Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

Chapter 186: The Siege and Kill of Kitahara Iwa!

Kishimoto Kenjiro's subtle hint naturally wouldn't be written down in black and white in the meeting minutes, and not even a single scrap of paper was left in the entire meeting room.

When the massive bureaucratic machine of Xiaguan began to mesh in the shadows, it was precisely those unspoken agreements that drove the gears.

A single anonymous phone call, cut off from the beginning and end, or a whispered remark in the ear of a middleman before a drinking party ends, is enough to serve as an order to mobilize troops.

These low-level remarks, like the intricate underground sewage system of Tokyo, silently and discreetly transmit the will of the higher-ups to the gray areas at the bottom of society.

Just three days later, this secret order was naturally delivered to the Yakuza, a Japanese yakuza organization that operated on the fringes and specialized in settling bad debts for banks.

These people openly operate under the guise of construction companies, transportation companies, and nightclubs, but secretly they have been doing shady work for financial institutions for years.

The debtor refused to move out, so someone went to bang on the door in the middle of the night.

If the land deal falls through, someone will stand guard at the door smoking and watching the old man and woman go in and out.

Those "non-performing asset disposals" that are lightly mentioned in bank statements often end up in their hands, becoming a hammer to smash glass or a debt collection letter with a razor blade.

But this time, those old-school leaders who knew how to survive all chose to turn a blind eye.

Kitahara Iwa's current fame is too dazzling, with the protection of the local literary scene and the focus of overseas media intertwined, making a small change in one of his works have far-reaching consequences.

The seasoned veterans of the underworld knew perfectly well that this seemingly generous reward was actually tainted by the bank's greed and the insidious machinations of Xiaguan's politicians.

Once exposed to the light of day, these gangsters who hand the knife to their masters are destined to become discarded pawns ruthlessly cut apart by power.

However, Miyazawa Shinmitsu scoffed at this cunning and shrewd apprehension.

He was nothing more than a lowly bandit who rose to power by violently driving away holdout residents.

In the past few years, the abnormal frenzy fueled by the Tokyo land bubble has not only completely blurred the line between money and human life, but has also gradually pushed his inherent greed and audacity to the point where they are enough to devour his reason.

Previously, he would simply lead people to block the door and force middle-aged men in debt to kneel on the ground and sign documents.

Later, real estate companies started asking him to handle demolition disputes, and debt collection companies affiliated with banks also handed him some unpleasant jobs.

As he did more and more, he genuinely believed that he had reached the edge of power.

This time, the other party offered a very high price.

Gao Dao Miyazawa Shinmitsu stared at that string of numbers for a long time, feeling as if he had swallowed a mouthful of strong liquor.

Once this matter is resolved, he will no longer have to offer cigarettes, pour drinks, or bend over to listen to lectures from those old men.

He could switch to a bigger firm, have his subordinates call him "Team Leader Miyazawa," and even secure a real position at dinner parties for those banking intermediaries.

As for who Kitahara Iwa was, Miyazawa Shinmitsu didn't care.

Writer? Literary giant? A genius admired by the British?

These words meant nothing to him.

He had seen too many people bleeding on the ground, and too many people forced to kneel at the door and beg for mercy by debt.

No matter how famous you are or how many awards you have, when a car crashes into you, the sound of your bones breaking won't be any more unique than anyone else's.

Several old-school leaders refused to take the job, but Miyazawa Shinmitsu thought it was because they were too old.

Miyazawa Shinmitsu stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, looked up at the middleman who had delivered the message, and said with a gloomy smile, "Just a novelist."

"9

Is it so hard to shut him up?

The winter nights in Asagaya are filled with a harsh chill.

Compared to the glitz and bustle of Ginza, this backstreet hidden under the railway bridge seems much more cramped.

The tram rumbled overhead, causing the red lantern in front of the izakaya, dimmed by cooking fumes, to sway slightly.

This is a well-established, humble shop that the two men frequented when they were still unknown.

"The stewed radish tastes exactly the same as it did two years ago."

As Izumi Sakai pushed open the weathered wooden door, a gust of cold wind rushed in, she pulled her coat tighter around herself and sighed softly.

Kitahara Iwa stepped out of the store, his gaze sweeping over the low eaves to several glaringly new buildings in the distance, shrouded in dust netting.

Kitahara Iwa nodded and said, "The taste hasn't changed, but the customers have changed a lot. The textile factory workers who used to sit here drinking coarse tea have been driven away by rising land prices. Now, the people crowding in here, talking loudly, are all real estate brokers dreaming of doubling their assets."

As soon as he finished speaking, the driver who was waiting outside the door quickly stepped forward, bowed deeply respectfully, and reported in a low voice, "Mr. Kitahara, I am so sorry."

"Several real estate company propaganda vehicles were blocking the main street, and people from several tabloids were staring intently at the intersection."

"To avoid them, I parked the car in that narrow alley behind. Please wait under the eaves for a moment, Ms. Sakai, while I back the car out immediately."

Kitahara Iwa nodded and replied, "Yes, be careful."

As the driver quickly disappeared into the alley, Izumi Sakai suddenly noticed several pairs of eyes constantly glancing in their direction from a distance.

Seeing this, Kitahara Iwa, who was standing next to her, led her toward the parked cars.

As Izumi Sakai pulled her coat tighter, she said softly, "Those people seemed to have been watching this way the whole time."

Kitahara Iwa glanced at the alley entrance and said, "It must be a reporter."

"After all, the car that Shincho-sha provided for me has already been remembered by these reporters."

"The obsession these people have with keeping watch is even stronger than that of real estate brokers who are eager to find buyers."

Izumi Sakai paused for a moment, then smiled helplessly and said, "You're still joking at a time like this."

Just then, several crude laughs and curses suddenly came from the alley entrance.

Three men staggered in.

They reeked of alcohol, their coats were loose, they were swearing incoherently, and each was clutching a rolled-up newspaper.

Upon seeing this, Izumi Sakai instinctively frowned, took a half-step back, and whispered, "They—"

Kitahara Iwa didn't reply, his gaze calmly fixed on the three men who were staggering closer.

Although the alley was filled with the pungent smell of alcohol, there was an odd sense of incongruity in the swaying figures of these people, especially the leader, whose right hand, which was pressing down on the old newspaper, seemed excessively tense.

Just as the two sides were only a few steps apart, the man in the lead suddenly raised his head, and the drunkenness on his face vanished instantly.

As he moved, a section of cold, metallic luster suddenly slid out from the bottom of the rolled-up newspaper.

Sensing the chilling glint, Kitahara Iwao stepped forward without hesitation, firmly protecting Sakai Izumi behind him.

Kitahara Iwa lowered his voice and said, "Stand behind me."

Just as the three thugs, having ripped off their disguises, brandished their weapons and blocked off any escape route in a fan shape, a malicious voice rang out from the shadows at the alley entrance.

"Teacher Kitahara, some people are complaining that you've been writing too much lately."

Miyazawa Shinmitsu leaned against the damp, cold brick wall, staring at the two people who were surrounded as if they were prey to be slaughtered.

Then Miyazawa Shinmitsu slowly spat out the cigarette butt from his mouth, gently crushed it out with the sole of his shoe, his eyes filled with the arrogant self-righteousness of a low-level thug.

Sensing Izumi Sakai's disordered breathing due to fear behind him, Kitahara Iwa took a deep breath and said, "Name your price."

"No matter what any organization promised you, I can pay you three times that amount. That's enough for you to leave Tokyo and live a much more comfortable life than you do now."

Instead of wasting time questioning the mastermind behind the scenes, it's a better choice to use real resources to secure the opportunity for survival.

However, Miyazawa Shinmitsu merely gave a gloomy twitch at the corner of his mouth, a mocking glint of ambition in his eyes.

"Teacher Kitahara, you're oversimplifying things."

Miyazawa Shinmitsu slowly stubbed out his cigarette with the sole of his shoe and continued, "The figure for this deal is indeed impressive. But once this is done, I can legitimately work for those big shots and sit at their poker table. That kind of leap is something your personal checks can't provide."

The real poison that drove this lowly outlaw to madness was the ability to cut off a pen and thus climb into the dark side of high society.

As soon as he finished speaking, Miyazawa Shinmitsu lost his patience for negotiation, raised his chin at his subordinate, and said, "Keep your money, and write less in your next life."

With those words, the old newspaper containing the murder weapon slumped to the ground.

Three thugs raised their rough, cold steel pipes high, their faces filled with malice, and slammed them down on Kitahara Iwa.

Faced with the approaching steel pipes and blades, the survival instinct inherent in flesh and blood sent cold sweat down Kitahara Iwa's back.

Miyazawa Shinmitsu and his gang of low-level thugs have no sense of rules. If the weapon is used to kill them, I might really die here!

In the instant the steel pipe whistled down, Kitahara Iwa grabbed Sakai Izumi's wrist tightly, and taking advantage of the slight gap when her first strike missed, he protected her as they sprinted toward the car in the alley.

Izumi Sakai stumbled as she was pulled, her face deathly pale as she cried out, "Iwa-kun—"

The hurried footsteps behind me were like a death knell, and the ear-piercing sound of a weapon scraping against the wall was getting closer.

"Don't look back!"

Kitahara Iwa's voice carried an almost violent urgency.

Just then, the driver pulled up to the alley entrance and saw this scene from afar. He froze, exclaiming in disbelief, "Mr. Kitahara?!"

"Open the door!"

The driver then realized what was happening and hurriedly got out of the car and opened the back door.

Kitahara Iwak then forcefully pushed Sakai Izumi into the carriage.

In her panic, she stumbled into the back seat, her knuckles drained of color from fear, yet she still gripped his sleeve tightly.

Just as Kitahara Iwa was about to bend down and step into the car, the sound of wind rushing past behind him was already approaching.

Using the momentum of his sprint, a thug lunged forward, swinging a baseball bat high into the air, aiming straight for Kitahara Iwa's back.

In a split second between life and death, Kitahara Iwa instinctively ducked forward and plunged into the carriage.

With a deafening metallic clang, a heavy baseball bat grazed his shoulder and slammed into the outer edge of the half-open car door, the force of which shook the entire door violently.

Before the thug could pull back his numb stick, Kitahara Iwa, who was lying on the edge of the chair, suddenly twisted his body and kicked the other man viciously in the stomach.

With a dull thud, the thug groaned in pain and staggered backward.

Kitahara Iwa gripped the inside handle of the car door tightly, slammed the door shut, and shouted, "Lock it!"

The driver slammed the lock button with trembling hands, and the entire vehicle barely kept out the menacing atmosphere of the streets, but it also turned the narrow carriage into a cramped iron cage with nowhere to escape.

However, this false sense of security couldn't even last for a single breath.

The thugs, now driven back by their own ferocity, launched a counterattack.

As the dark shadow outside the car suddenly approached, the rough, cold steel pipe slammed into the car window without any hindrance.

A deafening explosion instantly resounded inside the enclosed carriage, the terrifying force spreading along the vehicle body, causing the entire chassis to tremble violently.

Izumi Sakai shuddered and almost instinctively shrank back into her seat.

Kitahara Iwa grabbed her shoulder and pressed her down, saying, "Look down, don't look out the window."

Sakai Izumi's breathing was extremely erratic.

Then the car window was hit again, and several spiderweb-like white cracks appeared on the glass.

At this moment, the driver, his face ashen and his hands trembling as he gripped the steering wheel, said, "Mr. Kitahara, they've blocked the road!"

Kitahara Iwa looked up.

Miyazawa Shinmitsu was clearly prepared.

Behind the wine crates and cardboard boxes at the end of the alley, a dozen or so men emerged.

They were armed with baseball bats and steel pipes and quickly blocked the front and back of the car.

Some people kicked the car door, some smashed the rearview mirror, and others bent down to look through the crack in the car window, their faces showing a kind of excited ruthlessness.

At that moment, Miyazawa Shinmitsu strode to the front of the car, arrogantly stepping on the bumper with his leather shoes, and tapping the hood a few times with the steel pipe in his hand.

Bang, bang, bang.

Through the windshield, cracked like a spiderweb, a cruel sneer appeared on the face twisted with greed: "Teacher Kitahara, you think you can save your life by hiding in a metal shell?"

However, Kitahara Iwa completely ignored this low-level provocation.

As the car shook violently from the impact, a heart-wrenching screech came from the rear side window.

A few shards of broken glass flew into the car, skimmed across the high-end leather seats, and landed near Izumi Sakai's hair.

Without hesitation, Kitahara Iwa turned to the side and pressed her tightly into his arms, using his back to block the falling glass shards.

Noticing the uncontrollable trembling of the person in his arms, Kitahara Iwa held her shoulders tightly, his voice low and husky yet carrying a calm and steady quality: "Close your eyes, don't look up."

Outside the car, seeing that the cracked windows were stubbornly holding on and not completely shattering, Miyazawa Shinmitsu completely lost his last bit of patience.

He took a half step back, raised his chin menacingly at his men, and said, "Smash it and drag the person out!"

'

Upon receiving the order, the thugs immediately stopped their chaotic banging.

They spread out in a semicircle, simultaneously raising their steel pipes high and aiming all their violent force at the teetering glass, preparing to deliver the final, fatal blow.

In this suffocating predicament, the death-defying sounds of impending destruction in his ears ironically brought out a desperate, reckless courage in the originally terrified driver.

He gritted his teeth, veins bulging on the back of his hand, shoved the gearshift to the floor, and slammed his right foot down on the accelerator. His hoarse voice, filled with desperate madness, screamed, "Mr. Kitahara, hold on tight, I'm going to crash!"

Just as the engine roared to life and the thugs' steel pipes outside the car were about to smash through the defensive line, a burst of rapid footsteps suddenly erupted from the darkness deep in the alley, accompanied by a furious roar: "Stop it, all of you!"

Upon hearing this sudden sound, the rioters who were frantically smashing the car instinctively froze, and Miyazawa Shinmitsu turned his head sharply to look.

At the narrow alley entrance, a dozen figures dressed in black suits slowly pressed in like a silent, advancing iron wall.

The man at the front glanced at the cracked car, said nothing, and simply waved his hand.

The next second, the thugs who had been surrounding the car like hyenas were forcibly torn apart with overwhelming force.

Before one of the thugs, who was holding a steel pipe and preparing to smash it against the rear window, could react, his wrist was already tightly gripped behind his back.

With a chilling, soft cracking sound as the steel pipe slipped from his hand and crashed onto the asphalt road.

The other man holding the knife tried to back away, but was kicked hard in the back of the knee and fell to his knees in a sorry state, the blade sliding along the ground and into the drain.

Hearing the banging outside the carriage stop, Kitahara Iwa took a deep breath and slowly sat up straight.

His back was already completely soaked with cold sweat, and he was breathing heavily, his chest was filled with suppressed gasps.

But his hand on Izumi Sakai's shoulder never loosened even slightly.

Through the car window, which was covered with spiderweb-like cracks, Kitahara Iwa watched everything happening outside with vigilance.

The men in black suits moved with a clean, almost cold, efficiency as they forcibly removed Miyazawa Shinko's men from around the car, bit by bit.

"Mr. Kitahara————"

Izumi Sakai gripped his sleeve tightly, her voice trembling with extreme fear as she asked, "Who—are they?"

Kitahara Iwa looked at the completely unfamiliar faces outside and keenly noticed that the forced composure on Miyazawa Shinko's face was gradually crumbling.

Kitahara Iwa, slightly out of breath, said, "I don't know. But judging from the reactions of those people outside, they're not coming for us, at least for now."

Just then, a middle-aged man with half-gray hair slowly walked out from behind the group of men in black.

He wore a long black trench coat, and a faint old scar was visible at the corner of his eye. The dappled neon lights in the alley reflected in his eyes, revealing a cold and stern air of someone who had long held a high position.

Upon seeing the middle-aged man appear, Miyazawa Shinko's expression changed drastically, and he quickly said, "Chairman Kurokawa—"

Chairman Kurokawa ignored Miyazawa Shinmitsu's words and walked straight to the car that was smashed and covered in dents.

He silently watched Kitahara Iwa inside the car through the shattered window.

Looking at Kitahara Iwa, whose face was pale but who was still firmly protecting his companions behind him, a hint of respect appeared in Chairman Kurokawa's eyes.

President Kurokawa bowed slightly and then said, "Teacher Kitahara, don't worry, everything is fine now."

After saying this, Chairman Kurokawa slowly turned around.

The moment his gaze left the car window, Chairman Kurokawa's politeness vanished completely, replaced by an incredibly cold and stern look as he stared at Miyazawa Shinko, who had been forced into a corner.

"Chairman Kurokawa————"

Feeling Chairman Kurokawa's gaze, Miyazawa Shinmitsu's Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty. He forced out a smile that looked more like a grimace, and his voice, devoid of its previous arrogance, said, "This matter—has nothing to do with you—"

The man called Kurokawa didn't even look at him directly, but spoke in a low, emotionless voice: "For the filthy money handed over by the bank, you brought people here to ambush and kill our Japanese literary giant, Kitahara-sensei!"

"Miyazawa, you're really making something of yourself these days."

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