; that was the survival rule in the early Heisei era.

"What's wrong?"

Kitahara Iwa took a sip of his ice-cold beer, noticed the unusual sound on the other end, and asked, "You sound listless."

"Um……"

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, then Sachiko Kamachi's voice betrayed her barely concealed frustration: "It's another day off today. I went for an interview at a firm. But... I messed it up again."

"They said my facial expressions were too stiff when I sang, like a wooden doll."

"They also said that although my voice is pleasant, it lacks the sweetness that makes men want to protect it."

After a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, a helpless sigh came through: "Kitahara-kun, am I... really not suited to singing?"

"Maybe that producer was right, I'm better suited to be a librarian."

Hearing the underlying sadness in Sachiko Kamachi's voice, Iwao Kitahara took a deep breath and then asked, "Where are you?"

"Huh? I'm in Shinjuku..."

"Stand there and don't move."

Kitahara Iwa put down the sake jug and stood up: "See you in half an hour. I'll take you somewhere."

"Where to?"

You'll find out then.

Half an hour later, on the streets of Shinjuku.

When Kitahara Iwa met Kamachi Sachiko, she was still wearing that slightly old-fashioned beige trench coat and black-rimmed glasses. She was huddled in the crowd and looked completely inconspicuous.

"Let's go."

Without wasting any words, Kitahara Iwa led her through several alleys to an open space.

Several shipping containers covered in colorful graffiti are piled up here.

"Is this... karaoke?"

Sachiko looked at the metal boxes in surprise.

This is the "Karaoke Box," which was just emerging in 1989.

Unlike traditional karaoke where performances had to be staged in a bar, these private rooms, converted from freight containers, offer privacy and affordability despite their limited soundproofing and cramped spaces. As soon as they were introduced, they quickly became the top choice for young people.

"Go in."

Kitahara Iwa paid the money, and the two of them climbed into a yellow shipping container.

The space was small, with only an old sofa and a karaoke machine.

The air was filled with the smell of cheap air freshener and tobacco.

"Didn't you say you didn't think you were suited to singing?"

Kitahara Iwa sat down and casually picked up the thick song request book, tossing it to Sachiko: "Sing it for me. Sing the song you sang during your interview today."

Upon hearing this, Sachiko Kamachi somewhat awkwardly took the songbook.

Performing a sweet and charming act in front of acquaintances during a job interview made her feel truly ashamed.

But sensing Kitahara Iwa's encouraging gaze, she nodded nonetheless.

"Then I sang... it was Wink's 'Rinshii Atsui Ouyu'."

The accompaniment began.

Sachiko Kamachi took a deep breath, gripped the microphone, and sang the song with all her might.

In the next minute, Kitahara Iwa finally realized where the problem lay.

Sachiko Kamachi's pitch was perfect, and her breath control was very steady.

But she deliberately flattened her voice, trying to imitate the original singer's lazy, sweet, loli-like voice.

She even clumsily made some cute gestures such as tilting her head, blinking, and pouting, in accordance with the lyrics.

The scene resembles an eagle that should be soaring through the sky trying to imitate the call of a canary.

Exquisite, but awkward.

It sounds nice, but it's boring.

"stop."

At that moment, Kitahara Iwa pressed the pause button.

The music stopped abruptly.

As the sound stopped, Sachiko Kamachi froze, a blush spreading across her face. She stood there awkwardly, muttering, "Was it...awful?"

"No, it sounds great."

Kitahara Iwa leaned back on the sofa and bluntly stated, "His technique is perfect."

"But if I were a judge, I wouldn't choose you either. Because I'm listening to Wink's impersonation, not Sachiko Kamachi's songs."

Sachiko lowered her head, her fingers twisting together: "But...aren't all idols like this nowadays?"

"Everyone's trying to emulate Seiko Matsuda, and Shizuka Kudo..."

"So they are them, and you are you."

Kitahara Iwa stood up, walked to the karaoke machine, and quickly flipped through the pages.

"Sachiko, your biggest mistake is wanting to wear other people's dresses."

A short while later, Kitahara Iwa entered a number into the karaoke machine.

The song title, "Return to Myself," popped up on the screen.

This is a famous song by rock vocalist Mari Hamada, which was released just a few days ago and later topped the Oricon charts.

Have you heard this song before?

"I've heard it... but this one is in a very high key, and it's rock..."

Looking at the song title, Sachiko Kamachi hesitated.

"Never mind whether it's turned up or not."

Kitahara Iwa shoved the microphone back into her hand, his eyes fixed on her: "Don't pinch your voice, and don't fake a smile."

"Don't think about those cute actions the judges made you do."

"Think about the producer who made you a librarian, think about the seniors who made you serve tea and water just because you're a girl, think about the days when we ate cold bento boxes late at night."

At that moment, Kitahara Iwao's voice was deep and rousing: "Sing it with the strength you used to scream that night when my novel terrified you, with the strength you wanted to bite the throat of this era!"

"Then take your skirt off... I mean, in your voice. Put your jeans and white shirt in your throat!"

Hearing Kitahara Iwa's almost heretical words, Kamachi Sachiko was stunned.

Wearing jeans... inside your throat?

At this point, the exciting drumbeats of the intro begin, a typical 80s J-POP rock style, full of power and rhythm.

Encouraged by Kitahara Iwa, Kamachi Sachiko slowly closed her eyes.

The judges' critical eyes flashed through my mind, as did the rows of videotapes in front of the counter that could never be wiped clean, and the countless nights I spent practicing fake smiles in front of the mirror.

To hell with sweetness!

To hell with cuteness!

She suddenly opened her eyes, took off her cumbersome glasses, gripped the microphone tightly with both hands, and sang loudly into the simple screen:

"Return to Myself!!!"

boom!

The moment the first line of lyrics came out of his throat, the entire container seemed to shake.

There was no more deliberate straining of the voice, no more fake vibrato.

It is a voice that is crystal clear yet full of explosive power.

Like an ice-cold soda in the height of summer, like a clear sky after the rain, it is straightforward, powerful, and unadorned, yet it can instantly touch people's hearts.

Kitahara Iwa sat on the sofa, looking at the radiant girl in front of him, and felt goosebumps all over his body.

That's the sound.

ZARD, known as the "Voice of the Times," is said to heal all of Japan in the future.