Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

15:00 PM.

Shincho-sha, Special Meeting Room.

When Kitahara Iwa pushed open the door and entered, the room was not as tense as he had imagined; on the contrary, the air was filled with the aroma of expensive black tea.

The president sat in the main seat, with several core directors and editor-in-chief Sato sitting on either side.

Although everyone's face was grim, they at least maintained the dignity of being publishing giants.

"Kitahara-kun, thank you for your hard work."

The company president put down his teacup, then pointed to the chair opposite him, and said in a calm tone, as if he were chatting casually, "I heard that Mr. Kadokawa personally picked you up for lunch?"

"Judging by Mr. Kadokawa's taste, it should taste pretty good."

"The taste is indeed very good."

Kitahara Iwa sat down calmly, then said casually, "However, Mr. Kadokawa's topic is more expensive than cooking."

"He not only wanted to turn Confessions into a 20 billion yen box office movie, but also very enthusiastically invited me... to hand over my next book to Kadokawa Shoten for processing."

The moment those words were spoken, the atmosphere in the conference room instantly became tense.

At this moment, Editor-in-Chief Sato's palms were sweaty, and he looked at the president with a nervous expression.

The faces of the other directors nearby also instantly darkened.

But the president was not angry at all; on the contrary, he appeared unusually calm.

"Kadokawa is a pure businessman."

After a long silence, the president finally spoke slowly: "He can give you money, fame, even a mountain of gold. But he can't give you a foundation."

At this point, the president looked directly into Kitahara Iwao's eyes and continued, "Kitahara-kun, you're a smart man. You should know that publishing a book with Shinchosha and publishing it with Kadokawa, even if the sales are the same, will result in vastly different reviews."

"I know."

Kitahara Iwao responded with neither humility nor arrogance: "That's why I didn't agree to him on the spot. I always remember that Shinchosha was the first place to recognize me."

"But president, feelings are feelings, and business is business."

"The conditions offered by Kadokawa were an acknowledgment of my work and its value. But Shinchosha... if I may be frank, seems to still see me as a newcomer who needs to be ranked according to seniority."

Kitahara Iwa's words, though not harsh, were the most direct and straightforward confrontation.

As soon as Kitahara Iwa finished speaking, the atmosphere in the conference room instantly became extremely tense.

"presumptuous!"

The bald director, who had been suppressing his anger, finally snapped. He slammed his fist on the table and shouted, "Kitahara Iwao! Do you know who you're talking to?"

"This is Shincho-sha! Not a market where you can haggle over prices!"

"that is!"

Another managing director in charge of discipline also had a grim face, his tone full of warning: "Don't think that you can ignore the rules just because you've sold a million copies."

"Trying to get special treatment at Shincho-sha? You're not qualified! President, this kind of exorbitant pricing trend can't be allowed to continue..."

However, before he could finish speaking, he was interrupted by a sudden burst of laughter.

"Oh……"

The president looked at Kitahara Iwa, who was excessively young and remained calm in the face of the board's questioning, and suddenly smiled.

This wasn't an angry sneer, but rather a smile tinged with admiration.

"What a fine way to put it, 'things are things.'"

The president slowly stood up.

As soon as the president made his move, the board members who had been shouting immediately shut their mouths, and the meeting room returned to dead silence.

The president placed his hands on the table, his aura of authority finally bursting forth, making everyone present feel suffocated: "Since Kitahara-kun has put it this way, then we won't beat around the bush."

"President! Are you really going to...?"

The bald director seemed to sense something was wrong and tried to stop him in a panic.

The president merely glanced at him indifferently, causing him to swallow the rest of his words.

"That's right, Shincho-sha has rules."

The president withdrew his gaze and looked back at Kitahara Iwa, saying each word clearly, "But rules are meant to restrain mediocre people."

"We never mind making an exception for true geniuses."

Then the president held up three fingers and said, "First, we'll give you the maximum royalty of 15% for the next book. This is the treatment for a senior writer, and it's the highest level of sincerity Shincho Publishing can offer."

"Going up from there, it's only 17% of Haruki Murakami's work."

"Secondly, the company will set up a personal studio for you in Chiyoda Ward."

"Rent, secretary, driver, and even your future research expenses will all be covered by Shincho-sha."

"third……"

The president gave Kitahara Iwao a deep look and stated the final terms: "Regarding the film and television adaptation rights, we will no longer force a binding agreement. If you insist that Kadokawa Pictures is more suitable for 'Confessions,' we can acquiesce."

"But the publishing rights for the book must, and can only, be firmly locked with Shinchosha! This is our bottom line."

Even though Kitahara Iwa had already witnessed the exaggerated scale of commerce in later generations, he couldn't help but be moved after hearing these conditions.

Real money, literary status, independent creative space, and most importantly—complete creative freedom and complete deregulation of copyright.

The conditions he wanted in his heart were now clearly laid out on the table.

This former president is usually conservative, but the decisiveness he displays when making decisions is in no way inferior to that of Haruki Kadokawa.

"President, you flatter me."

Kitahara Iwao gave a signature gentle smile: "I'm a sentimental person. Since the president values ​​me so much, I have no reason to go elsewhere."

At that moment, the president suddenly raised his hand and said, "Kitahara-kun, don't relax just yet."

"You should understand that Shincho-sha is not a charity. Rights and obligations are always equal."

The president held up one finger, his tone serious: "15% royalties, a personal studio, even retention of film rights... these are all privileges reserved for literary masters. If you want to enjoy the privileges of a master, you must provide proof of being a master."

Kitahara Iwa nodded in agreement and said, "What are your conditions?"

Awards.

The president looked into Kitahara Iwao's eyes and slowly said, "For your next book, I want you to bring the Naoki Prize back."

The Naoki Prize is the highest honor in Japanese popular literature, a threshold that countless writers strive to reach but never attain.

As soon as he finished speaking, the president added, "Your current 'Confessions' is selling like hotcakes, but don't expect it to win the Naoki Prize."

Why?

Editor-in-Chief Sato couldn't help but interject, "Confessions is rich in both literary merit and social commentary!"

"Because it's so simple."

The editor shook his head and pointed out the shortcomings of "Confessions" without reservation: "It has neither the ingenious plot that a detective novel should have, nor is its core full of blatant malice, obsessive revenge, and the collapse of ethical standards."

"Young readers might be drawn to its sharp edge, but the conservative old men on the judging panel will definitely not buy it."

"In my opinion, Confessions is at most going to win the Yamamoto Shugoro Award."

"This award is good, but it's not prestigious enough to justify the 15% royalties you're asking for."

"If you can't deliver, or if your next book doesn't even get a Naoki Prize nomination... this top-tier contract is immediately void!"

"Your royalties will be reduced back to 10%, the studio will be taken back, and all benefits will return to normal."

"That's my request."

"How is it?"

After listening to the president's words, Kitahara Iwa started to think.

Sales can be boosted by marketing, but awards are earned through real, hard-fought battles.

however.

Faced with this almost harsh betting agreement, Kitahara Iwa chuckled softly and said, "The Naoki Prize, huh?"

The next moment, Kitahara Iwao extended his hand, looking intently at the old publisher: "No problem! I'll bring the Naoki Prize back with my next book!"

"It's a deal!"

Their two hands were clasped tightly together.

……

16:30 PM.

Stepping out of the Shinchosha building, the Tokyo sunset had already bathed the streets in a golden hue.

The cool evening breeze did not dispel the heat in Kitahara Iwa's mind; instead, it made him even more clear-headed.

Kitahara Iwa sat in the back seat of the car specially arranged by Editor-in-Chief Sato, closed his eyes, and kept thinking.

Now that we've made this pledge, the choice of the next book is crucial.

If it were for sales purposes, Kitahara Iwao could have simply released "Spiral".

Once this book is released, riding on the lingering popularity of "The Ring," its sales will easily surpass one million.

But this is not enough.

Kitahara Iwa shook his head slightly in his heart.

He knew the Naoki Prize judges' temperament all too well.

Those elderly people who firmly hold the power of discourse in the Japanese literary world are conservative to the point of being stubborn.

They may not like the blatant malice and revenge in "Confessions," but they despise science fiction works like "Spiral" that rely on clever settings and play with gimmicks.

According to their standards, true popular literature must have substance and substance.

It should have a thorough dissection of human nature, a cold gaze on contemporary society, and a sense of realism that leaves the reader breathless after reading it.

That's the kind of literature they consider worthy of being considered highbrow.

"To win an award, I need to choose a different book."

Kitahara Iwa opened his eyes and looked at the Tokyo Tower rushing past the car window.

As for "Spiral," which is already half-written...

Let it gather dust in the drawer for now.

This will allow readers who were so terrified by Sadako's curse after reading "The Ring" to catch their breath.

"So, what should I write about next...?"

Kitahara Iwatsu tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest of his seat, his gaze drifting aimlessly to the street scene outside the window.

Just then, the traffic light turned red, and the car stopped at an intersection.

Through the tinted glass, Kitahara Iwa inadvertently caught a glimpse of a scene by the roadside.

Downstairs in an office building, a woman dressed in an inexpensive business suit and carrying a heavy briefcase is bowing to a middle-aged man.

The man, who appeared to be a customer, was pointing at the watch and scolding something.

And that woman...

Even though he couldn't hear her through the car window, Kitahara Iwa could still see the humble smile on her face.

She kept nodding and smiling apologetically as she handed over her business card in an almost pleading manner.

At that moment, it was as if a thunderclap resounded in my mind.

The humble, bowing figure instantly overlapped with a book in Kitahara Iwa's mind.

It's a story about how an ordinary woman struggles, sinks into depravity, and resorts to any means to survive in the quagmire of the Heisei era, ultimately transforming into a demon.

"I know what to write!"