Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

The following day, Kitahara Iwa received a phone call from Machida, the editor in charge.

"Teacher Kitahara, the publishing house is holding an internal preparation meeting in three days for the new book launch of 'The Ring'."

Machida's voice sounded both excited and a little nervous: "To promote the new book, the editor-in-chief has used his connections to invite a senior figure in the literary world to write a recommendation. We hope you will be there."

"A senior figure in the literary world?"

"Yes, it's Kijima-sensei, a pure literature writer who was nominated for the Akutagawa Prize."

"This is a very rare opportunity."

Please make sure you attend.

"Okay, I'll be there on time."

Kitahara Iwa hung up the phone with a smile.

In order to promote the Ring, Shinchosha even managed to get a pure literature writer nominated for the Akutagawa Prize.

It seems that Shinchosha really thinks highly of this book.

Three days later, in the afternoon, at the headquarters of Shincho-sha, in the first conference room.

When Kitahara Iwa pushed open the door and entered, the conference room was already filled with senior executives of Shinchosha.

The air was filled with a faint aroma of tea and a subtle sense of oppression.

At the head of the long table sat a middle-aged man in a well-tailored suit, his hair meticulously combed, looking down as he flipped through a sample book in his hands.

"Teacher Kitahara, you've arrived!"

Machida quickly came forward and warmly led Kitahara Iwa to the middle-aged man, introducing him respectfully: "Come, let me introduce you."

"This is the renowned Kijima-sensei. He was nominated for the Akutagawa Prize for his novel 'The Grey Sea' and is a benchmark figure in our field of pure literature."

Facing this senior colleague, Kitahara Iwa remained composed and respectful, bowing slightly and extending his hand politely: "Nice to meet you, I am Kitahara Iwa. Please guide me, Professor Kijima."

In Japan, a society that places great emphasis on seniority and hierarchy, etiquette is an essential lesson for newcomers.

Kitahara Iwa knew that if he made even the slightest mistake, he would immediately become the target of criticism from his seniors.

However, as long as one is courteous, even if the other party wants to find fault, they will not be able to criticize one from a moral high ground.

However, the expected small talk did not take place.

Kijima seemed to be deaf.

He kept his head down, slowly flipping through the pages of "The Ring" in his hand, without even lifting his eyelids.

Kitahara Iwa's outstretched hand was left hanging there.

One second, two seconds, three seconds.

The atmosphere in the meeting room froze instantly.

Machida was so embarrassed that he was sweating profusely. Just as he was about to speak up to smooth things over, Kijima turned a page of his book, making a jarring rustling sound, as if he were shooing away an annoying fly.

This is blatant disregard.

Faced with this disregard, Kitahara Iwa was neither angry nor embarrassed. He simply withdrew his hand calmly, pulled out the chair opposite him, and sat down as if nothing had happened.

But in his heart, Kitahara Iwa knew very well that this senior had come with ill intentions.

In fact, Kijima was originally just invited by the publisher to write a recommendation for the new book.

But he hasn't been in a good mood lately.

As a staunch defender of pure literature, he has not produced a decent work for three whole years, and has been trapped in the anxiety of running out of creative ideas.

Today, however, he is forced to sit here, carrying the sedan chair for a newcomer in his early twenties who writes horror novels.

This disparity caused a subtle ache in his self-esteem.

Seeing Kitahara Iwa's young, confident, and composed demeanor ignited a nameless fire of jealousy within him.

"Um... well, now that everyone's here..."

Seeing that the atmosphere was getting a bit stiff, Editor-in-Chief Sato, who had been sitting in the main seat, coughed at the right moment and stepped in to smooth things over.

As a seasoned publisher, he pretended not to have seen the awkward moment just now, and chuckled as he tapped the table, saying, "Mr. Kijima was probably too engrossed in his book. Come on, everyone, please take your seats. The preparatory meeting for 'The Ring' is now officially beginning."

The meeting officially began amidst the tense atmosphere.

For the next half hour, Kijima maintained a stern expression, ignoring the excited reports from the editors around him.

His gloomy eyes would occasionally sweep over the young man opposite him, trying to find a flaw or a reckless act to launch an attack.

To his disappointment, Kitahara Iwa remained impeccably silent, leaving no room for error.

This feeling of powerlessness, like punching cotton, made Kijima increasingly uneasy, and his frustration continued to fester over time.

Finally, the tipping point arrived.

"Um... Kijima-sensei."

Editor-in-Chief Sato, who was in charge of the event, politely asked, "Regarding this book, 'The Ring,' we would like to ask you to write a few words of recommendation from a literary perspective."

"For example, psychological horror masterpieces from the Heisei era..."

"What are your thoughts?"

As soon as he finished speaking, the entire conference room fell silent, and everyone turned to look at Kijima.

Feeling the gazes of everyone, Kijima did not speak immediately, but slowly closed the sample book in his hand, which smelled of ink.

Then take off your glasses and gently wipe them with a cleaning cloth.

His movements were elegant, yet they exuded a suffocating arrogance.

"Editor-in-Chief Sato".

Kijima put his glasses back on and said calmly, "Isn't Shincho-sha, as a bastion of pure literature, lowering its standards too much these days?"

"Uh? You mean...?"

"I read it."

Kijima flicked the cover with his finger, making a dismissive, crisp sound, and said, "As a pastime, it can certainly scare people."

"But you want me to write a recommendation for it?"

He shook his head, a sarcastic smile playing on his lips:

"Excuse my bluntness, but does this kind of thing, which relies solely on physiological stimulation and even resorts to low-level rumors like scaring printing factory workers into fainting, deserve to be called literature?"

"Mr. Kijima, isn't that a bit...?"

Upon hearing this, the editor next to him quickly tried to smooth things over.

"Isn't that right?"

At this moment, Kijima's voice suddenly rose, his long-suppressed jealousy erupting under the pretext of upholding the dignity of literature: "Literature should be an interrogation of humanity, a redemption of the soul!"

"And what about this book? Besides spreading panic?"

"The judges these days have really fallen from grace, actually giving the grand prize to this kind of low-brow literature. If I were to write a recommendation for it, that would be an insult to my own work."

Then Kijima looked around, and finally his gaze fell on Kitahara Iwa, who hadn't spoken until now. His eyes were filled with the condescending tone of a senior to a junior as he said, "Young man, it's understandable that you want to be famous."

"But you can't go far by resorting to crooked methods. Works without social depth, no matter how much hype they get, will be forgotten in two weeks at most."

As soon as the words were spoken, the atmosphere in the conference room instantly plummeted to freezing point.

This is a public humiliation.

Kijima not only rejected the work, but also Kitahara Iwa's qualifications as a writer.

And so, the eerie silence continued for a long time, until a calm voice broke the atmosphere.

"Teacher Kijima, I've learned a lot."

All eyes were on the person who had spoken.

Kitahara Iwa sat quietly in his seat, not flying into a rage like the young man, but rather looking calm, as if what he had just heard was not criticism, but some kind of outdated cliché.

"However, I would like to ask you a question."

Kitahara Iwa raised his head, looking directly at Kijima, and said, "In your opinion, is fear a base emotion?"

"certainly."

Kijima scoffed and said dismissively, "That's a product of ignorance. Only fools are frightened by ghost stories."

"Intellectuals like us who pursue rationality will not indulge in such base emotions."

"I see."

Kitahara Iwa nodded, straightened his collar, and looked at his senior, who was stuck in a creative block, with an almost pitying gaze: "Unfortunately, you're wrong."

"Fear is not ignorance; fear is the driving force of evolution. It is also the instinctive reaction of organisms when faced with elimination."

Upon hearing this, Kijima's expression changed, as if a sore spot had been touched.

As a writer, Kijima certainly knew that Kitahara Iwa was making a veiled attack on him.

"In this story, I'm not exploring ghosts, but whether humans are willing to make a deal with demons in order to perpetuate their genes."

"This is the ultimate test of bioethics."

"Wh...what kind of gene?"

Upon hearing Kitahara Iwa's words, Kijima was stunned for a moment, then quickly said, "What nonsense are you talking about?"

At this moment, Kitahara Iwa got up, walked to the whiteboard, picked up a marker, and casually drew a double helix structure diagram.

"Professor Kijima, have you heard of 'memes'? It's a concept proposed by British scholar Dawkins more than a decade ago."

"My novel, 'The Ring,' is not a ghost story. It's a sociological experiment about cultural viruses."

"Videotapes are merely the medium; the real virus is information. When information spreads through text, even altering human cognition and DNA, isn't that a more profound reality than what you call pure literature?"

Kitahara Iwao's voice wasn't loud, but it resonated in the conference room, carrying an absolute intellectual dominance: "If pure literature is about dissecting the soul, then my novels are about dissecting the human 'reproductive instinct' as a biological being."

At this point, Kitahara Iwa put down his pen, looked at Kijima who was already blushing and stammering, completely unable to understand what "memes" or "viruses" meant, and continued in that calm tone: "Kijima-sensei, admit it."

"You can't write books, perhaps not because you're polishing some high art, but because your 'system' has completely aged and is incompatible with the 'new viruses' of this era."

At this moment, Kitahara Iwa leaned forward slightly and delivered the final blow: "It's not literature that has abandoned you, but the readers."

These words shattered Kijima's last shred of pitiful self-esteem.

His face turned a deep purplish-red, his whole body trembled, and even the finger pointing at Kitahara Iwa was shaking.

After being utterly crushed by Kitahara Iwa's logic, Kijima abruptly turned to look at Editor-in-Chief Sato, who had remained silent in the main seat, and cried out as if grasping at a last straw, "Sato!"

"Are you just going to watch some newbie humiliate me? I'm a veteran author at Shinchosha! The author of 'The Gray Sea' back in the day..."

However, he was met with a suffocating silence.

Editor-in-Chief Sato didn't respond, not even lifting his eyelids. He simply picked up his teacup slowly and gently blew on the tea leaves floating on top, as if the hysterical man in front of him didn't exist at all.

This kind of disregard carries more weight than any insult.

"..."

Kijima was stunned by Sato's reaction.

He then looked around frantically, trying to find a trace of sympathy on the faces of the other senior executives.

but no.

Whether it was the department head in charge of distribution, the section chief in charge of publicity, or even Machida, who had been so respectful to him just moments before, they all looked at him with indifference, disgust, and even a hint of mockery.

In that instant, Kijima felt as if he had fallen into an ice cave.

The next second, he realized that the trash and depravity he had just hurled at Kitahara Iwa were not just directed at the book, but at everyone in the room who had unanimously voted to vote for it and were planning to make a fortune off it.

For Shinchosha, this massive commercial machine, "The Ring" is a top-tier project that carries the future, while he, a so-called senior who hasn't published a book in three years, is nothing more than a decorative item trying to ride the wave of popularity.

The fate of a decoration is sealed the moment it tries to smash a money tree.

It turns out, the clown was myself.

Shame, anger, and the utter dismay of having the truth exposed made it impossible for him to stay in the meeting room for another second.

"Great...very good!"

Kijima grabbed his briefcase from the table, not even bothering to grab the sample books, and stumbled towards the door, his voice distorted with hysteria: "This is simply...incomprehensible!"

"Shincho-sha has fallen! Utterly fallen!"

boom!

The conference room door was slammed shut with a loud bang.

As Kijima fled in a disheveled state, a brief silence fell over the conference room.

A few seconds later.

Pop, pop, pop.

A slow but clear round of applause rang out.

Everyone turned around in surprise and found that the one clapping was none other than Editor-in-Chief Sato, who had just had a cold expression.

Immediately afterward, as if receiving a signal, Machida and several other young editors couldn't help but applaud.

The applause grew louder and louder, and eventually some people even burst into hearty laughter.

From the very beginning, Kijima's arrogant attitude had already made them very angry, but because of Kijima's status as a writer, they were not able to show it.

Kitahara Iwa's counterattack, coupled with the editor-in-chief's finishing blow, has truly given the entire editorial department a much-needed boost.

"Wonderful."

Editor-in-Chief Sato smiled and shook his head, then looked at Kitahara Iwa and said, "Kitahara-kun, although it was satisfying to drive that old fogey away, we've also lost our recommender."

"Who's going to write the endorsement for the blurb now?"

Kitahara Iwa sat back down in his chair and continued, "Writing about those outdated characters would only lower the quality of 'The Ring'."

"good."

Hearing Kitahara Iwa's response, Editor-in-Chief Sato nodded in satisfaction and slowly said, "Since we're going to create a god, let's find a real god."

"The real God?"

The editor, Machida, looked at the editor-in-chief, Sato, with a puzzled expression.

Editor-in-Chief Sato stroked his chin, a glint of light flashing in his eyes, and then waved his hand, ordering Machida beside him, "Go contact Professor Aramata Hiroshi."

Upon hearing this name, everyone present gasped.

Aramata Hiroshi.

This is the author of "The Imperial Capital Story," and in 1989 he was regarded as a "Pope"-level figure in the world of Japanese natural history, mysticism, and fantasy literature!

"Last time, it was Professor Hiroshi Aramata who made the decision to award 'Ring' to the Grand Prize, so it shouldn't be too difficult for us to ask him to write a recommendation now."

"Now send over the sample copy of 'The Ring' and the outline of 'The Spiral' together."

Editor-in-Chief Sato smiled confidently and said, "Tell Professor Aramata that there is a newcomer here who uses science to deconstruct curses."

"I believe that a true polymath like him would be absolutely amazed by Kitahara-kun's theory of viral evolution!"