Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

Chapter 83 The Magical Team Composition

Thinking of the consequences, Nijo Tadashi felt a metallic taste rise in his throat.

The dignity he had painstakingly cultivated in the literary world for thousands of years has collapsed into nothingness today.

Then, Nijo Tadakatsu, suppressing his dizziness, looked at the article "On the Collapse of Showa Families" which was right next to the end of "Love Letter".

Prior to this, Tadakatsu Nijo regarded this article as the pinnacle of his literary achievements.

But at this moment, with Bai Lan's words "I am very happy" still lingering in his mind, looking back at the profound arguments and ornate language in his own writing—

Too pale, too artificial.

Even he himself felt nauseous.

Compared to Kitahara Iwa's raw vitality that could burn through the soul, his own supposedly profound literary knowledge seemed to reek of nauseating decay.

"Idiot—I'm a complete clown—"

Nijo Tadashi seemed to have all his strength drained away in an instant, and slumped down on the tatami mat.

Then he painfully closed his eyes, covered his old face with both hands, and let out a miserable laugh that sounded like a sob.

The next second, an unprecedented sense of regret surged into my heart.

He regretted it.

He regretted why he had teamed up with Yoichi Katsuragi, Soichiro Dojima, and Kimiaki Saionji to provoke Iwata Kitahara.

At the same time, he regretted his arrogance in publishing a statement in the newspaper and using public opinion to blackmail the former editor-in-chief of "Literature and Art".

If I had just kept quiet, even if I was relegated to the back of the list, it would have been better than this public execution.

"I lost—"

For Nijo Tadashi, this day in the Kyoto teahouse was a day when his resolve was shattered.

But hundreds of kilometers away in Tokyo, and in the streets and alleys of Japan.

The era of revelry belonging to Kitahara Iwa has only just begun.

The hands of time turned, and soon it was the third day since the special issue of "Literature and Art" was released.

If the mass tearful incident on the morning rush hour tram on the first day of publication was merely a small-scale emotional tsunami confined to a fixed readership, then this was a different story.

-

After two days of word-of-mouth spread and fermentation, the words "Love Letter" transformed into a heavy bombshell in the literary world, sweeping across Japan at an extremely terrifying speed.

At eight o'clock in the morning, as the roller shutter of the Kinokuniya Bookstore in Shinjuku slowly rose with the sound of an electric motor, the store manager was completely stunned by the scene before him.

A long line had already formed on the street outside the door.

What's even more surreal is the composition of this team.

Among the group were university professors wearing gold-rimmed glasses and carrying briefcases.

There were hostesses wearing high heels, just off work in Kabukicho.

Even at the very end of the line stood several yakuza members with grim expressions and reeking of cheap tobacco.

These people would never cross paths on a normal street, but at this moment, they have all gathered here for an article.

The moment the bookstore's roller shutter door opened completely, the crowd surged in like a flood bursting its banks.

What happened next was absolutely the most absurd scene in the history of Kinokuniya Bookstore.

Nobody cares about those bestselling light novels, comics, or gossip magazines that are prominently displayed.

As if by some terrifying unspoken agreement, everyone headed straight for the section of pure literature journals, their eyes red, to which few people usually went.

Standing in front of the bookshelf of literary journals, the university professor, who usually prided himself on his status, disregarded his dignity and reached out in the chaos, just as he and a member of the Yakuza in a black suit grabbed the edge of a special issue of "Literature and Art".

"Excuse me, sir, I was first—"

Seeing this, the university professor pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, instinctively wanting to adopt the airs of a cultured person and try to use a few polite words to get the other party to let go.

But the cult member merely tilted his head slightly, revealing a faint tattoo beneath his collar, while a cold, emotionless gaze swept over the professor.

Stared at by that gaze, the professor recoiled as if electrocuted, swallowed hard, and slunk away to the side, not daring to say another word.

Seeing that the professor had left, the yakuza member stopped pursuing the matter and walked towards the front desk with Wenyi.

Watching the yakuza leave, the professor finally breathed a sigh of relief. Then, while anxiously rummaging through the nearly empty pile of books for a new sample copy, he muttered in a low voice, with an incredulous and slightly sour tone, "Society these days is truly insane—what are these gangsters doing buying 'Literature' magazine?"

"How could these uncouth people, who can't even speak Mandarin properly, possibly understand classical literature?"

The yakuza member who had scared off the professor completely ignored the criticism behind him, strode to the cashier, slammed a Fang Yuantian banknote on the table, didn't even ask for change, grabbed a magazine, roughly tore open the plastic wrap, and walked out of the bookstore.

As the cash register frantically spit out receipts, stacks of "Literature and Art" special issues, which were originally piled up like small mountains, are shrinking at a terrifying speed visible to the naked eye.

Many people who managed to snag a copy of the magazine couldn't even wait to step out of the store.

Some leaned against the crowded bookshelves, some sat on the floor in the narrow aisle without a care, and others simply leaned against the streetlights outside the store, impatiently turning the pages straight to the book titled "Love Letters".

Gradually, the bookstore, which had been bustling with activity due to the frenzied buying spree, fell into an extremely eerie and suffocating silence.

In the vast lobby on the first floor, conversations were almost nonexistent, with only the rapid rustling of pages turning and intermittent low sobs coming from various hidden corners.

In less than two hours, the special edition of "Literature" magazine, which originally had a fixed audience and extremely stable sales, was sold out in major physical bookstores throughout Tokyo!

In the office on the second floor of the bookstore, the store manager looked through the gaps in the blinds at the completely empty pure literature exhibition stand downstairs, and at the crowd outside the door that was not shortening but getting longer and longer. Frustrated, he grabbed the phone and dialed the dedicated line for the distribution department of He Chu Bookstore.

This store manager, who usually treated suppliers with utmost respect and was extremely particular about business image, was now wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, pleading, "Get me the special edition of 'Literature and Art' immediately!"

"Don't even mention the usual distribution ratio for pure literature. Immediately stuff all the movable stock from your nearest warehouse into the truck!"

"My downstairs store's 1,000 copies sold out ten minutes ago!"

"And the line of customers outside has already stretched all the way to the intersection of Shinjuku Avenue. If they knew they couldn't buy books today, the customer complaints alone would flood the Kinokuniya signboard!"

"Get me at least five thousand copies today—no, ten thousand copies, bring them over immediately!"

In a secluded corner on the first floor of the bookstore, a weary-looking female illegal immigrant was looking at a book in her hands with her back to the crowd.