Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

The elevator doors slowly closed, swallowing Kitahara Iwa's back.

Hey~

As the floor indicator lights began to flash, the only sound in the quiet corridor was the low hum of the vending machine compressors.

Akina Nakamori stood still, clutching the brown paper envelope tightly in her hand.

She pressed the still-warm coffee can against her cold cheek and looked out the glass window at the bustling night view of Akasaka below.

She used to be a girl who would only hide in a corner and cry, and who would only compromise herself for the sake of other people's opinions.

The confusion in his eyes was gradually fading, replaced by a chilling resolve.

"Sadako was trapped at the bottom of the well for thirty years because she was too afraid to resist..."

Akina Nakamori muttered to herself, "Since I can't be Sadako who can only wait passively, then I'll be a demon who will do anything to survive."

Then, Akina Nakamori put the envelope in her pocket and turned to walk into the dark depths of the corridor.

After returning to the apartment, Kitahara Iwa went straight into the study.

In the quiet room, only a brand-new Canon copier was working tirelessly.

"Sizzle...swish..."

Accompanied by rhythmic mechanical sounds, sheets of A4 paper, still warm and smelling of ink, were smoothly ejected.

Now, thanks to the royalties and prize money from "The Ring," Kitahara Iwao is already rolling in money.

To make writing easier, he spent a fortune to buy this office equipment, which was considered a luxury at the time, for his home.

A few minutes later, the machine stopped working.

Kitahara Iwa reached out and picked up the still-warm manuscript, gently tapping it on the table.

On the pristine white cover, only two bold black characters quietly exude a sense of oppression.

"Confession".

This is not a horror novel in the traditional sense.

Or to be more precise, this is a masterpiece that is more chilling than ghosts and monsters, dissecting the dark side of human nature in its entirety, while also incorporating the thrill of revenge and the collapse of ethics into every word.

Kanae Minato, who came after, achieved legendary status thanks to this work.

"call……"

Kitahara Iwa gently blew away the excess ink from the edges of the paper, then placed the first half of the manuscript—which was destined to cause a sensation in the literary world—into a thick kraft paper file bag and sealed the bag tightly.

After dropping it into the express mail mailbox downstairs, Kitahara Iwa returned to his apartment, picked up the phone, and dialed the number for the Shinchosha editorial department.

"Beep...click."

The phone was answered almost immediately after it rang once.

"Hello, this is Sato."

"Sato-san, it's me. I just sent out the first half of the manuscript for my new book via express mail. It should arrive first thing tomorrow morning."

Upon hearing Kitahara Iwa's calm announcement, there was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, followed by an undisguised burst of excitement. Even through the phone line, one could imagine Editor-in-Chief Sato's radiant face: "The first half is finished so quickly?"

"This is wonderful!"

"Mr. Kitahara, don't worry! I've already arranged all the distribution channels. As long as the article is fine, we can start the pre-launch promotion immediately! It definitely won't delay the launch date!"

Faced with Sato's seemingly overflowing enthusiasm, Kitahara Iwao exchanged a few simple pleasantries and then hung up the phone.

Click.

After hanging up the receiver, Editor-in-Chief Sato was in a great mood.

Then he suddenly pushed off the ground, and the leather office chair spun smoothly around, shouting at Machida, the editor who was buried in his work and looking miserable, not far away.

"Hey, Machida!"

Editor-in-Chief Sato waved his hand smugly: "Don't look so gloomy, I have some amazing news, did you hear it?"

Machida looked up, puzzled, and adjusted his glasses, which had slipped down his nose. "Editor-in-chief, what's wrong? Did you receive a good manuscript?"

Editor-in-Chief Sato exclaimed excitedly, "Professor Kitahara just called to say that the first half of the manuscript for the new book has been sent out! By express mail, it will be on my desk first thing tomorrow morning!"

"That's... all written?"

"Really?!"

Upon hearing this, Machida's hand trembled, then his eyes widened as if he had heard a fairy tale. "How long has it been? Only a month and a half at most? The sequel to 'The Ring' is already written?!"

"Yeah, incredibly fast, right?"

Seeing Machida's naive and unworldly demeanor, Editor-in-Chief Sato felt even more pleased, as if he were the one who wrote the book.

"How is this possible..."

Meanwhile, editor Machida muttered to himself, "Generally speaking, after the first book becomes a huge hit, the pressure on the author to write the sequel is immense. Many authors experience writer's block, and some even go a year or two without writing a single word..."

"Is Kitahara-sensei a printer that has come to life?"

"Hmph, so there is a clear line between mediocrity and genius."

Editor-in-Chief Sato crossed his legs, took a sip of his tea with a satisfied smile, and said, "He not only writes well, but he's also incredibly hardworking! He's practically a role model for writers!"

At this point, Editor-in-Chief Sato pointed with a look of disgust to the mountain of deadline requests in his office and said, "Look at these guys! Unless I come knocking on their door with a knife, or even lock them in a dark room at a hot spring hotel and cut off the electricity, how many thousands of words can they possibly squeeze out? They're practically constipated!"

"Look at Kitahara-sensei! We don't need to worry about anything; he just delivers his new book to our door!"

The two of them lavished praise on the air, completely immersed in their dream that the Sadako universe was about to ignite all of Japan again and that they would be rolling in prize money.

The next morning.

"Editor-in-chief! We're here! We're here!"

With a series of hurried footsteps, Machida rushed into the office carrying a heavy express delivery bag.

"The photocopy of Kitahara-sensei's manuscript has arrived!"

"Quick! Bring it here!"

Upon hearing this, Editor-in-Chief Sato straightened his back immediately, like a soldier hearing a bugle call to charge.

Looking at the brown paper bag on the table, Editor-in-Chief Sato carefully wiped his hands with a wet wipe, and then picked up the paper cutter on the table with great respect.

"Come on, Sadako..."

As the sharp blade of the paper cutter sliced ​​through the kraft paper bag with a rustling sound, Editor-in-Chief Sato silently chanted to himself, his eyes burning with fervent anticipation: "Let me see what kind of terror you can bring me after you've been resurrected from the bottom of the well!"

With great excitement, Editor-in-Chief Sato took a deep breath and solemnly pulled out the manuscript.

however.

The moment the manuscript was fully revealed under the light, and the cover was clearly visible.

The bright smile on Editor-in-Chief Sato's face instantly froze as if it had been sprayed with liquid nitrogen.

Machida, who was standing to the side craning his neck to peek, was also stunned, his mouth slightly open, looking like a goose whose neck had been suddenly grabbed.

The large text on the cover article does not say "Spiral".

It's not "The Ring 2".

The paper was white with black text; there were only two bold, neatly written characters in black font...

"Confession".

In an instant, the air in the huge office seemed to freeze completely.

"Confess...?"

After a long while, Machida finally found his tongue again.

He blinked, looking at Editor-in-Chief Sato with a blank expression, and said, "Editor-in-Chief, this...is this a mistake?"

"Or is it a collection of essays that Kitahara-sensei wrote casually? Or... a personal love diary?"

Upon hearing Machida's words, Editor-in-Chief Sato's face turned deathly pale.

In this day and age, the word "confession" usually only evokes images of "Please go out with me" under cherry blossom trees on campus, pink envelopes, and those melodramatic, cheesy romance novels about youthful pain.

The only thing I can't associate with it is horror.

"Could it really have been sent to the wrong address...?"

Editor-in-Chief Sato took a deep breath, quickly grabbed the phone on the table, and dialed Kitahara Iwa with trembling fingers.

"Beep...beep...feed?"

Kitahara Iwa's languid voice came from the other end of the phone.

"Teacher Kitahara! It's me, Sato!"

At this moment, Editor-in-Chief Sato's voice trembled with anxiety, as if he had just witnessed his company's newly listed stock suddenly plummet: "I've received the manuscript, but this name..."

Without waiting for Kitahara Iwa's reply, he pressed on rapidly, trying to grasp at the last possibility: "Teacher Kitahara, did you take the wrong file folder? Did you just slip in the short essay you wrote for some girls' magazine?"

However, the voice on the other end of the phone was unusually calm.

"I didn't take the wrong one."

Kitahara Iwa's voice rang out softly, shattering Sato's last illusion: "This is it. This book, 'Confessions,' is the new book I'm writing."

"Huh? No, no..."

Editor-in-Chief Sato felt a sudden wave of dizziness and almost dropped the receiver. He quickly said into the phone, "Teacher Kitahara! Please wake up!"

"Readers all over Japan are waiting for Sadako to come back to life, and bookstores are urging for a sequel to 'Ring'."

"Why are you writing a pure love story at a time like this?!"

"This not only wastes the current hype, but it will also disappoint horror book fans who are looking for thrills! This is self-destructive!"

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone.

Immediately afterwards, a light, amused laugh came from Kitahara Iwa.

"A romance novel? Mr. Sato, you have quite the imagination."

"But this isn't the kind of confession where you blush and say 'I like you' under the setting sun."

Kitahara Iwa's voice came through the receiver, carrying an unfathomable confidence: "It is... the monologue of a sinner."

"A sinner...a sinner?"

Sato was stunned.

"Sato-san."

Kitahara Iwa didn't offer much explanation, and simply said, "Read the first chapter first."

"If you finish reading the first chapter and think it's a boring romance novel, or that it's not as exciting as 'The Ring'."

"You can just throw it in the shredder, then call me and I'll write 'The Spiral' for you right away."

"Beep...beep...beep..."

The next second, before Sato could react, the call had already been disconnected.

Hearing the busy tone from the receiver, Editor-in-Chief Sato was stunned for a long time before finally letting out a helpless sigh and slowly putting the microphone back on the landline.

"Editor-in-Chief..."

Standing nearby, Machida cautiously looked at Editor-in-Chief Sato and asked, "What did Kitahara-sensei say?"

"What else can I say? Kitahara-sensei said we should finish reading the first chapter first."

Editor-in-Chief Sato rubbed his throbbing temples, looked at the manuscript titled "Confession" on the table, and said with a tone full of disappointment and regret, "He said that if you finish reading it and think it's just an ordinary romance novel, or not as exciting as 'The Ring,' just throw it in the shredder and he'll immediately write 'Spiral' for us."

"this……"

Upon hearing this, Machida and his companion exchanged bewildered glances.

"This is utterly ridiculous!"

"Why give up being a great master of horror and insist on writing a sinner's monologue at this critical juncture?"

Editor-in-Chief Sato shook his head. Although he complained, he sat up straight again and picked up the manuscript.

As a senior editor, Chief Editor Sato did not want to reject the manuscript, but rather wanted to use his professional eye to find the shortcomings of this transformative work.

After watching it, he wanted to tell Kitahara Iwao with reason and evidence: Teacher, your talent lies in horror, not in this kind of love and affection.

To boost sales, please be sure to get back to the right path.

"Alright! Then I'll read it carefully."

Editor-in-Chief Sato adjusted his glasses, and with a mindset of nitpicking and trying to save a fallen writer, he turned to the first page.

At that moment, the office fell silent again.

What comes into view is a first-person monologue.

The narrator is a middle school teacher named Yuko Moriguchi.

The initial text was trivial and mundane, with Ms. Moriguchi rambling on about the benefits of drinking milk and the noisy students in the class.

"Is it a typical school-themed story?"

Editor-in-Chief Sato curled his lip in disdain, preparing to quickly turn the page.

However, when his gaze swept to the middle of the fourth page, a sentence mixed in with the everyday narrative pierced his retina like an ice pick suddenly thrust out: "Aimei died in an accident. But, she was murdered."

"The murderer is among you."

Editor-in-Chief Sato's previously nonchalant posture froze without him realizing it.

The female teacher who was speaking spoke in such a calm and polite tone, even using standard honorifics, yet the chill emanating from her sent shivers down one's spine.

As he read on, Editor-in-Chief Sato felt as if the air around him was getting cooler.

Ms. Moriguchi did not scream hysterically, nor did she wail and make accusations.

She simply stood on the podium, and with a chilling tone that seemed to come from hell, peeled away the layers of protection that shielded juvenile delinquency:

"Even if I report it to the police, no matter how well the truth is found out, the offender protected by the Juvenile Law will not be punished."

"They will be placed under probation and observation, and may not even need to go to a juvenile detention center."

"If you hide in this world for a few days, you can return to society as if nothing happened."

"—The law cannot punish you. So, I'm going to teach you a lesson in my own way."

"A madwoman...this woman is a calm madwoman..."

Editor-in-Chief Sato's hands began to tremble slightly, and fine beads of cold sweat appeared on his forehead.

This is hardly a coming-of-age novel.

This is a slow and agonizing torture of humanity!

It is the most ruthless and blatant mockery of the damned Juvenile Law!

At that moment, Editor-in-Chief Sato was as if under a spell, frantically flipping through the pages, eager to know how this single female teacher was going to take revenge.

Murder?

Or was it poisoning?

Until you turn to the last few pages of this chapter.

Standing on the podium, Yuko Moriguchi looked at the two boys who had just finished their milk and showed no remorse, smiled, and dropped the final bombshell with a line that would go down in the annals of mystery fiction: "Did you all enjoy your milk today?"

"Something unusual was mixed into the milk you drank just now."

At that moment, Editor-in-Chief Sato's pupils dilated to their maximum size, and his breathing seemed to stop completely.

The words on the manuscript seemed to transform into Ms. Moriguchi's pale smile:

"That's the blood of my fiancé, Sakuramiya Masayoshi."

"I forgot to tell you all, before she passed away, Sakuramiya-sensei... was a carrier of the HIV virus."

"I have mixed that blood into the milk of students A and B who killed Aimi."

"You drank it just now."

boom!

Editor-in-Chief Sato felt as if a thunderbolt had exploded in his mind, and his blood seemed to freeze instantly.

At this moment, the words are no longer dry printed characters, but transformed into concrete images.

In the pure white milk, streaks of dark red, deadly blood slowly spread out, and then, accompanied by the movement of Adam's apple, were swallowed by the two boys without them noticing.

What is this?

This is a slow, agonizing death, even longer than death itself!

The gaze continued downwards, and Ms. Moriguchi's devilish whispers continued to dance across the paper: "It seems most people finally understand."

"There's no way to know immediately whether it will be effective. Please be sure to get a blood test in two or three months."

"If it is effective, the incubation period is usually five to ten years. During this period, please cherish the preciousness of life."

"I hope everyone had a meaningful spring break. Thank you all for this year."

At this moment, Editor-in-Chief Sato felt as if his spine had been removed, slumped in the leather seat, and gasped for breath.

His back was completely soaked with cold sweat, and his heart was pounding wildly in his chest, as if he had just drunk milk mixed with blood.

That sticky, cold, suffocating malice crawled up my fingertips and spread all over my body.

"This...this is Kitahara-sensei's...confession?"