Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

Chapter 215 The writer's medals exist only in the hearts of the readers.

Kenichi Sato rang the apartment doorbell.

Soon, the door was opened, and Izumi Sakai appeared behind it.

Seeing Sato, who was covered in sweat outside the door, she was slightly surprised and said, "Editor-in-Chief Sato? What brings you here so late at night?"

Where is Kitahara-sensei?

Kenichi Sato asked urgently, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead.

"In the study."

Izumi Sakai answered softly, pointing to the room at the end of the corridor.

Kenichi Sato walked quickly to the study door, stopped, and looked inside.

The study door was half-open, and the scene inside made Kenichi Sato pause for a moment.

Kitahara Iwa was sitting at his desk. There was no incessantly ringing phone, nor the expected scene of excited celebration.

He simply lowered his head slightly, the pen in his hand gliding smoothly across the manuscript paper, making a soft scratching sound, as if tonight was just an ordinary night of writing.

Looking at this calm figure, Kenichi Sato's rapid breathing unconsciously calmed down. He walked forward quietly and placed the documents in his hand on the table.

"Teacher Kitahara, this is a letter of intent from the Imperial Household Department."

Kenichi Sato's voice was slightly hoarse. "The government is preparing to expedite the awarding process for the Order of Culture overnight, and the Prime Minister hopes to meet with you personally as soon as possible. Furthermore, the Ministry of Finance and the Ministry of Education have also conveyed their highest level of congratulations."

Upon hearing this, Kitahara Iwa put down his pen, his gaze falling on the document bearing the badge. Without even opening it, he pushed the document aside and said, "It's kind of you to make this trip so late at night, Editor-in-Chief Sato."

After a pause, Kitahara Iwa continued, "I will personally call the Imperial Household Department and refuse this medal."

Upon hearing this, Kenichi Sato paused for a moment, instinctively sensing something was amiss, and quickly advised, "Teacher Kitahara, this is the highest national honor bestowed upon you by the Prime Minister himself. Would it be inappropriate to refuse so directly?"

"There's nothing wrong with it. I refuse."

Kitahara Iwa's voice remained calm, yet carried an undeniable decisiveness.

Looking at Kitahara Iwa's unwavering gaze, Sato Kenichi, who had originally intended to continue Chen Mingli's words, suddenly found himself choked up.

A thought suddenly flashed through his mind, and then everything became clear.

Yes, I was actually using outdated thinking to judge this matter.

Today, Kitahara Rock no longer needs any "national honor" to prove itself.

His status as a Nobel laureate in literature allowed Kitahara Iwao to break free from the control of the Japanese bureaucratic system.

At this point, Kitahara Iwa was no longer a domestic writer who had to be mindful of Xia Guan's mood and could easily have his loans cut off or be blacklisted, but a cultural giant who had ascended to the world's altar.

This so-called cultural medal is not a gift from the government at all, but rather a shameless attempt by politicians to ride on his coattails.

Given Kitahara Iwao's current status and international influence, let alone refusing a meeting with the Prime Minister and a medal, even if he were to hold a press conference tomorrow and verbally abuse high-ranking officials in the Ministry of Finance, the Ministry of Finance would not only dare not retaliate, but would also have to bow deeply in front of the world's media and respectfully echo, "Professor Kitahara's criticism is correct, and we will definitely reflect deeply on it."

This is the absolute confidence that allows Kitahara Iwa to flip the table.

Having figured this out, Kenichi Sato felt an indescribable surge of pleasure in his chest. He then put away the letter of intent, even straightening his back unconsciously.

"I understand, Kitahara-sensei."

At this moment, Kenichi Sato's voice became incredibly light and cheerful as he said, "Then let them hear your answer on the phone themselves."

Upon hearing this, Kenichi Sato pulled out his bulky cell phone from his pocket and dialed the number left by the two officials.

As soon as the call connected, Kitahara Iwa extended his hand to him and said calmly, "Give me the phone, I'll talk to them myself."

Seeing Kitahara Iwa's unyielding gaze, Sato Kenichi had no choice but to nod and hand over the cell phone.

At that moment, an official's anxious and expectant voice came from the other end of the phone: "Editor-in-Chief Sato? How did it go? What was Professor Kitahara's response? Is he ready to accept this highest honor?"

Upon hearing the voice on the other end of the phone, Kitahara Iwao said, "This is Kitahara Iwao."

Upon hearing this, there was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, followed by an burst of excited voices, who quickly said, "Teacher Kitahara! Hello! It's such an honor! His Excellency the Prime Minister is waiting for you—"

Kitahara Iwa interrupted him directly, saying, "I refuse to accept the medal from the Imperial Household Agency. I will not attend the awarding ceremony, nor will I accept an audience with the Prime Minister."

"Teacher Kitahara?!"

Upon hearing this, the person on the other end of the phone panicked and hurriedly asked, "Are you sure you haven't misunderstood? This is someone representing the country—"

"There's no misunderstanding. Please relay his/her exact words."

After saying that, Kitahara Iwa didn't give the other party any further chance to argue and hung up immediately.

Kenichi Sato took the cell phone and immediately dialed the hotline to the president's office of Shinchosha.

"President, Mr. Kitahara has refused."

Kenichi Sato took a deep breath and quickly reported to his superior: "He personally declined the invitation from the Imperial Household Agency over the phone, refusing both the medal and an audience."

As Kenichi Sato finished speaking, Taro Murata fell silent on the other end of the phone.

That's a medal of cultural honor!

The national honor that most Japanese intellectuals dream of even when they are old and gray is rejected so simply and decisively?

A moment later, a long sigh, whether from a headache or a sense of relief, came from the other end of the line: "Good riddance! Now, Professor Kitahara doesn't need these politicians bestowing honors upon him. He's given Kasumigaseki a resounding slap in the face!"

As a veteran publisher who has been in the industry for decades, Taro Murata immediately sensed the potential risks after his initial excitement.

"Given Kitahara-sensei's current world-class status, even if those politicians in Kasumigaseki hate him to the core, they would never dare to embarrass him openly, let alone retaliate in public."

Murata Taro quickly spoke up, saying, "But it's easy to dodge a spear in the open, but hard to guard against an arrow in the dark. These people are shameless, and we must guard against them resorting to desperate measures or secretly inciting far-right elements to cause trouble."

"Sato, you stay in the apartment right now and don't leave even for a moment. I'll immediately use all my connections to dispatch the most professional private security team to take over the building tonight. From now until we go to Stockholm, Kitahara-sensei's personal safety is the top priority!"

After arranging security, Murata Taro continued on the phone, "Sato, those politicians in Kasumigaseki are shameless."

"If no news is released tonight, they will definitely use official media to whitewash the situation after dawn, announcing that the awarding process has been postponed," or "Professor Kitahara needs rest, and the meeting will be postponed." We must find a way to confirm the refusal before the deadline for the morning paper!

After hanging up the phone, Kenichi Sato turned around and truthfully conveyed Taro Murata's concerns to Iwao Kitahara.

"Teacher Kitahara, to prevent the government from backing down tomorrow and deliberately misleading the public, shouldn't we draft a formal statement of refusal to claim the property in the name of Shinchosha and send it to all the major newspapers overnight?"

After listening, Kitahara Iwa shook his head slightly and said, "There's no need for Shincho-sha to issue a press release. Since it's my stance, I should write it myself."

As he watched Kitahara Iwa put pen to paper, Sato Kenichi held his breath.

At this moment, the only sound in the study was the soft scratching of the pen tip against the paper.

Less than ten minutes later, Kitahara Iwa stopped writing and handed the still-wet manuscript paper to Sato Kenichi.

"Send this fax to the night editors of the Yomiuri Shimbun and Asahi Shimbun. Tell them that if they're going to publish it, they should put it on the front page word for word."

The next morning.

On this morning, which should have been filled with government press releases of "national honor" and "congratulations from the Prime Minister," the entire nation of Japan saw a short essay personally signed by Kitahara Iwao in the most prominent position on the front page of major newspapers.

The title consists of only a few calm yet powerful words: "Reasons for Refusal".

"Last night, I learned of the award from Stockholm. This is an honor for all readers, and I am deeply grateful for it."

Subsequently, the Cabinet Office conveyed its intention to award me the Order of Culture, which I formally declined over the phone last night.

Many people might ask why.

Literature is born from the soil of reality and rooted in the joys and sorrows of ordinary people.

In this harsh economic winter, countless people are bearing the heavy burden of bankruptcy, unemployment, and the collapse of their lives on the streets.

The words I write record their pain and their indomitable spirit.

If I were to turn around at this moment to accept the dazzling medals awarded by those in power and stand under the same spotlight as them, it would be tantamount to betraying the readers who turned the pages of my book in the wind and snow.

My pen should never become a beautiful embellishment used by any power to whitewash the truth and cover up the scars of society.

Therefore, I declined the award.

A writer's medal exists only in the hearts of readers. Nothing else.