Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

Chapter 187 Returning Home Safely

Hearing Kurokawa Soichi's undisguised contemptuous words, Miyazawa Shinko's face turned pale and then red.

Despite his instinctive fear of the imposing, old-fashioned leader before him, his greed, swelled to its limit during the bubble economy, forced him to grit his teeth and retort, "Chairman Kurokawa, this is a money-driven world!"

"The figure offered is enough to buy half a block of Ginza! As long as the money is right, who cares if he's a writer or some lousy literary genius?"

"Yes, it's an era where only money matters."

As Kurokawa Soichi spoke, he walked towards Miyazawa Shinko and said, "So even a lowlife like you was blinded by a few banknotes, and you can't even tell who you can touch and who you can't touch, yet you dared to hand a knife to Kitahara-sensei."

Miyazawa Shinmitsu immediately roared, "He's just a novelist!"

The moment those words left his mouth, Kurokawa Soichi's eyes turned completely icy.

"I don't blame you for not studying."

Kurokawa Soichi slowly took half a step closer, his leather shoes making a soft sound on the broken glass, and said, "But you're so stupid that you can't even see what kind of person Kitahara-sensei is, yet you dare to come here to be cannon fodder for someone else's death, and you still dare to shamelessly say that you're in the underworld."

Before Miyazawa Shinmitsu could speak again, the man in the black suit next to Kurokawa had already pressed down on him.

In the narrow alley, only short, muffled thuds soon filled the air.

A fist slammed into his abdomen, a knee slammed heavily onto the concrete floor, and steel pipes rolled one after another to the corner of the wall.

Someone opened their mouth to scream in pain, but before their mouth was even halfway open, a towel was roughly shoved into their mouth from behind, silencing their agonizing scream and leaving only a muffled groan of despair.

The low-level members that Miyazawa Shinmitsu brought along, who had risen to power through debt collection and intimidation, were repeatedly defeated by the Kurokawa-kai's truly well-trained elites.

In less than half a minute, all the rioters surrounding the car had been subdued.

Miyazawa Shinmitsu's wrists were twisted behind his back and he was pinned to the ground, his cheeks forced against the cold, rough asphalt, and a stinging bloodstain appeared at the corner of his mouth.

At this moment, the false confidence built on the exorbitant bounty and ambition finally crumbled.

Feeling the force on his back, Miyazawa Shinmitsu's voice tightened as he hastily pulled out his last trump card: "Chairman Kurokawa! I'm working for my superiors! This deal involves the bank and people in Kasumigaseki—"

However, Kurokawa Soichi simply looked down at him as if he were a piece of stinking garbage.

"above?"

Kurokawa Soichi scoffed dismissively, "You think doing dirty work for those big shots in suits will put you on their level?"

Kurokawa Soichi slowly squatted down and reached out to pat Miyazawa Shinko's dusty cheeks.

The movements were light, yet they conveyed an undisguised mockery.

"In the eyes of the bureaucrats and bankers of Kasumigaseki, we yakuza are nothing more than chamber pots for them to collect their dirty water."

"Someone throws a few bills at you, buying your life to take the fall. Once things are exposed, you'll be the first one dumped down the drain along with the filth."

Miyazawa Shinmitsu wanted to retort, but it felt like there was sand stuck in his throat, and he couldn't utter a single word.

Kurokawa Muneichi stood up and coldly looked at the puddle of mud at his feet.

"Taking money from bureaucrats and acting as a dog for banks, they really think they've got the upper hand in power."

"To regard death as a gift that transcends class is so foolish it's pathetic."

Just then, a piercing siren suddenly sounded from the main street in the distance, and the red and blue lights of police cars began to flicker uneasily on the walls at the alley entrance.

It was clear that the commotion at the intersection had alerted the patrol officers.

Upon seeing the police lights flashing, the driver, who had been on edge the entire time, let out a long sigh of relief and slumped back in his seat, completely exhausted.

Kurokawa Soichi glanced at the alley entrance, then turned and walked to the battered car. Through the cracked window, he bowed slightly to Kitahara Iwao and said, "Teacher Kitahara, I'm sorry to have startled you tonight."

Kitahara Iwa reached out and pushed open the dented car door.

A cold wind instantly rushed into the cramped carriage. At that moment, Izumi Sakai subconsciously gripped Kitahara Iwao's sleeve, her fingertips still trembling slightly.

Kitahara Iwa turned his head, gently squeezed her wrist with his other hand, and said in a gentle voice, "It's alright. Wait for me in the car, don't worry."

Sensing the composure in Kitahara Iwa's words, Sakai Izumi loosened her grip slightly and nodded gently.

Kitahara Iwatsu then bent down and stepped out of the carriage filled with broken glass.

Facing the old-fashioned leader who had just helped him out of a predicament, Kitahara Iwa returned the greeting and asked, "Why did you help us?"

Kurokawa Soichi was silent for a moment, then looked up at the dazzling neon lights on the tall buildings outside the alley and said in a low voice, "I read your book, 'The Collapsing Tower'."

At this moment, Kurokawa Soichi's voice carried a sense of vicissitude, weathered by the passage of time.

"In recent years, the whole of Japan has gone mad. Politicians are lying, banks are sucking blood, and the vast majority of people are intoxicated by the illusion that land prices will always rise."

"When this country was terminally ill, your pen was like a knife, trying to stab awake those citizens who were pretending to be asleep."

At this point, Kurokawa Soichi withdrew his gaze and turned his attention back to Kitahara Iwa inside the car, his eyes revealing undisguised respect.

"People like us in the underworld have dirty hands and feet, and our lives are tainted."

"But we are still Japanese after all, and we can tell who is ruining this country and who is trying to save it."

"You are our literary giant. The more those people in Xiaguan and the bank fear your words and try to silence you forever through underhanded means, the more we must not let them succeed."

"For that reason alone, as long as I remain a yakuza, no one can touch you."

Upon hearing this, Kitahara Iwa shifted his gaze from the surrounding crowd, finally returning it to Kurokawa Souichi, and said, "Thank you."

Kurokawa Soichi shook his head and replied, "We are the ones who should be thanking you."

As soon as he finished speaking, Kurokawa Muneichi took a half step back, then faced Kitahara Iwa and solemnly bowed slightly in greeting.

The dozen or so men in black behind him all bowed deeply to Kitahara Iwa at the same time.

Just then, hurried footsteps came from outside the alley.

Several beams of flashlight light pierced the narrow alley, sweeping back and forth among the shattered car windows, the fallen steel pipes, and the mess on the ground.

"police!"

"Stop everything!"

Several patrol officers rushed in, their faces tense, and they were gripping their batons.

They had expected to witness an ongoing brawl.

But once they rushed into the alley, the scene before them made them pause briefly.

Miyazawa Shinmitsu and his group were all pinned to the ground.

Some had their wrists twisted at bizarre angles, while others knelt against the wall, their faces pressed against the asphalt, still breathing incoherently.

The men in black suits stood aside, their expressions indifferent, as if nothing had happened.

The patrol chief leading the team recognized Kurokawa Soichi, his expression changed slightly, and he quickly said, "Mr. Kurokawa."

Although the inspector was very polite, he still held the baton in his hand.

Kurokawa Soichi turned around, nodded slightly to him, and said, "Chief Inspector, thank you for your hard work."

This polite remark, falling into the alley, only made the atmosphere more tense.

The patrol chief glanced at the dented car, and then, when he saw Kitahara Iwa standing next to the car in the light, his expression suddenly froze.

He then strode forward, even subconsciously adjusting his police cap, his tone revealing obvious respect and nervousness as he asked, "Teacher Kitahara? What are you doing here? What happened?"

Kitahara Iwa glanced at the group of thugs on the ground and said, "These people just surrounded my car with weapons and tried to commit violence. Fortunately, Chairman Kurokawa and his men happened to be passing by and stopped them."

Upon hearing this, Miyazawa Shinko, who was pinned to the ground, turned pale. He tried to struggle and defend himself, but the man in the black suit behind him pressed his knee firmly against his back, completely muffled his voice.

Upon hearing this, the inspector's expression changed drastically.

He turned to look at the blood-stained steel pipes scattered on the ground, then stared intently at Miyazawa Shinko, his eyes filled with disbelief, shock, and subsequent rage.

"Attacking a literary giant in the street —"

The inspector gasped.

If a renowned literary figure were to encounter danger in his own jurisdiction, it would be a serious scandal that would shake the entire Metropolitan Police Department and even alarm the higher-ups in Kasumigaseki.

"These damned bastards!"

The patrol chief's anger finally erupted. He whirled around and roared at the officers behind him, "What are you all standing there for! These scumbags dared to lay a handcuff on Teacher Kitahara! Cuff them all tightly and take them back to the police station for thorough interrogation!"

Upon receiving the order, the patrol officers snapped out of their daze and rushed forward with serious expressions.

With the clicking sound of handcuffs snapping together, the once arrogant low-level killers had their arms roughly twisted behind their backs, completely losing any chance to struggle.

Miyazawa Shinko, his face deathly pale, was being held down by two patrol officers with their arms twisted behind their backs.

He turned his head resentfully, staring intently at Kurokawa Soichi like a gambler, and roared through gritted teeth, "Kurokawa, don't be so smug! Kasumigaseki and the bank will get me out of here tomorrow! I have their accounts to run, I've done so much dirty work for them, they wouldn't dare abandon me—"

However, before he could finish shouting his arrogant words, the patrol chief, who was already filled with fear and anger, strode forward and kicked him hard in the back of the knee without any politeness.

"You bastard! You're about to die and you still dare to spout nonsense here!"

With the patrol chief's angry shout, Miyazawa Shinko groaned and fell heavily to his knees on the asphalt road, a sharp pain shooting through his knees.

Kurokawa Souichi stood not far away, looking at Miyazawa Shinko, whose face was contorted in pain, and said, "No, it can't be."

.

Under Miyazawa's gaze, frozen in pain and shock, Kurokawa Mune continued, "To attack a renowned literary figure in the street—that's a scandal that could rip the heavens apart. Anyone who gets involved with him is doomed."

"Those big shots in expensive suits will not only not come to bail you out, they are probably working overnight to destroy all contact with you, hoping you will die in the detention center first thing tomorrow morning."

Upon hearing this, Miyazawa Shinmitsu's expression froze for a moment, then he shouted even more frantically, "No way!"

"No way!"

"Those big shots will definitely bail me out!"

However, he was met only with the police's merciless and brutal actions.

With a muffled bang, the police car door slammed shut, shutting out Miyazawa's voice from inside the vehicle.

Watching the police cars drive away from the alleyway, the patrol chief in charge finally breathed a sigh of relief.

He then walked up to Kitahara Iwa, bowed solemnly, and said in a tone of bureaucratic rigor and respect, "Teacher Kitahara, I'm sorry to have frightened you tonight."

"Please rest assured, the police will interrogate these thugs thoroughly. Your car can't be started anymore, so for your safety, I'll personally escort you home to rest."

Kurokawa Soichi, who was standing not far away, also spoke up: "Kitahara-sensei, although Miyazawa failed tonight, those people above probably won't give up easily."

"You'd better go home as soon as possible."

"Thank you very much, I will remember your kindness tonight."

Kitahara Iwa nodded, then turned around, pulled his coat tighter, and, along with the driver and the still somewhat shaken Sakai Izumi, got into the patrol chief's police car.

Kurokawa Soichi stood there, watching the police car drive out of the narrow alley with its red and blue taillights on, before leading his men into the night.

The carriage was very quiet.

Outside the car window, the streets of Tokyo during the bubble era were still brightly lit.

More than half an hour later, the police car came to a smooth stop in front of the luxury apartment building.

The patrol chief personally got out of the car, opened the door, and stood there until Kitahara Iwa and Sakai Izumi safely entered the elevator in the lobby. Only then did he turn around, get back into the police car, and drive away.

When the inspector returned to the Metropolitan Police Department, it was almost dawn.

The cold night wind from the harbor still lingered in his collar.

After the police car parked in the underground garage, the patrol chief did not immediately return to his office. Instead, he took the preliminary on-site report and a list of the suspects' belongings and went directly to the interrogation area.

The lights in the corridor were blindingly white.

When the officers on the night shift saw his expression, they instinctively stopped chatting.

Because tonight's case is too big.

Kitahara Iwa, a literary giant, was attacked in the street.

The car was smashed like that, with shattered windows scattered all over the ground and bloodstains on the steel pipes.

More importantly, Miyazawa Shinmitsu, who was being brought back, shouted something in public before being shoved into the police car—

"The people from Xiaguan and the bank will bail me out."

The inspector heard it all clearly at the scene.

Having been a policeman for so many years, he naturally knew that one couldn't completely believe the ravings of a person on their deathbed.

But Miyazawa Shinmitsu's confident demeanor, and the sudden loss of control and fear that followed, didn't seem like he was just trying to scare people.

There must be something in here.

He had to get the questions out of Miyazawa Shinmitsu before he was removed from the case.

Outside the interrogation room, two patrol officers were standing guard.

The inspector walked over and asked in a deep voice, "Where is Miyazawa Shinmitsu?"

"It's inside."

A patrol officer immediately stood up straight.

"He's not very emotional. He kept saying he wanted to see a lawyer and that we can't handle this."

The inspector sneered.

"Can't you control it?"

The next second, the inspector reached out and pushed open the door to the interrogation room.

Miyazawa Shinmitsu was sitting behind the table, his hands cuffed to the iron rings in front of him, and his face was covered in bruises from being beaten by the Kurokawa gang.

Hearing the door open, he abruptly looked up.

The moment he saw the inspector, a flicker of panic flashed in his eyes, but he forced a hint of sullen confidence and roared, "I want to see a lawyer."

The inspector placed the folder on the table, pulled out a chair, sat down, and said, "Of course you can see me."

"

"But before that, I'd like to hear what you said earlier on the scene."

Miyazawa Shinmitsu's expression changed slightly, and his voice softened as he asked, "What did you say?"

"Xiaguan Pass".

The inspector stared intently at him and said, "The bank."

"And the people behind you."

Miyazawa Shinmitsu's lips twitched, just as he was about to speak.

Suddenly, the door to the interrogation room was pushed open from the outside.

A high-ranking officer from the Metropolitan Police Department, dressed in a dark suit, stood at the door with a blank expression.

The inspector turned around, his expression immediately turning grim. "Section Chief?" he asked.

The section chief didn't look at Miyazawa Shinmitsu, but simply said, "Stop here for now."

The inspector frowned and quickly said, "The suspect mentioned Xiaguan and the bank at the scene. I need to continue to verify his statement."

"I said, stop first."

The section chief's tone remained calm, but his eyes had darkened, and he said sternly, "Transfer Miyazawa Shinmitsu's case to headquarters."

There was a moment of silence in the interrogation room.

Miyazawa Shinmitsu kept his head down, but a fleeting look of relief after surviving a close call flashed across his eyes.

The inspector noticed Miyazawa Shin's expression, his fingers slowly pressing against the edge of the folder. He took a deep breath and said, "Section Chief, Kitahara-sensei almost got into trouble in my jurisdiction tonight."

"I know."

"Then we should investigate thoroughly now."

"The arrangements have already been made."

After saying that, the inspector finally fell silent.

He glanced at his superior standing at the door, then at Miyazawa Shinmitsu behind the interrogation table.

Miyazawa Shinmitsu lowered his head, but the corner of his lips twitched slightly as if out of control.

This subtle expression ignited a fire in the inspector's chest.

But he managed to suppress it in the end.

After all, the rules of the Metropolitan Police Department are sometimes deeper than the darkness in the alley.

A moment later, the inspector stood up, picked up the folder, and said helplessly, "Understood."

After saying that, the inspector turned and left the interrogation room.

The moment the door closed, the cold light from the corridor fell on his face, illuminating his anger clearly.

Someone's suppressing the case!

Kitahara Iwa and Sakai Izumi returned to their apartment close to midnight.

The elevator doors slowly closed behind them, and the corridor was so quiet that only the slightly disordered footsteps of the two remained.

It wasn't until the door opened and the warm-colored wall lamp in the living room lit up that Izumi Sakai seemed to finally recover a little from the chaos at the alley entrance.

She stood in the entryway, her fingertips still gently clutching Kitahara Iwa's sleeve.

The force was very light, yet it never loosened.

Kitahara Iwa looked down at the dark bloodstains on his sleeve, then reached out and squeezed her slightly cool fingers.

"It's alright now."

Upon hearing this, Izumi Sakai nodded slightly and then slowly released her grip.

Then Kitahara Iwa took off his coat and hung it on the coat rack next to the entrance.

Seeing the bloodstain on his sleeve, Izumi Sakai couldn't help but ask in a low voice, "Are you really not injured?"

"It's not my blood."

Kitahara Iwa spoke in a calm tone.

Izumi Sakai took a half step closer and carefully examined his arms and shoulders. Only after confirming that there were no obvious wounds on his body did her tense shoulders relax slightly.

But the lingering fear in her eyes did not dissipate.

Tonight's attack came too suddenly.

Even now, she can still hear the sharp sound of the car window shattering and Miyazawa Shinko's almost frantic screams.

At that moment, Kitahara Iwa entered the living room, stopped by the phone, and slowly said, "This matter cannot be handled by the Metropolitan Police Department alone."

Izumi Sakai pursed her lips and said softly, "Who are you? Will they suppress this?"

Kitahara Iwa looked out the window and replied, "Yes."

"Miyazawa Shinmitsu shouted too much tonight."

"Xiaguan, the bank, and someone will bail him out—"

"Once these kinds of things are recorded in the official statement, many people will have trouble sleeping."

Sakai Izumi's face paled a little more.

Kitahara Iwa didn't say anything more, but simply picked up the phone and dialed Shincho-sha.

After the phone rang a few times, Kenichi Sato answered it.

His voice was hoarse from the night.

"Teacher Kitahara?"

"Editor Sato."

Kitahara Iwa said, "I was attacked at the alley entrance just now."

There was an instant, deathly silence on the other end of the phone.

Immediately afterwards, a loud, muffled thud came through the receiver, like a chair being suddenly pushed over.

Kenichi Sato's voice changed instantly, filled with disbelief, shock, and barely suppressed trembling: "Attacked?! What did you say?! Who did it?! Are you hurt?!"

Kitahara Iwa responded, "I'm fine."

Upon hearing that Kitahara Iwa was safe and sound, Sato Kenichi's extremely tense nerves relaxed slightly on the other end of the phone, but what followed was a complete outburst of rage.

Although Kitahara Iwa did not reveal the attacker's identity, considering the recent investigation by the National Tax Agency and the heavy pressure from the publishing industry, Sato Kenichi keenly realized that this incident must have been orchestrated by the Ministry of Finance!

"How dare they—"

Kenichi Sato gritted his teeth, each word seemingly squeezed out from between them, and said, "Those suit-wearing thugs from the Ministry of Finance and the banks, in order to cover up their shady debts, have even resorted to the despicable tactic of assassinating a writer!"

"This has completely crossed the line for the entire Japanese publishing industry!"

Sato took a deep breath, his voice filled with barely concealed rage and determination: "Teacher Kitahara, please lock the door in your apartment and don't hang up! I'll notify the club president immediately!"