Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

Chapter 203 The Gathering of Publishers

In late October, Tokyo was engulfed in a near-convulsive frenzy.

Downstairs in the port area, broadcast vans had completely blocked two lanes of traffic.

Long lenses and microphones were set up on the sidewalk, and reporters from dozens of media outlets shivered in the autumn wind, their eyes fixed on the reflective glass revolving door.

They had been here all night, waiting for Kitahara Iwa to come out.

Everyone was eager to get a bold statement about the rise of Japanese literature out of his mouth, or to find out which bureaucrat in Kasumigaseki he would target with his pen next.

But in the towering penthouse, thick double-glazed windows kept the fervor of Tokyo completely shut out.

The study was so quiet that the only sound was the scratching of the pen nib across the paper.

Kitahara Iwa sat at his desk, calmly flipping through the final draft in front of him.

The edges of the hundreds of pages of manuscript paper spread out on the table were covered with ink marks from repeated revisions.

At this moment, Kitahara Iwa's gaze lingered on the last page of the manuscript.

Unlike the dense and oppressive layout of the previous hundreds of thousands of words, this page contains very little content.

After a few lines of extremely simple dialogue, there are long stretches of blank space.

Kitahara Iwa did not reread the words of the death that occurred on the Grey Snow Coast, nor did he reread the final words on the "Spark."

The inheritance.

After a month of repeated revisions, the wording of "The Long Road" has been finalized.

The story ends abruptly in the desolate wasteland.

There was no unnecessary sentimentality, nor any imposed hope.

But in the empty space beneath the paper, every reader who follows the father and son through the darkness of the entire book will clearly understand.

Some things did not die out in this cold winter.

Kitahara Iwao gazed silently at the blank space, then picked up his pen and calmly signed the date at the end of the last line.

With a soft "click," the pen cap snapped shut.

After the ink dried completely, Kitahara Iwatsu carefully gathered the manuscript, placed it in a kraft paper envelope, and wrote "The Long Road" on the front of the envelope.

Two words.

Then Kitahara Iwa picked up the envelope, pushed open the door, and walked out of the study.

In the living room, the young editor was sitting anxiously waiting.

Seeing Kitahara Iwa push the door open and come out, he immediately stood up straight and subconsciously tugged at his slightly crooked tie.

At this point, speculation about this "new work by a Nobel Prize nominee" was already rampant.

Everyone expected that Kitahara Iwa would take advantage of his current great reputation to write about the panic in the Ministry of Finance, the banks that cut off loans, and thoroughly settle accounts with the powerful figures who had tried to silence him in the shadows.

As a result, the editor's briefcase was even filled with crisis public relations plans drafted overnight.

Seeing the manila envelope handed to him by Kitahara Iwa, the editor quickly took it with both hands, his throat a little dry, and said, "Teacher Kitahara, this is—"

Kitahara Iwa nodded in response, "Yes, this is the new book."

The editor nodded vigorously, about to report on the follow-up publicity plan, when Kitahara Iwa added, "Tell Editor-in-Chief Sato that this time the legal department doesn't need to intervene in the review in advance."

Upon hearing this, the editor's hand, which was about to unzip his briefcase, froze abruptly. He then looked up in astonishment, thinking he had misheard: "No—we don't need a legal department?"

It's simply unbelievable that Kitahara Iwao would say these words at this critical juncture.

Ever since their last book caused such a stir, the legal department of Shinchosha now immediately flips through the "Handbook on Countermeasures Against Defamation" whenever they hear "Kitahara Iwa submits a manuscript".

Before the editor arrived, he had even checked the schedule with the Minister of Justice, specifically reserving three full rounds of time for thorough, word-by-word legal review.

Thinking of this, the editor subconsciously swallowed and, forcing himself to speak, whispered, "But teacher, if we don't have a lawyer review it beforehand, what if it mentions bureaucrats from Xiaguan, or those old foxes from the Financial Bureau—"

They are not in this book.

Kitahara Iwa looked at the editor and replied with a smile, "So there's no need to trouble the lawyer."

The editor stood there dumbfounded, clutching the not-so-thick brown paper envelope, his mouth agape, all the crisis communication rhetoric he had rehearsed stuck in his throat.

He stood there, stunned, his mind completely blank. He couldn't imagine what a novel by Kitahara Iwa, without bureaucrats, shady dealings, or bankers, would be like.

With this absurd feeling of having stumbled into thin air, the editor bowed and took his leave in a daze, clutching the manila envelope tightly, and got into the taxi for the return trip.

That afternoon, when the editor finally stepped into the Shinchosha headquarters building, he immediately felt a tense atmosphere as if facing a formidable enemy.

In stark contrast to the tranquility of Kitahara Iwa's study, a tense atmosphere of readiness permeated the Shinchosha headquarters.

Out of absolute importance placed on this new work by a "Nobel Prize candidate," Kenichi Sato skipped his afternoon topic selection meeting and waited directly in the elevator lobby on the editorial floor.

In the president's office on the top floor, Murata Taro unusually turned down all his high-profile social engagements that afternoon, choosing instead to sit at his desk, ready to face the challenge.

When the editor stepped out of the sedan chair with a dazed expression, Kenichi Sato immediately went to greet him.

He quickly took the manila envelope, then turned around and took the internal elevator straight to the top floor.

At this point, everyone at Shinchosha naturally assumed that what Editor-in-Chief Sato was holding must be a bombshell that would once again send chills down the spines of Kasumigaseki and the financial world.

But as soon as Sato Kenichi entered the president's office, placed the envelope on the coffee table, and his fingers just touched the white thread wrapped around the envelope...

"Ring ring one"

The internal line on the desk suddenly went off, interrupting this sacred moment.

Murata Taro frowned, didn't even glance at it, and directly pressed the hang-up button. Then he gestured to Sato Kenichi with his chin, indicating that he should continue.

Before Sato Ken could even untangle half a circle of the white thread, the telephone light on the desk started flashing wildly again, and the piercing ringtone echoed throughout the office like a death knell.

Then came the third and fourth times, as if Murata Taro wouldn't give up until he accepted.

Hearing the piercing ringtone, Murata Taro's patience was completely exhausted. He grabbed the receiver and said with a terrifying rage in his voice, "I already told you, don't bother me this afternoon, even if the sky falls!"

"Why do you keep calling!"

"President! I'm so sorry!"

The receptionist's voice came through the receiver, trembling with tears, "But the president of Kodansha suddenly stormed into the lobby with his men, and we couldn't stop them—"

Before he could finish speaking, a slight scraping or rubbing sound came from the other end of the receiver.

Immediately afterwards, the female employee's voice disappeared, and in its place came a voice that was smiling, familiar, and full of roguish charm, slowly and deliberately coming through the telephone line.

"Murata-san, you're really angry."

"Don't make things difficult for the receptionist. I asked her to hand me the phone."

Upon hearing that voice, Murata Taro's expression froze.

Kenichi Sato, who was standing next to him, also suddenly stopped what he was doing and turned his head in surprise.

The president of Kodansha on the other end of the phone spoke casually and confidently, as if he were in his own home: "No need to hide it, we've already heard that Kitahara-sensei's new work was just delivered to your building."

"How could you possibly keep such a major event concerning the entire Japanese literary world to yourself? We couldn't sit still any longer, so we came to see it for ourselves."

Murata Taro's eye twitched suddenly. Just as he was about to lash out on the phone, several other familiar background voices came from the other end of the receiver.

Since the reception desk on the first floor is only a few steps away from the elevator lobby, the commotion over there could be heard clearly through the phone line: "Hey buddy, don't push your way in, let me in first!"

This is the editor-in-chief of Literary Spring and Autumn complaining.

"Shueisha staff, could you please put your briefcase away? It's pressing down on my tie!"

This is the voice of an executive from another top publishing house.

"Alright, stop arguing, let's squeeze in and go up! Um—Murata-kun, the elevator's here, let's get on!"

The president of Kodansha chuckled as he uttered his final words into the microphone before abruptly and decisively hanging up the phone.

Listening to the dial tone from the receiver, and imagining these mortal enemies who usually hate each other on the bestseller list, now crammed together like sardines in the elevator on the first floor of his house, Murata Taro even thought he was hallucinating.

He then slammed the phone receiver back onto the landline with a loud "bang," his face so dark it looked like it was about to drip water.

Kenichi Sato, who was standing nearby, was completely confused because he couldn't hear the specific content on the other end of the phone.

But seeing Murata Taro's guarded look, and driven by the protective instincts of a top editor, he instinctively took a step to the side, using his body to completely block the envelope on the coffee table.

"President, what was that just now—"

"The president of Kodansha."

Murata Taro gritted his teeth, his eyes twitching slightly with anger, and said, "And the editor-in-chief of Bungei Shunju, and people from Shueisha. They're all blocking our lobby on the first floor, about to take the elevator up."

Upon hearing this, Kenichi Sato's eyes widened in disbelief. "Did all of them come together?"

"How could these sworn enemies, who are usually at each other's throats on the bestseller lists, possibly come to our Shincho Publishing House side by side?"

"What else could it be?"

Murata Taro sneered, his gaze fixed on the envelope behind Sato, and said, "Because this is Kitahara Iwao's first manuscript after being shortlisted for the Nobel Prize."

"These old foxes have probably already planted spies around Kitahara Apartments and our building."

"Normally, they're mortal enemies when it comes to stealing authors, but when faced with a nuclear bomb of this magnitude," their instincts kick in faster than anyone else's.

Kenichi Sato reacted quickly, immediately grasping the crux of the matter: "Are they afraid that Shinchosha will monopolize the political discourse power brought about by this manuscript?"

"After all, we're all in the same boat now, part of the 'Free Writers' Alliance.'"

"That's right."

"Teacher Kitahara's current status and reputation are too special. Once the new book is released, it will inevitably cause a huge social storm."

"They are outwardly waving the banner of an alliance, but in reality, they can't suppress their itching desire to be the first to know which way the wind is blowing."

Murata Taro took a deep breath, straightened his suit collar, and said, "Whoever sees the cards first will gain the upper hand in the upcoming reshuffling of the publishing industry."

Ding!

As soon as the two finished speaking, the clear announcement that the elevator had reached the top floor came from outside the corridor.

Accompanied by a series of slightly chaotic footsteps, the solid wood door to the president's office was pushed open without any ceremony.

The president of Kodansha walked in first, naturally smoothing out the wrinkles on his suit. Just as he was about to speak, he was interrupted by a cold voice.

"What brings you all, big bosses, to my office like sardines packed with business, leaving your own companies to fend for yourselves?"

Murata Taro sat behind his large desk, his hands clasped together, his face dark, his gaze sweeping over the uninvited guests like a knife.

Faced with this blunt question, the president of Kodansha showed no embarrassment at being exposed.

With an impeccable yet shameless smile on his face, he confidently took over the conversation, saying, "Murata-kun, stop hiding it. I heard Kitahara-sensei submitted his manuscript, right?"

The president of Kodansha spread his hands, sighed, and said, "How can we old bones sit idly in the building across the street and wait on such a major event that concerns the entire Japanese literary world?"

The editor-in-chief of Literary Spring and Autumn followed closely behind.

His gaze, like radar, swept over Sato Kenichi's shoulder and fixed on the half-exposed envelope. He then uttered an irrefutable, righteous indignation: "Teacher Kitahara is not only your company's ace, but also the core of our Free Writers' Alliance."

"If this new book truly contains fatal liquidation materials targeting the Ministry of Finance or the banking system—"

The editor-in-chief of Wenyi Chunqiu paused for a moment, then said with utmost seriousness, "Shincho Publishing's legal team alone absolutely cannot withstand the pressure from Kasumi. Our legal teams and public relations channels have been on standby overnight, ready to share the risks with your company at any time."

Looking at those old faces filled with greed and curiosity, Murata Taro couldn't help but sneer inwardly.

Sharing risks together? That's all bullshit.

This group of people simply knew that Kitahara Iwao was now an absolute "Nobel Prize candidate" and couldn't wait to find out the power of this "political bombshell".

If it were a manuscript by an ordinary writer, they would definitely put on airs and insist on industry boundaries.

But this thing is just a few steps away now, who cares about saving face?

However, Murata Taro was also aware that at this critical juncture when the alliance was fighting against the zaibatsu, forcibly kicking people out would not only make Shinchosha appear petty, but would also easily create rifts within the alliance.

Moreover, letting these powerful rivals see the original manuscript in person is the fastest way to unify the industry and form a united front.

Murata Taro stared at them for a full half minute before finally letting out a cold snort.

"You can look at it."

Murata Taro's gaze swept over the crowd and he said, "But if anyone dares to leak even half a word of it to the media beforehand, I guarantee they'll never be able to touch a single word of the Alliance again in their lifetime."

The president of Kodansha immediately dropped his joking expression and said seriously, "Of course."

The editor-in-chief of Wenyi Chunqiu also straightened his back with utmost seriousness: "This is the bottom line for us publishers."

Ten minutes later.

The top-floor conference room of Shinchosha was emptied.

The heavy blinds were all pulled down, and the door was locked from the inside.

On the large, long table were only a few cups of invigorating black coffee, an empty ashtray, and a few softly lit reading lamps.

The sealed kraft paper envelope was opened by Taro Murata himself.

To protect the original manuscript and make it easier for several people to read it together, Kenichi Sato put the heavy manuscript of several hundred pages into the photocopier in the corner of the conference room in batches.

Accompanied by the low hum of the machine, the still-warm copies of the ink were packaged into several parts and pushed in front of everyone one by one.

At the end of the long table, a high-powered paper shredder was plugged in, its indicator light glowing red.

Taro Murata set a clear rule: once the reading was finished, the copies had to be shredded on the spot, and no one was allowed to take away even a single scrap of paper.

Thus, this hastily put-together "internal reading" was conducted with an atmosphere so tight it was almost like reviewing top-secret documents.

These publishing tycoons, seated around a long table, each had a mobile phone ready to be dialed at any time, while their trusted secretaries stood guard outside the door.

Meanwhile, in their respective headquarters buildings, top-notch legal advisory teams have canceled their vacations and are on standby overnight.

Everyone tacitly agreed that, based on Kitahara Iwa's consistently sharp and realistic writing style, and the various suppressions he had suffered in the past six months, this new work, titled "The Long Road," was definitely a sharp blade of revenge against power.

In their imagination, this manuscript is very likely to reveal the list of key responsible persons in the "housing and housing specialties" bad debt crisis through explicit metaphors.

It may also reveal the high-level instructions behind the IRS raid.

It could even completely connect the violent street attack with the money laundering chain between the Ministry of Finance, major banks, and yakuza organizations, forming an impenetrable black web.

They sat here as if facing a formidable enemy, precisely to assess in advance just how much political damage this manuscript, which directly targeted Xiaguan and the financial world, truly possessed.