Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

The preview begins.

Chapter One: The Clergy.

What comes into view is the calm, almost cold, monologue of female teacher Yuko Moriguchi.

There was no nonsense, no lengthy descriptions of scenery, only long passages of conversation that seemed to be whispering in one's ear.

"Tch, a first-person campus monologue? How cliché."

At first, the college students stood with a relaxed posture, even with a hint of mocking smiles, ready to close their books and put them back at any moment.

But just as his fingers were about to close, his gaze swept to page 5.

When Yuko Moriguchi spoke in such a flat tone about her daughter being murdered by a student in her class.

Splash!

The sound of rapidly turning pages suddenly stopped.

The mocking smile on the college student's face froze instantly.

He straightened up from his leaning against the bookshelf, subconsciously standing up straight.

At the same time, his brows furrowed tightly, and his gaze, no longer wandering, was fixed firmly on the paper.

The surrounding noise seemed to disappear, and all that could be heard was the sound of my own heartbeat.

Read up to page 15.

When Yuko Moriguchi recounted how Student A and Student B murdered Aimi, the university students held their breath.

Next, we'll uncover the secret about milk.

"It seems like we've finished all the milk. Did you notice anything strange, like a rusty taste?"

"This can only be done because it's milk in a cardboard carton where the contents are not visible."

"I mixed the blood drawn this morning into both of their milk."

"It wasn't my blood. What I secretly gave them to drink wasn't the grime from under the fingernails of 'Good Samaritan' teacher Sakuramiya Masayoshi, who hoped they would both become good children; it was his blood."

"Holy crap..."

Upon seeing this passage, the college student's pupils contracted sharply, and he couldn't help but swear in the quiet bookstore.

This intense physical aversion and psychological shock came at the same time, giving him goosebumps.

His stomach even twitched slightly because of those cold words.

This is disgusting!

too crazy!

This is not a campus novel at all; this is a terrorist attack targeting humanity!

"I shouldn't have read it... This book is too eerie..."

Reason told him he should close the book immediately, throw the black cube back on the shelf, and then go wash his hands.

However, his hands seemed to be glued to the book cover, and he couldn't let go at all.

His eyes were filled with terror, yet also with a fanatical intensity, as if he were being stared at from the abyss.

"What happens next? Will those two students have a relapse? Will they be punished? What will become of the teacher?"

He was like a possessed man, his face covered in cold sweat, yet he couldn't move a step. He just stood there in the aisle, staring intently at the sample book in his hands like a statue.

Behind him, the same scene was unfolding.

Those seasoned book lovers who were originally looking for a critical eye are now all pale-faced. They originally just wanted to flip through a couple of pages and leave, but now they have been standing in front of the bookshelf for a full twenty minutes.

A bizarre scene unfolded in the bookstore's new book recommendation section.

There was none of the usual uproar and discussion that usually accompanies new book releases.

Everyone standing in the reading corner fell into a deathly silence.

The only sounds in the air were the rapid rustling of pages turning and the constant gasps of surprise.

Finally, the college student closed the last page of the trial reading.

He was breathing heavily, as if he had just emerged from the water.

He glanced around, his eyes somewhat dazed, then grabbed "Confessions" from the new book recommendation section and strode towards the cashier without even looking at the price.

"Checkout! No need for the bag, just give it to me!"

4 pm.

During the school dismissal rush, the second group of victims appeared.

A group of high school girls dressed in sailor uniforms and carrying backpacks swarmed into the bookstore like a flock of chattering sparrows.

They didn't come for so-called profound literature; they came purely for Kitahara Iwao as a person.

That's right, these high school girls are probably fans of Kitahara Iwao's looks.

"Hey, Yumi! Did you see the re-release of 'The Strange Story' last week?"

A girl with a bob haircut excitedly tugged at her companion's sleeve and asked.

"I saw it! It's that story called 'Grandma,' right?"

The girl called Yumi immediately covered her mouth, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she sought thrills.

"Wow... that final plot twist was absolutely amazing! I got goosebumps! It was terrifying, but so thrilling!"

"Right, right! That chilling feeling when you think about it is amazing! And the screenwriter is Kitahara Iwao-sensei!"

"Is that the author of 'The Ring'? Hehe, Kitahara Iwao-sensei is not only handsome, but also an amazing writer! He's practically a Black Butler straight out of a manga!"

At this moment, the group of girls gathered in front of the black stack of "Confessions," completely ignoring the oppressive atmosphere around them, and exuding the hormones of adolescence.

In their eyes, Kitahara Iwao is not a serious writer, but a cool idol who understands horror aesthetics and specializes in writing these kinds of exciting stories.

"The new book is called 'Confession'..."

A girl wearing glasses picked up a sample book, looked at the all-black cover, and hesitated before pushing up her glasses, saying, "This cover looks even more depressing than 'The Ring.' And the back cover says 'highly poisonous'... Isn't it a bit too graphic?"

"Oh, what do you know! This is called style!"

Yumi snatched the book from the side, pointed to the warning on the dust jacket, and her face radiated a blind, fanatical sense of superiority: "That's the charm of Kitahara-sensei! This 'no entry' feeling is exactly what I'm looking for!"

"Adults would be terrified if they saw the cover, but we're different. We're a generation that's seen 'The Ring' and 'Grandma'! This level of horror is just right for us!"

"Yes, yes, yes! It must be one of those super cool suspense masterpieces full of plot twists!"

"Buy, buy, buy! I have to buy it just for Kitahara-sensei's twisted aesthetics!"

The group of girls giggled and shoved each other, each holding a black copy of "Confessions".

With this naive, almost foolish confidence, they paid their bills and flocked in groups to the trams to go home.

Half an hour later.

JR Yamanote Line tram.

It was rush hour, and the train carriage was a bit crowded.

The high school girls huddled in a corner, each holding a black copy of "Confessions," and eagerly tore open the plastic wrap.

"I'm starting now!"

The short-haired girl was holding a box of strawberry milk she had just bought, happily sipping from the straw while turning to the first page.

At first, a relaxed atmosphere filled this corner of the carriage.

But as the tram passed two stops, the girls, who had initially been smiling and anticipating a romantic scene, began to look strange.

The smile froze on his lips, and his eyes changed from expectation to horror, and then from horror to disgust.

The train carriage was swaying, but their hands holding the books were trembling violently.

When you turn to the end of the first chapter, at the moment when Yuko Moriguchi declares her revenge.

"The Japanese have always had a delicate palate that can appreciate the original flavor of ingredients, but in recent years, more and more children are unable to distinguish between sweet curry and spicy curry. It is said that this is caused by a lack of zinc, which leads to taste disorders."

The short-haired girl unconsciously took a big gulp of the sweet strawberry milk.

next second.

Her gaze fell on the line of text: "How is everyone's sense of taste—no, how are A and B's sense of taste?"

"It seems like we've finished all the milk. Did you notice anything strange, like a rusty taste? That's because it's milk in a cardboard box where you can't see the contents. I mixed the blood I drew this morning into both of our milks."

"Wow!!!"

A piercing scream shattered the tranquility of the carriage.

"Ugh...cough cough cough!!"

The short-haired girl suddenly covered her mouth; intense psychological nausea made her dry heave.

The half-empty carton of strawberry milk in my hand fell to the ground with a thud, splashing pink liquid all over the floor, like some kind of ominous sign.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

The surrounding passengers were startled and quickly moved aside.

"Waaaaah..."

The short-haired girl's face was ashen. Looking at the milk spilled on the floor, then at the black book in her hand, tears streamed down her face as if she had seen some cursed evil: "Waaah, it's so scary... I want to go home and find my mom..."

The girls next to her also looked pale, as if they were about to vomit but couldn't.

After a long pause, someone murmured in a trembling voice, "For the next month... I probably don't want to touch strawberry milk again..."