Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

Chapter 188 Friends of Kitahara Iwa

Just a dozen seconds later, hurried footsteps came from the other end of the phone, and then the receiver was snatched away by Shinchosha president Taro Murata.

The old-school publisher's voice was extremely deep. Taking the receiver, he asked with a surge of suppressed rage, "Yan-kun, who did this?"

"A yakuza named Miyazawa Shinmitsu."

Kitahara Iwao began, "The scene has been taken over by the patrol officers."

"However, he mentioned Kasumigaseki and the bank when he was taken away by the patrol officers."

"If the Ministry of Finance gets wind of this, it will probably soon put pressure on the Metropolitan Police Department to try to downplay this case as a common street disturbance."

As Kitahara Iwa finished speaking, silence fell over the other end of the phone.

After a long silence, Murata Taro finally spoke slowly: "They've crossed the line."

Kitahara Iwa replied, "That's what I think too."

After that, Murata Taro didn't press for further details about the attack. He took a deep breath and said, "Teacher Kitahara, please get some rest tonight. Leave the rest to us."

"We will make them pay!"

After hanging up the phone, Kitahara Iwao dialed the numbers of the British publishers staying at the Imperial Hotel.

Since those bureaucrats in the Ministry of Finance have completely abandoned all pretense of civility and resorted to the most despicable and violent means of assassination against him, there is naturally no need for him to remain restrained any longer.

"Mr. Robert, I apologize for disturbing you so late at night."

After the call connected, Kitahara Iwa said, "Half an hour ago, I was ambushed and attacked by more than a dozen yakuza armed men in a back alley."

"The person in charge mentioned Kasumigaseki and the bank in person at the scene."

Robert Finley was in his suite with his team organizing the minutes of the day's copyright meeting when he received the call.

Upon hearing this, the seasoned British gentleman dropped his pen onto the table with a "clatter."

After a brief silence, Robert's previously gentle and gentlemanly demeanor vanished, replaced by uncontrollable shock and rage: "Mr. Kitahara, are you saying—the Ministry of Finance hired gangsters to assassinate you on the street?!"

Upon hearing this, Margaret Hughes and James Walton, who were checking documents on the other end, changed their expressions drastically and hurried to the phone with grave looks.

Two days ago, they witnessed the National Tax Service forcibly breaking into Kitahara Iwa's apartment under the pretext of a tax inspection.

Tonight, Kitahara Iwa was attacked with a weapon on the street.

When the administrative censorship of the state apparatus seamlessly merges with the violence of the underworld, these British people, who are highly sensitive to capital and politics, immediately realize that this is not just a security incident, but a barbaric trampling of civilized rules!

"This is an utterly absurd and barbaric act!"

Margaret Hughes's voice was filled with undisguised rage as she said, "If the Japanese authorities want us to believe this was a security incident, they're treating the whole world like fools!"

James Walton interjected, his tone highly aggressive: "Mr. Kitahara, please allow us to intervene immediately!"

"We will secure all evidence—the IRS raid records, apartment search records, tax audit documents, and tonight's attack report."

"They want to control everything in Japan, so let's take the battlefield overseas!"

Robert Finley took a deep breath, suppressing his rage, and quickly said, "Mr. Kitahara, please leave this matter to us."

"Since the Ministry of Finance dares to overstep its bounds without any scruples, then don't blame us for completely tearing off their fig leaf. By tomorrow morning, I will contact all the core media outlets in London and Wall Street."

"I want the Financial Times, the Wall Street Journal, and all the major newspapers in Europe and America to publish a detailed account of your narrow escape from assassination on the streets of Tokyo!"

"If international investors knew that Japan's Ministry of Finance had fallen so low as to rely on employing yakuza to cover up a real estate bad debt crisis, the entire international financial market would be shaken."

"We will let those powerful figures who try to cover up the truth know what the price is for angering the international publishing and capital markets!"

Faced with the united and eager volunteers from his British allies, Kitahara Iwao didn't stand on ceremony and immediately replied, "Thank you all."

"No, Mr. Kitahara."

Robert Finley responded in a deep voice, his tone filled with unwavering resolve: "When power tries to interfere with freedom of the press with a knife, and even threatens the lives of our most important partners, this is no longer just your problem, but our war."

Meanwhile, Taro Murata sat in his study, wearing a coat and smoking one cigarette after another.

Scattered on the desk were several recent newspaper clippings: financial articles criticizing Kitahara Iwao for "alarmism," business magazine editorials accusing "The Collapsing Tower" of "damaging market confidence," and subtle notices from chain bookstores to remove the book from shelves under pressure.

He could calmly read through these things a few days ago with the tolerance of a publisher.

But after tonight, when he looked at the printed words on the paper, he felt that every word was filled with a nauseating, bloody smell.

Academic criticism is acceptable, as is refuting economic viewpoints; the publishing industry should be tolerant of different voices.

However, the IRS has forcibly kicked down doors, banks have cut off loans, bookstores have been forced to remove books from shelves, and now even knives have appeared on the streets.

This is not an argument at all.

This is the power of the higher-ups using violence to shut up all writers.

Murata Taro stubbed out his cigarette, picked up the phone, and dialed Sato Kenichi: "Shinchosha needs to issue a formal statement first thing tomorrow morning."

On the other end of the phone, Kenichi Sato gritted his teeth and replied in a low voice, "I'll write it myself."

Murata Taro's gaze was piercing, and his tone was extremely firm: "This isn't a response to criticism; it's to clearly tell those people in Kasumigaseki that the Shincho-sha will never accept such underhanded tactics!"

"clear."

Then, Murata Taro took a deep breath and began to flip through his contacts, dialing one by one the names of those who were both rivals and friends in the business world.

Kodansha, Bungei Shunju, Chuo Koronsha, and even a few other publishing giants that had taken an ambiguous stance when "The Collapsing Tower" sparked controversy and whose publications had published critical articles.

In the early hours of the morning, several club presidents were awakened from their sleep by the ringing of the phone, and when they answered, their voices were still heavy with sleepiness.

However, when Murata Taro threw out a series of four events—the National Tax Agency's raid, Shinchosha's loan being cut off, the bookstore being jointly boycotted, and Kitahara Iwa narrowly escaping assassination by yakuza—the drowsiness on the other end of the phone vanished instantly.

The president of a major publishing house that had fiercely criticized "The Collapsing Tower" remained silent for a long time after repeatedly confirming Kitahara Iwa's safety, and his voice became completely subdued.

"President Murata, let's not beat around the bush."

"We did receive benefits from the Ministry of Finance when we published those articles criticizing Professor Kitahara, and we were also pressured by them regarding distribution channels."

The president gave a self-deprecating bitter laugh, then his tone became serious as he said, "We can bow down for commercial interests, and we can use our pens to refute him and attack him, because in the end, it is still a battle on paper, a positional war between writers."

"But the Ministry of Finance actually used the Yakuza tonight? They want to just hack a writer to death in a dark alley?"

The club president gritted his teeth, his voice filled with furious rage as if his absolute bottom line had been crossed: "What do they take us for? No matter how mercenary we are, no matter how much we take money to do things, we are still scholars at heart!"

"A matter of words can only be settled with words. If we can turn a blind eye to things like assassinating writers, then all publishers in Japan might as well become dogs for Kasumigaseki!"

"Tomorrow morning, our culture section will publish a statement on the front page, showing no mercy."

The editor-in-chief of another publishing house responded, "The bureaucrats at the Ministry of Finance have really overstepped their bounds this time. They can spend money to bribe the media, hire commentators to criticize, and even have their own economists debate. We condone these dirty public relations tactics."

"But if we let them use taxes, loan cuts, or even knives from the street to teach a realist writer a lesson, it means that the bottom line of literature has completely collapsed."

"Tomorrow, this knife will be held without hesitation to the neck of the entire Japanese publishing industry."

The editor-in-chief declared sternly, "A writer's backbone may bend for money, but it must never be severed by a gangster's knife. We will not budge an inch on this bottom line."

One phone call after another was made.

Murata Taro originally thought he would need to use all his persuasive skills to convince these people who were usually only interested in profit in the business world...

Even colleagues who had received bribes from the Tibetan government.

But when he actually started negotiating, he realized that no further persuasion was needed.

Within the publishing industry, people can fight tooth and nail for sales, argue heatedly over the viewpoints of a book, and even fawn over those in power for commercial gain.

But when external powers completely abandoned all pretense and attempted to stifle writing with the most despicable violence, they finally woke up with a start.

He considers himself a scholar first and a businessman second.

The bloodstained hand that the Ministry of Finance reached into the dark alley was not only aimed at Kitahara Iwa, but also truly gripped the throats of all intellectuals.

Their anger tonight is not only for Kitahara Iwa, but also for defending the dignity and survival of the entire Japanese literary world.

Around 3 a.m., Taro Murata hung up the last phone call, and the ashtray on the table was already stuffed with twisted cigarette butts.

Tokyo outside the window was still shrouded in darkness, but he knew very well that once dawn broke, things would no longer be able to be covered up in the way the Ministry of Finance wanted.

Meanwhile, in Kitahara Iwa's apartment, the phone kept ringing.

When Hiroshi Kume, the anchor of TV Asahi's flagship news program "NewsStation," called, his usually calm voice was filled with barely suppressed rage as he said, "Iwa-kun, why have you been keeping such a big thing from me?"

Kitahara Iwa held the receiver, pausing slightly.

Kume Hiroshi was clearly furious, speaking much faster than usual, and said in a rapid-fire, stern voice, "I have a social affairs reporter at my station who happens to be covering the Metropolitan Police Department area tonight."

"In the middle of the night, a gag order was suddenly issued from above, saying that the yakuza attack case at the entrance of Ginza should be treated as a regular drunken brawl and should not be investigated further."

"The reporter immediately sensed something was wrong."

"Is it really necessary to be so quick to silence people for a regular brawl?"

Kume Hiroshi sneered, his voice laced with suppressed anger, "He risked getting an inside look at the withheld records, and found your name in the victim section."

Then, Kume Hiroshi, his anger turning into a mocking laugh, said, "Kitahara Iwao, do you think you're so tough?"

"The IRS is investigating you, but you won't talk."

"If someone points a knife at you in a Ginza alley, you won't say anything."

"If that reporter hadn't called my house in the middle of the night, would I still be seeing a headline in the corner of the newspaper tomorrow: 'Famous Writer Involved in Drunken Brawl, Fortunately Uninjured'?"

Kume Hiroshi's tone finally calmed down as he spoke softly, "You're planning to keep this from me too?"

Kitahara Iwa sat on the sofa, took the hot tea handed to him by Sakai Izumi, and replied in a low voice, "Kume-nii, the opponent is Kasumigaseki. The waters are too deep. I just don't want to drag you into this mess."

"

"madness!"

Kume Hiroshi interrupted Kitahara Iwao without any politeness, saying, "Do you think that we journalists just sit in the studio reading those whitewashed press releases?"

"I will expose this matter completely on the show tomorrow night during the live broadcast."

"The Ministry of Finance wants to downplay it as an attempted robbery? I'd like to see who can fool over 100 million viewers across Japan!"

Not long after, Haruki Kadokawa, the head of Kadokawa Shoten, also called.

This tycoon, who straddles the publishing and film industries and has always acted with an unruly style, clearly has his own intelligence network.

Neither his informants in the Metropolitan Police Department nor the whispers of the underworld could escape his ears.

Moreover, his anger was even more direct than Kume Hiroshi's, and he said bluntly, "Kitahara, are you planning to wait until you're actually stabbed to death in the street before you'll have someone call me to let me know you've died?"

Kitahara Iwao gripped the receiver, gave a wry smile, and replied, "Mr. Kadokawa, this matter is far too complicated—"

"What a load of rubbish!"

The crisp sound of a lighter being lit came from the other end of the phone. Kadokawa Haruki sneered repeatedly, "They've already put a knife to your throat, and you're talking to me about involvement? Knowing old man Murata's personality, Shinchosha will probably speak up next. If Shinchosha can speak up, why can't Kadokawa Shoten speak up?"

Haruki Kadokawa took a deep drag on his cigarette and lowered his voice, saying, "Let me tell you, Iwa-kun, this has nothing to do with how I viewed 'The Collapsing Tower' before."

"Whether what you write is right or wrong is for readers and the market to judge. But if anyone dares to use terms like 'gangsterism' and 'assassination' to define a book, they are trampling on the backbone of our entire publishing industry!"

"I will personally give a feature interview tomorrow. Since the Ministry of Finance dares to go to such extremes, don't blame us for turning on all the lights and exposing their dirty laundry!"

Kitahara Iwa listened quietly to the anger on the other end of the phone, then said, "Thank you."

"Stop talking nonsense."

Haruki Kadokawa coldly remarked, "You stay alive. The rest is up to us."

Not long after the phone call ended, the landline in the living room rang again.

As the news spread rapidly through private channels in Tokyo's cultural circles, Kitahara Iwa's friends in the literary world also gradually heard about it.

This time, it was Haruki Murakami who called.

"Kitahara, I heard you ran into some really unreasonable trouble at the alley entrance tonight."

Haruki Murakami's tone remained unhurried, but his words carried a clear concern as he asked, "Is everyone alright?"

"A minor accident, but no serious injury."

Kitahara Iwa leaned back on the sofa, his voice softening.

"That's good."

There was a pause of a few seconds on the other end of the phone, followed by Haruki Murakami's calm yet weighty words: "If we need to issue a joint statement or sign any protest articles, count me in."

Kitahara Iwa nodded and said, "Okay, I understand."

In the early hours of the morning, in addition to Haruki Murakami, several of Iwao Kitahara's friends also called late at night.

They didn't engage in grand pronouncements like journalists; they simply confirmed Kitahara Rock's safety and expressed their anger, albeit subtly but firmly, at this violent act of crossing the border.

Amidst the continuous stream of calls, Kitahara Iwa calmly reassured everyone that he was safe.

That night, many places in Tokyo remained awake.

The editorial office of Shinchosha was brightly lit, the offices of the presidents of major publishing houses were filled with smoke, the meeting room of the television news production team was bustling with noise, and the international fax machine was running non-stop in the suite of the Imperial Hotel where the British publisher was staying.

However, in the dimly lit offices of the Metropolitan Police Department, a case file about an attack at the alleyway was being constantly deleted, altered, and its tone desperately lowered by unseen hands.