Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

Chapter 173 Growing Pains Before Prosperity

Several cups of cold black coffee sat on the long table, the ashtray was piled with half-smoked cigarette butts, and a few red pens lay across the manuscript paper, but were hardly ever used.

Kenichi Sato and Taro Murata each sat at one end of the long table, reading page by page.

Although they had already seen the outline a month ago.

I also knew that this book would be about banks, housing, and the collusion between the real estate and financial sectors during the bubble economy. I also knew that Kitahara Iwa would use an apartment murder case to pry open the rot of an entire era.

But an outline is ultimately just an outline.

The outline is like a blueprint.

It tells you where the beams are, where the columns are, where the pipes are buried, and where the cracks are hidden.

The final drafts may differ.

The final draft is a building that has actually been built.

As soon as you walk in, you'll smell the musty odor seeping from the cracks in the walls, hear the sound of steel bars breaking in the dark, and see people driven to desperation by debt sitting quietly in the darkness behind a door.

The more Kenichi Sato read, the more somber his expression became.

Especially when he saw those meetings inside the bank, the cigarette between his fingers had burned down to the end, but he never flicked the ash.

The illegal lending practices described in the book are so realistic.

It's so real it doesn't feel like a novel.

How can residential property management companies absorb risks that are inconvenient to keep directly on bank balance sheets?

How can bank branches, in order to meet performance targets, package customers who are clearly unable to repay their loans as "high-quality borrowers"?

How real estate companies use inflated valuations to repeatedly raise funds.

How financial brokers navigate between banks, real estate developers, and bureaucrats.

And then there are those meeting speeches that are written in a light touch, yet send chills down your spine.

Short-term fluctuations in land prices do not affect long-term judgments.

"High-quality land assets still have room for appreciation."

"Risks can be transferred through structural adjustments."

"As long as policies are relaxed appropriately, the market will naturally recover."

Every sentence sounds like something that would actually be said in a real conference room.

These words are not an exaggeration.

It even sounded like a speech in a regular meeting.

That's precisely why Kenichi Sato felt a chill run down his spine the more he looked.

They are neither the declarations of villains nor the arrogance of a conspiracy about to be exposed.

They're perfectly normal.

Similar sentences could appear in any bank meeting room, any internal report, or any financing review meeting in real life.

A group of people in suits sat at a conference table, using terms like "controllable risks," "structural adjustment," and "market recovery" to describe something that was clearly out of control as a normal business that could still be carried out.

This is the most unsettling part.

Disasters do not strike amidst screams.

It was calmly pushed to the market by page after page of meeting minutes, signature after signature, and seemingly reasonable judgments.

What bothered Kenichi Sato even more than the bank route was the Hayakawa Mio route.

Although she didn't have the most screen time, almost every time she appeared, it made people feel uneasy.

Kitahara Iwao did not portray her as a one-dimensional victim.

Hayakawa Mio is very hardworking and sensible.

After the recording session, she would remember to bow and thank each musician.

When the TV station backstage is bustling with activity, she will leave the lunchbox for her assistant who has to work overtime late into the night.

Her mother said on the phone that "the family is a little short of money lately," and she didn't ask any further questions. She wired the money over the next day.

It is precisely because she has always been like this that everyone has gotten used to reaching out to her.

When her father first mentioned "real estate investment," Hayakawa Mio was sitting at the dining table eating.

Upon hearing those words, she paused, her hand holding the chopsticks still.

My brother sat across from me and said this was a rare opportunity, that houses in Tokyo would only get more and more expensive, and that the Hayakawa family couldn't rely on her singing alone for the rest of their lives.

The father didn't agree, he just lowered his head and smoked, while the mother washed dishes in the kitchen, the sound of water very soft.

At this moment, Hayakawa Mio was actually starting to panic.

However, her brother pushed the bank documents in front of her, saying in a matter-of-fact tone, "Your income is so high now, the bank is willing to lend you money because your credit is valuable. The family is doing this for your own good."

Hayakawa Mio looked down at the documents.

She wanted to say, "I don't understand this."

Before she could even speak, her brother frowned and said, "Don't always ignore everything. How much effort has the family put into you all these years?"

Then she fell silent again.

When Kenichi Sato read this part, his finger stopped at the edge of the page.

Hayakawa Mio wasn't entirely without thoughts of refusing.

Late that night, she returned to her luxury apartment.

The living room lights were off, and only a small area of ​​the entryway was lit by a motion-sensor light.

When she bent down to change out of her high heels, the chafed area on her heels hurt again.

Just then, a smell of smoke drifted over from deep within the living room.

My brother was sitting on the sofa, with a new bank document on the coffee table.

Hearing that Hayakawa Mio had returned, he merely glanced up, then stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and said casually, "I'll make time to go to the bank tomorrow morning."

Then the older brother tapped the documents on the table with his finger and continued, "Sign this one too."

However, Hayakawa Mio stood in the shadows of the entryway, hesitant to change her shoes and step into the living room.

Her gaze pierced through the dim light, fixed intently on the documents on the table.

Over time, this light, flimsy paper felt like an invisible noose, tightening around her neck inch by inch.

"Do we still need to sign?"

Hayakawa Mio stood in the entrance hall and did not move forward.

Her voice was soft, but clearly tense, and her fingers, hanging at her sides, slowly tightened their grip on the handle of her handbag.

"Didn't you say last month's apartment mortgage loan was the last one?"

Her brother looked up at her.

The living room was lit only by the neon lights coming in from the window, and his face was half-hidden in the shadows, making him look somewhat gloomy.

"The bank said they need to provide another document."

He said casually, "It's not like I'm asking you to buy a new house, it's just signing a document, why are you so nervous?"

Hayakawa Mio took a deep breath and said in a lower voice, "But I've already signed it many times."

"Every time you say it's just to complete the formalities, every time you say it'll be fine once it's signed."

As soon as he finished speaking, the living room fell silent.

Her brother stared at her for a few seconds, his brows slowly furrowing.

"Mio Hayakawa."

Her brother called her by her full name.

"Now that you're a big star, do I have to beg you to do everything for me at home?"

Hearing such blunt words, Hayakawa Mio's face paled slightly.

That's not what I meant—

"So what do you mean?"

The older brother's tone suddenly became harsh.

"How much effort has your family put into you? Now you have income and credit, and the bank is willing to give you a credit line. Isn't that a good thing? We also want our family to have a more stable life in the future."

He said, his tone growing impatient, "Don't always overcomplicate things. Just sign it. If something goes wrong, do you think your family would harm you?"

Hayakawa Mio opened her mouth.

She wanted to say that she was just scared.

I mean, she really couldn't understand those terms.

She said that every time the bank called, her heart would race, and even while recording the call, she would think about whether there was anything else she needed to sign.

But her brother had already leaned back on the sofa, coldly tossing out, "Why have you become so troublesome?"

After those words were spoken, Hayakawa Mio suddenly found herself speechless.

She stood in the entryway, still clutching the handle of her handbag, her heels throbbing with pain from the chafing caused by her high heels.

After a long while, she finally responded softly.

"----I see."

The next day, she still went to the bank.

The bank lobby was brightly lit, and the floor was so clean you could see your reflection in it.

The female employee behind the counter spoke very gently and even complimented me on being prettier in person than on TV.

The bank manager personally came out to greet her, smiling politely and saying, "Ms. Hayakawa, don't be nervous, it's just a matter of completing a formality."

She sat down in the reception room, holding a pen in her hand.

The documents were laid out in front of me.

Second mortgage, additional collateral, and priority repayment of income.

The bank manager quickly turned to the last page of the document, pointed to the signature section, and said in a gentle and considerate tone, "Just sign here. It's a normal procedure."

When Hayakawa Rei heard the word "normal," he suddenly remembered his first time on stage as a child.

She was trembling with nervousness when her mother smiled at her from below the stage and said, "It's okay, Mio, you'll be fine after this song."

But she later realized that many things can't be resolved just by finishing one song.

It will become the next song.

The next event, the next contract, the next signing —

When Sato Kenichi saw this, the cigarette between his fingers had already burned to the end.

A small piece of cigarette ash was about to fall, but he forgot to flick it off.

What's truly distressing about Hayakawa Rei isn't that her fate was sealed from the moment she appeared on screen.

On the contrary, she didn't even seem like someone who would die at first.

She has a job, fame, a decent apartment, and a group of people praising her "promising future" in newspapers and on television.

People.

The calmer Kitahara Iwatsu wrote, the more uncomfortable Sato Kenichi felt.

Because Hayakawa Mio wasn't pushed into the abyss by some suddenly appearing villain.

She was pushed step by step to a place with no way out by the people she knew best, the most normal system, and the most reasonable reasons.

This fall is too slow.

So slowly that she didn't even realize at first that those so-called "just-signed" documents were gradually rewriting her life.

She wasn't tough enough, nor was she smart enough, but her weakness wasn't unpleasant.

This isn't cowardice, but rather a consequence of being taught to be "sensible" for so many years that one has finally forgotten how to refuse.

So every time she lowered her head, every time she remained silent, every time she wrote her name in the signature column, it made Kenichi Sato feel a tightness in his chest.

It wasn't until the latter half of the novel, when the detective found a stack of yellowed documents in the now-empty luxury apartment, that the reader finally understood—

Hayakawa Mio's true death was never a single moment.

She was slowly pushed to the brink by one contract after another, one "for your own good" after another, and the interest that rolled in year after year.

Four o'clock in the morning.

When Kenichi Sato finished reading the last page, the meeting room was so quiet that only the ticking of the clock could be heard.

His fingers were still resting on the edge of the manuscript, but he hesitated to close the page.

All night long, he felt like he was following a detective in a book, investigating the luxury apartment from the first floor to the top floor.

Then, following the bank staff, we entered a series of conference rooms covered with thick carpets, where we listened to respectable people using terms like "risk controllable," "structural adjustment," and "market recovery" to describe an out-of-control disaster as normal business.

Finally, he returned to Hayakawa Mio's dining table.

Watching someone being slowly pushed to a point of no return by contracts and phrases like "it's for your own good."

Kenichi Sato then realized that the back of his shirt was soaked.

At the other end of the long table, Taro Murata had already closed his manuscript.

He took off his glasses and placed them on the table, then raised his hand to press his temples, remaining silent for a long time.

The coffee in the conference room had long since gone cold.

There were a few unfinished cigarettes pressed down in the ashtray, and the air was filled with the smells of ink, paper, and the somber scent of someone who had stayed up all night.

After a long while, Murata Taro said in a low voice, "Even more ruthless than the outline."

Sato Kenichi's throat tightened, and after swallowing hard, he replied, "Yes."

Murata Taro's gaze returned to the stacks of manuscripts.

They had already seen the outline.

At that time, they already knew that Kitahara Iwa was going to write about banks, housing, real estate bubbles, and bureaucratic cover-ups, and they also knew that once the book was published, people in Kasumigaseki and Nihonbashi would definitely feel uncomfortable.

But after actually reading the complete manuscript, Murata Taro realized that Kitahara Iwao had not written about "discomfort".

He wrote about the inescapable.

This book does not simply condemn a particular bank, nor does it merely expose a few instances of illegal lending.

It strings together decision-making in bank conference rooms, the frenzy of real estate developers at dinner parties, the cover-ups in bureaucratic reports, and the signatures at ordinary family dinner tables.

It allows people to see exactly how that giant foam tower was built, layer by layer.

How did they manage to crush someone to death?

Murata Taro slowly exhaled.

"Teacher Kitahara's outline only tells us that he wants to fire a shot at Asaka Pass and Nihonbashi."

He paused for a few seconds after saying this.

"But this final draft is like putting a gun to their heads."

Kenichi Sato did not speak.

Because he knew that what the president said was not an exaggeration.

After a while, Murata Taro looked down at the original manuscript on the table and gently pressed his finger on it.

"Sato-kun."

"yes.

"There will be no shortage of trouble after this book is released."

Kenichi Sato nodded silently.

Both of them were aware of this.

The book "The Collapsed Tower" is so accurate.

Banks, housing agencies, real estate financing, Tibet, real estate developers, financial donors—the book doesn't directly name any real-world institutions, but the scenarios, rhetoric, and operational methods are enough to make many people uneasy after reading it.

They can't even simply call it "fabricated nonsense".

Because so many things in it are so real.

The meeting room fell silent.

Outside the window, the sky was gradually brightening.

Outside the Shincho-sha building, the sound of the first vehicles passing by in the early morning echoed through the streets of Tokyo.

Kenichi Sato said in a low voice, "President—someone might put in a good word with you regarding bookstore displays, newspaper reviews, media reports, and even the printing plant."

There are too many obstacles a book can face before it's actually published.

GG can be temporarily withdrawn, bookstores can change their display space, the media can choose to remain silent, and critics can suddenly change their tune.

Taro Murata picked up his glasses and put them back on.

"Therefore, we can't follow the usual new book release process from here on out."

Murata Taro opened the catalog, took a deep breath, and said, "Starting this morning, the editorial department, legal department, distribution department, and publicity department will all be involved."

Upon hearing this, Kenichi Sato sat up abruptly.

Murata Taro continued, "The editorial department will first do a full read-through of the manuscript, and the proofreading team will come in simultaneously. All content involving banks, housing, and..."

The sections concerning real estate financing and the relevant wording from the Ministry of Finance are listed separately.

At this point, Murata Taro looked up at Sato Kenichi and said, "All the reviews are based on one standard."

"Preserve the sharpness where it's needed, and verify the details where verification is required."

"The wording involving banks, housing, real estate financing, and the Tibet Ministry must withstand scrutiny."

Sato Kenichi nodded.

He understood what the president meant.

"The Collapsed Tower" can be written in a sharp and incisive way, making people restless, but it cannot leave any loopholes for the other party to easily retaliate.

Taro Murata added, "The Ministry of Justice is making risk assessments. For any passages that might be interpreted by outsiders as alluding to real people or organizations, we prepare explanations in advance."

"The distribution department will first assess the availability of the product in major bookstores. It must be released before the end of the year, and around the Christmas season, it must be available in all major bookstores across Japan."

Kenichi Sato asked, "What about the initial print run?"

Murata Taro looked at the manuscript on the table, and after a moment said, "Let's go with Kitahara-sensei's highest estimate for his previous work."

Sato Ken's eyes flickered slightly.

If we go by the highest estimate for the previous work, that would be three million!

This is no small amount.

Murata Taro took a deep breath and continued, "This book cannot be printed in small quantities as a trial."

"Since we're going to put it on the market, we have to let readers know that Kitahara-sensei has written such a great book."

Kenichi Sato nodded emphatically and said, "Understood."

Murata Taro closed the catalog and added, "At the same time, the publicity message also needs to be changed."

"Don't just sell it as a social realism novel."

His finger lightly tapped the original manuscript.

"This is a warning letter that Kitahara Iwa wrote in 1990."

Kenichi Sato paused slightly in his breathing.

Taro Murata looked out the window.

It was already daylight.

Tokyo is waking up.

Bank buildings, securities firms, real estate agencies, and department store windows will, as always, appear respectable and prosperous in the morning light.

But once this book on the table is printed, there will always be someone who looks down for the first time and sees the cracks beneath that facade of respectability.

Murata Taro withdrew his gaze.

"Notify the editorial department."

"The Collapsed Tower" has been moved to the highest priority.

Kenichi Sato stood up and said, "Yes."

The lights in the hallway were still on when the meeting room door was pushed open.

Shincho-sha stayed up all night.

But the storm that belongs to "The Collapsed Tower" has only just begun.

December 1990.

Tokyo has entered the Christmas season.

The streets of Ginza are adorned with colorful lights, and a giant Christmas tree stands in front of the department store.

The shop windows displayed imported perfumes, handbags, jewelry, and expensive liquors, with bright yet gentle lighting, as if the city would never decline.

Roppongi remains lively even at night.

Taxis lined up in long queues as men in suits emerged from upscale restaurants, members-only clubs, and bars, accompanied by impeccably made-up women.

Slightly tipsy, the bank employee put his arm around his colleague's shoulder and loudly discussed next year's bonus.

At a dinner table, a securities broker patted his chest and assured his clients that now was a "rare buying opportunity."

The real estate developers handed out their business cards one by one, smiling and saying that land prices in Tokyo could not possibly fall.

Although the Nikkei index has fallen from its historical high of 38915 points at the beginning of the year to around 23000 points, the overall decline is close to 40%.

But the city has not truly woken up yet.

Or rather, many people simply don't want to wake up.

They called the stock market downturn a "healthy correction".

The slowdown in transactions is called "buyer hesitancy".

The Ministry of Finance's tightening policies are referred to as a "short-term cooling down."

The stricter loan approval process is being interpreted as "financial institutions adjusting themselves."

Even the slowdown in real estate transactions is described by them as "good locations are re-selecting buyers with real financial strength".

At the year-end party, the banker still held up champagne and said with a smile that the fundamentals of the Japanese economy had not changed.

"The market will recover as soon as policies are relaxed slightly next year."

"Tokyo is not a regional city; land will always have value."

"If you don't buy now, it will be too late when the market rebounds in the spring."

These words were repeated over and over again at the dinner table.

The more he talked about it, the more it sounded true.

The more realistic it looks, the more reassuring it is.

Middle-class families are still browsing real estate websites.

Some people are holding calculators, carefully calculating the down payment, loan, monthly payments, and resale value three years later.

His wife, sitting beside him, asked softly, "Isn't this too risky?"

The husband frowned and said that this was a rare low point, and if we didn't enter the market now, would we have to rent a house for the rest of our lives?

Some people took out their parents' retirement savings and borrowed from relatives and friends to scrape together a barely acceptable down payment.

Even though his cash flow was so tight that he was practically on a tin roof, he still tried to stand up straight in front of the bank manager and pretend to be a successful person who had seized the opportunities of the times.

"Just buy it first."

They comforted themselves with this thought.

"House prices in Tokyo won't fall. Even if they do, it'll only be temporary. Hold on for six months, sell it, pay off the loan, and you'll make a profit."

Some company employees spend their days in the office listening to their bosses complain about shrinking bonuses, but then spend their evenings excitedly discussing which areas still have room for appreciation in value at izakayas (Japanese pubs).

Some people are already burdened with mortgages on their first home, yet they still want to use their existing properties as collateral to snatch up an even more expensive apartment.

In their eyes, this is not gambling.

This is the only chance for ordinary people to keep up with the times.

Property speculators were even more excited.

They were discussing in a bar in Ginza where they could get additional collateral, which banks were still willing to lend money, and which branch manager had connections.

Some people are already trapped, but they still grit their teeth and say that they can turn things around in a few more months.

Some people know perfectly well that they can't sell their houses, yet they still encourage others to enter the market, as if as long as everyone believes it, the bubble won't burst.

Tokyo continues to burn amidst this contradiction.

Stock prices are falling, trading is slow, and lending is tightening.

But the neon lights were still on, the champagne was still being poured, and the department store windows were still displaying Christmas gifts for "successful people."

The city is like a person with a fever, forehead burning, face flushed, yet still insisting on wearing their best suit, walking into the most expensive restaurant, and telling everyone, "I'm fine."

They weren't completely oblivious to the change in wind direction.

No one wants to admit that they are already standing on the edge of a cliff.

The closer we get to collapse, the more people need louder voices, brighter lights, and more expensive wine to prove they are not wrong.

They need someone to tell them that the Japanese economy remains unbreakable.

Someone needs to tell me that land in Tokyo will always be scarce.

Someone needs to tell you that the current downturn is only temporary, and that all loans, mortgages, and leverage are just growing pains that must be endured before the next boom.

The marketing campaign for "The Collapsed Tower" has begun.