Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

Although the two had only known each other for a short time, ever since she heard Kitahara Iwa's singing at karaoke and was encouraged to pursue her dreams, this kind-hearted girl had regarded Kitahara Iwa as an important friend and mentor.

At this moment, she was standing in the break room of the video store, clutching the receiver tightly in her hand, her mind filled with the fierce face of Kijima Heihachiro on the poster.

She simply couldn't imagine how the gentle and refined Kitahara-san of her memories could face this terrible malice.

Sensing the anxiety in the girl's voice, Kitahara Iwa leaned against the window, looking down at the bustling street below, and chuckled softly, saying, "If I don't go, won't I really become the coward they call me?"

"But……"

Sachiko Kamachi bit her lip and slowly said, "I've read Mr. Kijima's previous articles; he used very harsh language... calling people trash, degenerate, and stuff like that. What if he does that on his live stream..."

"Miss Sachiko."

Kitahara Iwa interrupted her, asking in return, "Have you seen The Ring?"

"Oh? Of course I've read it! I bought three copies to boost your sales!"

Sachiko Kamachi quickly said, "Although it's scary, and I'm afraid to turn off the lights at night... but, but I think it's very well written! It's not garbage at all!"

That's enough.

Kitahara Iwao's voice carried a hint of amusement: "As long as there are readers like Ms. Sachiko who don't think it's rubbish, then I have nothing to be afraid of."

"So-called sharp-tongued critics are nothing more than paper tigers with louder voices."

"Paper...paper tiger?"

"Yes. Just think of tonight as watching a circus performance."

Kitahara Iwa said casually, "I'll show everyone who's really the attention-seeking clown."

Sensing the strong confidence in Kitahara Iwa's words, Kamachi Sachiko's previously anxious heart finally began to relax.

She held the microphone, took a deep breath, and said earnestly in a soft yet powerful voice, "Although...although I can't be of much help."

"But tonight, I'll be glued to the TV!"

"Kitahara-san, do your best! I believe you can win!"

Hearing the cheers from the future national diva, Kitahara Iwa felt his mood brighten up in that instant.

"Thanks."

"With Miss Sachiko's words, I am even more confident in dealing with him."

After hanging up the phone, Kitahara Iwa looked at the blue sky outside the window, and the smile on his lips gradually faded.

"alright."

Kitahara Iwa turned around and looked at the dark suit that was specially prepared for tonight, hanging on the coat rack.

"Even my future goddess is cheering me on, Kijima-sensei. If I can't get rid of you tonight, how am I supposed to survive in the Heisei era?"

TV Asahi, Roppongi ARK HILLS.

In 1989, TV Asahi was the heart of Tokyo's trends and information.

The corridor was bustling with people, including popular idols, comedians with exaggerated makeup, and producers in Armani suits.

The air was filled with a mixture of expensive perfume, hairspray, and a faint smell of tobacco.

There was still one hour before the News Station live broadcast.

Kitahara Iwa went to the vending machine alone and bought a can of hot coffee.

This is the break area shared by the news studio and the neighboring hit music program, "Music Station".

Just as Kitahara Iwa finished buying his coffee and was about to turn and leave, a suppressed argument came from the shadows next to the vending machine.

That was a dead end leading to the smoking room, and few people usually passed by it.

"Enough! How long are you going to keep making a scene?"

A somewhat agitated male voice, brimming with impatience, rang out: "Akina, who are you trying to fool with that expression?"

"You're about to go on stage, can you stop looking so dejected?"

Kitahara Iwa paused for a moment.

In the dim light of the corridor, he saw a man and a woman.

The man was dressed in an extravagant performance outfit, had permed hair, and his face was full of arrogance and disgust.

This was none other than Masahiko Kondo, the rising star of Johnny & Associates at the time.

The figure standing opposite him was so slender that it seemed as if a gust of wind could blow it over.

She lowered her head, her hands gripping the hem of her clothes tightly, her shoulders trembling violently, but she bit her lip, afraid to let out a cry.

She is none other than Akina Nakamori.

"I want to laugh too... but..."

Akina Nakamori's voice trembled with tears, her humility heartbreaking as she said, "But you didn't answer the phone yesterday... and that woman..."

"Aren't you annoying me?!"

Kondo Masahiko rudely interrupted her, shoving the wall next to him hard with a loud bang.

"I already told you it's work! Why are you so serious? Being with you is suffocating!"

"If you don't trust me that much, then don't accept my advances!"

Hearing Kondo Masahiko's words, Nakamori Akina suddenly looked up, her tearful eyes filled with disbelief, and instinctively reached out to tug at Kondo's sleeve: "How could you say something like that..."

"Let go!"

Kondo Masahiko shook off his hand with a look of disgust, preparing to leave.

"Should we turn the volume down a bit before we do that?"

At that moment, a cold voice suddenly broke the silence in the corridor.

Kitahara Iwa emerged from the shadow of the vending machine, holding the warm can of coffee in his hand, and looked calmly at the two of them.

"Who?!"

Kondo Masahiko was startled by the sudden sound.

This is a private place. If I were to be photographed by paparazzi insulting Akina Nakamori, that would be troublesome.

Kondo Masahiko whirled around, glaring fiercely at the newcomer: "Which department are you from? Can't you see I'm here...?"

However, when he saw Kitahara Iwa's face clearly, the rest of his curse words got stuck in his throat.

Although Kitahara Iwa is just a newcomer, his photo has been all over Tokyo's newspapers and posters for the past two days.

More importantly, within Japan's social structure.

Bestselling authors are called "Mr." and are considered to be on par with doctors, lawyers, and politicians in the intellectual class.

For an idol like Masahiko Kondo, who is promoted by his agency, offending a sharp-tongued writer who is currently at the center of public opinion is definitely not a wise move.

Immediately, Kondo Masahiko's arrogant face vanished as if by magic, his previously straight back slumped, and he revealed a fawning smile, saying, "Ah... this... isn't this Kitahara-sensei?"

Kondo Masahiko quickly straightened his collar, bowed to Kitahara Iwa, and said in a tone so respectful it was almost obsequious, "How rude of me! I didn't notice you were here."

"I am Masahiko Kondo. I hope you will take good care of me in the future, Kitahara-sensei."

Looking at the man in front of him, who had been speaking ill of his girlfriend one second and was now bowing and scraping to him out of fear of his status as a writer, a barely perceptible coldness flashed in Kitahara Iwa's eyes.

But Kitahara Iwa didn't get angry, and his expression didn't even waver.

He simply straightened his cuffs slowly, without engaging in the conversation that Teng was offering, nor did he shake the outstretched hand.

The air seemed to freeze for a moment.

This silent neglect is more humiliating than any insult.

Kondo Masahiko's hand hung awkwardly in mid-air, unsure whether to retract it or release it, and the smile on his face gradually froze.

"Mr. Kondo."

After a full three seconds, Kitahara Iwa finally spoke: "This is the public corridor of the TV station, not an izakaya in Shinjuku."

"No matter what your emotions are, once you're on the edge of the spotlight, maintaining dignity is a professional quality for an artist... Am I right?"

These words, though not containing a single dirty word, were like an invisible slap in the face of Kondo Masahiko.

Kitahara Iwao's words not only criticized Kondo's clamor, but also questioned his professional qualifications as a popular idol, mocking him for being ill-mannered and unable to maintain even basic decency.

Being questioned about his professional ethics by a popular writer would be devastating to his image if it got out.

"Yes...yes! You're right!"

Kondo Masahiko's face quickly turned a deep purplish-red, and a few drops of cold sweat appeared on his forehead, as if his sore spot had been hit.

At this moment, Kondo Masahiko felt ashamed as a primary school student who had done something wrong, under Kitahara Iwa's calm and almost indifferent gaze.

"I'm very sorry to have disturbed your peace and quiet."

Kondo Masahiko bowed again guiltily, then turned around and glared fiercely at Nakamori Akina, who was still crying, turning his shame and anger into resentment.

But with Kitahara Iwa here, he dared not shout anymore. He could only lower his voice and grit his teeth as he said, "What are you all standing there for? Wipe your tears! Don't be rude to the teacher!"

After saying that, Kondo Masahiko hurriedly left the corridor as if to escape the suffocating sense of oppression, without even daring to look back.

With Kondo Masahiko gone, only Kitahara Iwao and Nakamori Akina, who was still sobbing slightly, remained in the deathly silent corridor.

She turned away in a panic, frantically wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, trying to hide her disheveled state.

"Give."

A clean white handkerchief was handed to her.

Akina Nakamori paused for a moment, then looked up and, through her blurry, tear-filled eyes, saw the man in front of her, dressed in a dark suit with deep, penetrating eyes.

"Thank you... thank you, Kitahara-sensei..."

Akina Nakamori took the handkerchief, her voice hoarse and nasal, "I'm sorry to have made you laugh."

"I wouldn't call it a laughing stock, I just feel it's a bit of a pity."

Kitahara Iwa leaned against the wall, not in a hurry to leave. Instead, he looked at the flickering light at the end of the corridor and said meaningfully, "To trip over a pebble on the roadside and even lie on the ground crying is not in keeping with the queen's status."

"Queen……?"

Akina Nakamori gave a self-deprecating bitter laugh, clenched the handkerchief in her hand, and whispered, "I'm not some queen... I'm just... an idiot who can't even protect myself."

That's because you have too much.

At this moment, Kitahara Iwa's voice suddenly turned somber: "Fame, status, the perfect idol image, and that man who doesn't care about you..."

"If you hold onto these things tightly, it's like holding a pile of sand; the harder you try, the faster it slips away."

At this point, Kitahara Iwa turned his head, his deep black pupils staring directly at Nakamori Akina.

In the dim light of the corridor, Kitahara Iwao's eyes revealed a chilling madness and absolute rationality: "Ms. Nakamori, I am working on a new novel called 'Confession'."

"There's a passage in it that I think you need more than anyone else right now."

"What...things?"

Kitahara Iwao took a step forward, and the sense of pressure from the creator made Nakamori Akina subconsciously hold her breath.

"The weak choose forgiveness, while the strong choose reckoning."

Kitahara Iwao spoke in the coldest Japanese, enunciating each word clearly: "Kindness without fangs is weakness. Your current suffering stems from your continued hope that those who hurt you will have a change of heart."

Upon hearing this, Nakamori Akina's pupils contracted sharply, and her body trembled slightly: "Purge...?"

"Yes. I will no longer maintain that pitiful and moving victim image, no longer beg for that man's pity, and no longer care about the so-called celebrity ethics of the media."

Kitahara Iwa's voice was deep and seductive, like a devil tempting gods to fall:

"Miss Akina, I want to say that if this world can't give you justice, then smash this hypocritical world with your own hands. When you decide to stop being a good person, you will be invincible."

"At that time, you will no longer have to force a smile after betrayal, nor will you have to compromise for the sake of the so-called big picture. If you want to fight back, then fight back. If you want to ruin that bastard's reputation, then send him to hell with your own hands."

"This is what it truly means to be alive."

Akina Nakamori stared blankly at Iwao Kitahara.

These words were unorthodox and full of destructive power, completely contrary to the idol education she had received for many years, which emphasized patience, self-discipline, and dedication.

But for some reason, upon hearing these cold words, Akina Nakamori felt her long-dried blood begin to boil and surge like magma.

"Can I only survive by becoming a demon?"

Nakamori Akina murmured to herself.

"No."

"Only by becoming a demon can one breathe like a human."

After speaking, Kitahara Iwa didn't linger any longer, his tall figure disappearing behind the red light in the studio.

Akina Nakamori stood there blankly, clutching the still-warm handkerchief tightly in her hand, and slowly raised her head to look at herself in the mirror.

"Purge... is not just about revenge, but about reclaiming one's own life."

She sniffed, looking in the direction Kitahara Iwa had left. For the first time, a glint of wildness flashed in her previously lifeless and submissive eyes.

……

The waiting area in the side hall of the studio.

The air was thick with the tension that comes with being on set, and the hurried footsteps of the staff could be heard constantly.

Kume Hiroshi, holding the final confirmed script, stopped two steps away from Kitahara Iwao.

At this moment, he was scrutinizing Kitahara Iwa with the sharp eyes of someone examining news material.

"Mr. Kitahara, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Kume Hiroshi's voice was low and polite, but there was a clear sense of distance in that politeness.

"As the host of the program, in order to prevent any live broadcast mishaps, I have an obligation to remind you of something..."

"That Mr. Kijima inside doesn't seem to be here for a debate today; he seems to be here for an execution."

At this point, Kume Hiroshi paused, glancing through the half-open door at Kijima Heihachiro, who sat upright and exuded an imposing aura.

"Being refuted and rendered speechless in public would be a devastating blow to your image."

"Do you need me to use my hosting privileges to interrupt him at a crucial moment? It might make things a little awkward, but at least it will save you face."

Kume Hiroshi's words were not a well-intentioned act of assistance, but rather a malicious trap.

At this moment, Kume Hiroshi coldly observed Kitahara Iwa's reaction in his mind.

If Bei Yuanyan showed even the slightest hesitation, or readily agreed, it would prove that he was nothing more than a mediocre person who was all bark and no bite.

Kume Hiroshi didn't even bother to look at such a weak prey in the following episodes, treating him as a casual sacrifice to create conflict.

However, as Kume Hiroshi finished speaking, Kitahara Iwa stopped adjusting his cuffs.

Kitahara Iwao did not answer immediately, but instead looked up and met the gaze of the uncrowned king of the press through his glasses.

"No need, Mr. Kume."

Kitahara Iwa's voice was steady, without the slightest tremor, as if he were about to face not a bloody trial, but a boring routine.

"All you need to do is be a good witness."

Upon hearing this, Kume Hiroshi raised an eyebrow, the initial disdain in his eyes instantly vanishing, replaced by a hint of surprise and genuine interest.

Kitahara Iwa is much more interesting than that old guy in the studio!