Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

Chapter 172 Final Draft

Time marched on, little by little, amidst the turning of pages and the scratching of pens.

Over the next two months, Kitahara Iwa completely disappeared from Tokyo's social scene.

Shincho-sha rejected all invitations to cocktail parties, interviews, seminars, movie celebrations, and from the business and literary circles.

It is clear that Taro Murata and Kenichi Sato have reached a consensus.

Before "The Collapsing Tower" is completely finished, Kitahara Iwao should not waste any more energy on unnecessary social engagements.

Occasionally, a few highly influential literary figures would bypass the publishing house and directly extend invitations to him.

Kitahara Iwao did not delay; he personally replied, humbly explaining that the new book was at a crucial stage and that he would definitely visit me after the manuscript was completed.

This has sparked much discussion.

Some say that Kitahara Iwa's return from England and subsequent major awards are a deliberate attempt to maintain an air of mystery.

Some people say that Kitahara Iwa is too young and has suddenly reached such a high position, so he needs to temporarily avoid the media spotlight.

In reality, Kitahara Iwa didn't think that much. He simply shut out all the superficial noise, sat down at his desk, and immersed himself in the massive textual structure.

Autumn is deepening little by little.

The wind along Tokyo Bay began to turn cold, and the once damp night outside the apartment window gradually took on the chill of early winter.

The light in the study often stayed on until late at night.

Sometimes when Izumi Sakai wakes up in the middle of the night, she can still see a sliver of light leaking from under the door as she walks down the corridor.

There was no music or phone ringing inside, only the scratching sound of a pen hitting the paper, which would pause for a moment and then continue.

Izumi Sakai did not go in to disturb them.

They simply placed the freshly warmed tea on a small tray outside the door.

Before long, the study door will be gently opened and the teacup will be taken away.

After that, the sound of pens would once again fill the quiet night.

Kitahara Iwao writes very slowly; sometimes he spends an entire night just revising a single scene.

"The Collapsed Tower" is not a novel that can be written in one go based on inspiration.

To connect the policy operations of Xiaguan, the credit network of the financial sector, and the debt tragedy in the ground-floor apartment, solid logical reasoning is required.

The clues span a vast range, leaving no room for any superficial assumptions.

Kitahara Iwa must construct a self-consistent causal chain on paper.

If even one detail falls short, the profound sense of gravitas unique to social realism will lose its foundation and degenerate into empty fiction.

Therefore, what Kitahara Iwao wanted to write about was not the greed of a particular bad person.

Rather, it's a seemingly normal mechanism that gradually swallows people up.

The "risk is controllable" statement written by a bank clerk in a meeting room will, dozens of pages later, become a loan contract on a family's dining table.

The financing proposals submitted by real estate companies at parties will ultimately end up on the seal of an ordinary person.

The risk of being "transferred" out of the private sector account will not disappear out of thin air; it will simply go around in circles and fall on another, even more powerless person.

Bubbles don't collapse suddenly.

It first appeared in performance appraisals, in the sake glasses of upscale restaurants, and in the elegant phrases in bureaucratic reports.

Then, it flowed little by little into the living rooms of ordinary people, into family dining tables, and into the hands of those who originally thought they were just "catching up with a good era," following the contracts, mortgage documents, and joint guarantees.

Finally, it turned into a corpse, an empty apartment, a yellowed contract, and a detective's belated questioning.

Tokyo remains brightly lit.

The reception continued, television news still explained the stock market decline as a "short-term adjustment," and securities firms and banks continued to tell their clients that the fundamentals of the Japanese economy were sound.

In his study, Kitahara Iwao had already written down the most respectable smiles, the most beautiful terms, and the most heartwarming excuses of this era, layer by layer, on paper.

Those at the top create risks.

People at the bottom bear the risks.

Those above them chatted and laughed at the banquet, while those below were forced to sign documents at the table.

Banks transferred bad debts to housing special funds, real estate developers continued to raise funds with inflated land prices, bureaucrats wrote "market self-regulation" in their reports, and ordinary people were crushed into silent fragments little by little in the gap between family ties, responsibilities and debts.

In this novel, Kitahara Iwao depicts the collapse of a colossal entity from the inside out.

In this era where the whole society is fanatically convinced of the "land price myth," those who ultimately pay the price for the collapse are often ordinary people who have no concept of capital operation but are swept up by the tide and mortgage their entire fortune.

As for those vested interests who manipulate the situation at the top, they always find a way to escape unscathed before the ruins are fully formed.

It was late at night in early December.

The first cold rain of winter began to fall outside the window.

Raindrops pattered on the French windows, leaving fine watermarks.

Kitahara Iwa sat at his desk and wrote the last line.

On the day the tower collapsed, people finally began to ask who killed her.

But what they didn't know was that when the first contract was presented to her, the murderer was already seated at the entire table.

The pen stopped.

The study fell silent.

Kitahara Iwa looked down at the last line of text, and after a moment, he closed the pen and put it back on the pen holder.

I've finally finished writing.

When the thought surfaced in his mind, Kitahara Iwa didn't feel particularly excited.

In the past three months, "The Collapsed Tower" has been repeatedly disassembled, reassembled, and re-explored in Kitahara Iwa's mind.

When I finally wrote the last line, it felt like a stone that had been hanging for a long time had finally fallen back into place.

Then, Kitahara Iwao picked up the phone and dialed Sato Kenichi's number.

The phone rang once and was answered.

"Teacher Kitahara?"

Kenichi Sato's voice was a little cautious.

During those three months, he never took the initiative to inquire about the manuscript.

It's not that we're not in a hurry.

On the contrary, the entire Shincho Society was more anxious than anyone else.

However, Murata Taro had already made it clear that no one should disturb Kitahara Iwao with the editorial department's anxieties before "The Collapsing Tower" was completed.

So Kenichi Sato could only wait.

Waiting every day.

Waiting for a phone call, waiting for a fax, waiting for some news from the other side.

And now, the phone has finally come ringing.

Kitahara Iwa glanced at the manuscript on the desk and said calmly, "Mr. Sato."

"The Collapsed Tower is finished."

There was a long, dead silence on the other end of the phone.

Immediately afterwards, a muffled "bang" came from the receiver.

The sound of Sato Kenichi's knee slamming heavily against the desk echoed as he suddenly stood up.

But he didn't care about the pain at all, gripping the microphone tightly, his knuckles turning pale from the excessive force.

"Teacher Kitahara—you mean, 'The Collapsing Tower'—is finished?"

Overwhelmed with emotion, this seasoned editor-in-chief, who had seen it all before in the publishing industry, was trembling uncontrollably even at the end of his sentence.

"Um."

Kitahara Iwa's voice remained calm as he said, "The manuscript is finished. You can come and pick it up now."

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"I'm coming right away!"

Kenichi Sato took a quick, deep breath and added rapidly, "Please wait a moment, I'll take the head proofreader and two senior editors over right away."

"There must be quite a lot of original manuscripts. We'll check the page numbers and chapter order on-site first."

"Okay. I'll wait for you at home."

Even after hanging up the phone, Kenichi Sato's chest was still heaving violently.

He then grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the chair, turned and rushed towards the office area outside, shouting in an almost raspy voice, "Teacher Kitahara has finished the manuscript!"

The editorial office fell silent for a moment.

Several editors who were proofreading stopped writing, some looked up from behind the pile of documents, and others froze in mid-air after picking up their coffee.

The next second, everyone realized what was happening.

There was no further discussion, and no one asked "which one" anymore.

Over the past two months, the entire Shincho Society has known what they are waiting for.

Kitahara Iwa submitted the final manuscript after several months of seclusion.

This is a tough battle that Shinchosha, from its president to its editorial department, has been preparing for for a long time.

Kenichi Sato wasted no time. He immediately called two senior editors and personally went to the proofreading department to invite the head proofreader in charge of the key manuscripts.

The group quickly prepared moisture-proof briefcases and manuscript registration bags, and hurried towards the elevator.

Just as I reached the edge of the office area, I ran into Taro Murata coming out of the president's office.

Murata Taro glanced at Sato Kenichi, then at the empty briefcases in their hands, and immediately understood the situation. He nodded and said, "Go ahead."

Kenjiro Sato nodded.

At this point, Murata Taro added in a deep voice, "Once the original manuscript is brought back, send it to my office immediately."

"Yes."

Kenichi Sato responded and then led the group quickly into the elevator.

The moment the elevator doors closed, the group seemed to finally relax a little from the sudden tension in the editorial department.

At this moment, one of the senior editors looked at Kenichi Sato and finally couldn't help but ask in a low voice, "Editor-in-Chief Sato, what exactly is Kitahara-sensei's book, 'The Collapsing Tower,' about?"

For the past three months, Shinchosha has been working on various contingency plans related to this book.

The legal department was brought in ahead of time, the GG department held several meetings, and the distribution department even began to secretly gauge the attitudes of major bookstores.

Everyone in the editorial department knew that Kitahara Iwao's new book was both important and dangerous.

However, only a handful of people, including Taro Murata and Kenichi Sato, had actually seen the outline.

The ordinary editors only knew that the book was called "The Collapsed Tower," a novel written by Kitahara Iwa in seclusion for several months. The president of the publishing house had personally given the order: this book must be prepared according to the highest level.

As for exactly where the danger lies, most people are unaware.

Sato Kenichi glanced at him and said, "It's more dangerous than you think."

The elevator descended, with numbers changing from floor to floor.

Kenichi Sato said in a deep voice, "This is not an ordinary social novel, nor is it simply a novel that exposes the dark side of the banking industry."

It begins with a murder case in a luxury apartment building, then delves into family debt, joint guarantees, housing disputes, and illegal bank lending, ultimately tracing the case back to Nihonbashi and Kasumigaseki.

The editor's expression changed upon hearing this.

Another editor whispered, "In other words, once it's published, the banks will be uneasy."

"The bank is only one side of the story."

Kenichi Sato shook his head and said, "The Ministry of Finance, the real estate companies, the business world, and even some media outlets that are praising the bubble economy will all be uncomfortable."

The head proofreader adjusted his glasses and said cautiously, "We need to be very careful with the publicity. We can't let outsiders think that Shincho-sha is using Kitahara-sensei's name to deliberately provoke an attack on the financial system."

Kenjiro Sato nodded.

"Therefore, this book cannot be treated as a typical bestseller."

He lowered his voice even further as he said this.

"It will sell very well, there's no doubt about that. But the real problem isn't the sales volume, it's that the better it sells, the bigger the troubles will become."

The elevator arrived at the first floor.

The group quickly walked through the hall and got into the car.

No one chatted along the way.

Tokyo outside the car window remained bustling, with signs for bank buildings, real estate developments, and securities firms flashing by.

The more the editors looked at these things, the clearer they became that Kitahara Iwa's book would not only generate discussion within the literary world once it was published.

It will directly present to the reader what many people are desperately trying to cover up.

There was a moment of silence in the carriage.

The younger, more experienced editor suddenly said, "What if the pressure really comes? What if the bookstores get in touch, GG gets pulled, and the media doesn't dare to report it? What will Shincho Publishing do then?"

Sato Kenichi looked out the window and after a few seconds said, "That's why we have to go and pick up the manuscript ourselves."

He turned around and looked at the people in the car.

"From today onwards, 'The Collapsing Tower' is not just Kitahara-sensei's book. It is Shinchosha's focus going forward."

Hearing this, the head proofreader took a deep breath, understanding Shinchosha's attitude towards the new book, and said, "Understood."

An hour later, they arrived at Kitahara Iwa's apartment building.

The elevator went all the way up to the thirty-second floor.

When the group of people stood outside the door, even the editor who was usually the most talkative did not say a word.

Kenichi Sato straightened his tie before raising his hand to ring the doorbell.

A moment later, the door opened.

Kitahara Iwa stood inside the door, wearing only a dark knitted sweater, his expression much calmer than they had imagined.

"Mr. Sato, and the editors, thank you for your hard work."

"Teacher Kitahara."

Kenichi Sato quickly bowed, and the editors behind him responded in kind.

Kitahara Iwa stepped aside to let them in.

After changing their shoes, the group was led into the study.

The desk lamp in the study was still on, and several stacks of manuscripts were neatly arranged on the table.

Each stack was neatly organized by chapter, with character lists, timelines, bank clue lists, and apartment resident relationship diagrams pressed down beside them.

Kenichi Sato's gaze fell on the stacks of manuscripts, and his breathing unconsciously quickened.

This is what they've been waiting for for three months.

It's just paper, but when placed on a desk, it inexplicably feels heavy.

Kitahara Iwao picked up the top table of contents and handed it to Sato Kenichi: "The complete manuscript."

"The main text consists of twenty-seven chapters, plus an epilogue. Character relationships and a timeline are appended at the end for your convenience."

Kenichi Sato took the catalog with both hands, his fingertips tightening slightly, and quickly said, "Thank you for your hard work, Kitahara-sensei."

Kitahara Iwa smiled.

"Next, it's your turn to work hard."

Kenichi Sato nodded solemnly.

The head proofreader had already put on his glasses, walked to the desk, and began checking the page numbers of each stack of original manuscripts.

Two senior editors also opened the manuscript registration bag and recorded the chapters, appendices, and supplementary materials in the order of the table of contents.

All the materials were organized by Kitahara Iwa so clearly that they looked less like a manuscript that a writer had just finished and more like a case file that was ready to be submitted for trial.

Izumi Sakai brought over a few cups of hot tea, gently placed them on the small table next to them, and then left them undisturbed.

The only sound in the study was the soft rustling of pages turning.

Kenichi Sato looked down and turned to the first page of the table of contents.

When the titles of several chapters came into view, the emotions he had been suppressing finally began to subside.

Volume 1: The Dead in the Apartment.

Volume Two: The Smile-Inducing Debt.

Volume Three: The Cave of Concentration.

Volume 4: Beneath the Tower.

Final Chapter: Who Killed Hayakawa Mio?

Just by glancing at the first few titles in the table of contents, Kenichi Sato's fingers, which were moving through the papers, involuntarily paused.

These words and phrases contain no fancy embellishments to cater to the commercial market; they exude only a cold, hard, documentary-like quality.

They are like objective and calm pathology reports, bluntly foreshadowing the hidden ills of our time that will be ruthlessly dissected layer by layer in the main text.

Kenichi Sato looked up from the paper, his expression complex, and looked at Iwata Kitahara sitting opposite him.

"Teacher Kitahara, let's take the manuscript back to the club first. President Murata and I will read it through tonight."

Kitahara Iwa nodded and said, "We'll discuss the subsequent publishing arrangements after President Murata has finished reading it."

After saying that, Kitahara Iwa gently closed the top catalog and pushed it in front of Sato Kenichi.

"However, Mr. Sato, there is one thing."

Kenichi Sato immediately replied, "Please speak."

Kitahara Iwao instructed, "In the subsequent review process, do not make any compromises or revisions in order to avoid risks."

Kenichi Sato instantly understood the weight of those words.

The power of this work lies entirely in its ruthless analysis of financial institutions and social ills.

If, on the eve of publication, the sharp edges of the text are smoothed out in order to avoid pressure from the financial world or the outside world, this scalpel that pierces the lesions of the times will degenerate into a piece of literature that scratches the surface of the wounds.

Meeting Kitahara Iwa's gaze, Sato Kenichi straightened his back abruptly and quickly replied, "Don't worry, Shincho Society retains all its sharpness."

Kitahara Iwa nodded slightly.

"Then it's up to you."

After the original manuscripts were checked, the proofreading director re-tied each stack of manuscripts and put them into a moisture-proof briefcase.

Two senior editors, one responsible for the main text and the other for the appendices, each confirmed the sealing of the document.

Kenichi Sato personally checked it one last time.

After confirming that everything was correct, he fastened the briefcase lock with both hands.

Then Kenichi Sato stood up, bowed deeply to Iwao Kitahara, and said, "Teacher Kitahara, we'll take our leave now."

Kitahara Iwa saw them to the door and said, "Thank you for your hard work."

Sato Ken nodded, said no more pleasantries, hugged his briefcase tightly, and led the group out of the apartment.

After the elevator doors closed, the group descended to the first floor in silence.

After getting into the car, the senior editor let out a long sigh and said in a low voice, "Editor-in-chief, just by glancing at those few pages of layout, you can tell how massive this manuscript is."

Sato Kenji placed his briefcase steadily on his lap and said, "So tonight at the office, the entire core proofreading team will work overtime to thoroughly review [the document]."

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Outside the car window, dusk was quietly descending on Tokyo.

The lights of the roadside bank buildings and the huge "GG" signs of real estate companies complement each other, maintaining the illusion of the city's prosperity.

And in the briefcase on Kenichi Sato's lap lay a heavy manuscript documenting how this towering tower of the times crumbled.

As evening fell, the group hurriedly entered the editorial department of Shinchosha.

Even though Kenichi Sato tried to keep a low profile, the tense shoulders of the accompanying editors and their cautious posture as they tightly guarded their moisture-proof briefcases still alerted several perceptive senior editors in the open-plan room to something amiss.

A publisher's unique intuition when faced with a top-tier manuscript subtly tightened the atmosphere along the way.

Ignoring the probing gazes around him, Kenichi Sato efficiently and quietly instructed his entourage to proceed to the conference room to begin the highest-level registration and backup process.

He carried the heavy briefcase steadily and walked straight to the president's office at the end of the corridor.

Inside the office, Taro Murata was flipping through the documents in his hand.

Hearing unusually hurried footsteps outside the door, he subconsciously stopped writing and said, "Come in."

Sato Kenichi strode into the room and walked to the large solid wood desk, placing his briefcase steadily on it.

With a dull, heavy thud as the leather bag struck the tabletop, Kenichi Sato let out a long breath.

His voice, which had been tense the whole way, finally revealed a sense of relief as he said, "President, I've brought back Kitahara-sensei's complete manuscript."

Taro Murata personally carried out the stack of original manuscripts.

More than 500 pages of grid paper, along with meticulous character designs and complex clue diagrams, weighed heavily on the large desk.

Murata examined the opening text at the top of the page.

For a veteran like him who has been in the publishing industry for many years, the quality of a manuscript can often be roughly judged by just glancing at the first few pages.

However, when his gaze fell on the first paragraph, his habitually rapid review involuntarily slowed down.

The office fell into complete silence.

Murata Taro's gaze was completely fixed on the paper.

Kitahara Iwao's merciless writing seamlessly stitches together macro-level policy maneuvering with micro-level family tragedies.

There are no fancy rhetoric, only the most authentic dullness and sharpness of this era.

It took more than ten minutes before Murata Taro carefully placed the manuscript pages back on the table.

He looked up, his face showing little emotional fluctuation.

"Let's go to the conference room."

After saying that, he stood up and picked up his glasses and red pen from the table.

"Let's read through the entire manuscript tonight. The core proofreading team, please stay behind and don't disturb us."

As he reached the door, Murata Taro paused, turned back to Sato Kenichi, and said, "Have the general affairs department block the outside calls for now. Don't receive any visitors either."

"The entire editorial department is only working on this one book tonight."

Kenichi Sato looked at Taro Murata's retreating figure and nodded sharply.

Based on his understanding of Taro Murata, the calmer Taro Murata appeared, the more cautious Shinchosha would be in dealing with the situation.

Sato Kenji then nodded and quickly replied, "Understood!"

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