Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s

Chapter 217 Let's go to Stockholm together then

At nine o'clock in the morning, Tokyo's morning rush hour was as congested as ever.

Inside the tram car, office workers in suits were crammed together like sardines.

Even though it was so crowded that it was difficult to even turn around, many people still struggled to fold their newspapers in half and spread them out in front of their eyes.

As the train carriage swayed slightly, two middle-aged men carrying briefcases stared at the front page of the Yomiuri Shimbun in their hands and spoke in hushed tones.

Have you seen it?

One of them pointed to the eye-catching title, "Reasons for Refusal."

The person next to him nodded, a complex look flashing in their eyes, and said, "I saw it. I originally thought that after winning the Nobel Prize, he would definitely be wearing an expensive suit, drinking champagne with the Prime Minister at the official residence, and mingling with that group of high-ranking people."

"In the end, he even refused the Order of Culture."

The man who spoke first chuckled self-deprecatingly: "I just received the pay cut notice yesterday, and I was so worried that I didn't sleep a wink all night."

He stared at the newspaper in his hand, a hint of helpless relief in his voice: "I thought life was utterly awful, but seeing that Professor Kitahara didn't support those politicians—how should I put it—seeing them publicly humiliated made me feel a little better. At least, there are still people in this world who don't think we're fools."

In front of a ramen shop on the commercial street, the owner, who was in his forties, was squatting in front of the closed roller shutter door, smoking.

A final ultimatum from Daiwa Bank was posted on the roller shutter door.

The owner of the tobacco shop next door came over with a broom, glanced at the morning newspaper in the ramen shop owner's hand, and sighed, "Ota, are you going to the bank to ask for an extension again today?"

Ota did not answer immediately, but stared at the sentence in the newspaper, "It is tantamount to betraying those readers who turned the pages of my book in the wind and snow," and his fingers holding the cigarette paused slightly.

A moment later, he stubbed out his cigarette on the greasy ground, carefully folded the newspaper and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his coat, stood up and said, "Go. The debt definitely needs to be paid, and the shop probably won't survive."

He brushed the ash off his coat, his voice hoarse but tinged with relief: "Lately, the banks and those politicians have only treated us as bad debts they're eager to clear out, as garbage they can sweep out at any time. I thought even a world-class writer like me would be toasting with them and drinking champagne today."

Ota gently patted his chest, which was tucked with newspaper, through his coat.

"But he didn't go. People in all the newspapers in Japan said that he wrote about our pain."

Ota exhaled a puff of white breath, his eyes calming down considerably. "Since even Kitahara-sensei, who stands at the very top, doesn't treat us like trash, when I go to see those debt collectors today, at least I can see myself as a human being and stand up straighter."

On the way to the bank, the cold wind was still biting, but Ota's steps were indeed a bit more steady than yesterday.

Meanwhile, at Kenzaburo Oe's home, several titans of the Japanese literary world were looking at several morning newspapers on the table.

Kenzaburo Oe, who was leading the group, put down his teacup and sighed, "Sometimes it takes more courage to refuse to be co-opted by those in power than to write a critical article."

"Those bureaucrats in Xiaguan probably even drafted the commendation statement last night, but they got slapped in the face by this statement first thing this morning."

Sitting opposite him, Kofuku Abe adjusted his glasses and chuckled, "The most terrifying tool of power is never suppression, but rather the flattery that comes with it. If Kitahara had accepted the medal last night, the suffering he described would have instantly become a tool for the cabinet to whitewash the situation."

"Therefore, we cannot let him face Xiaguan alone!"

Looking out the window, Murakami Ryu quickly said, "We have to do something!"

Everyone present knew perfectly well that Kitahara Iwa's public overturning of the government's table was certainly gratifying, but it also put him in opposition to the bureaucratic system.

Although the cabinet dared not openly retaliate, the past incident in which the Ministry of Finance attempted to control Kitahara Iwa through tax audits was still fresh in their minds.

Since they can't find any evidence against them financially, these politicians will inevitably resort to other underhanded tactics, or even secretly incite far-right forces to smear and pressure them.

And this is precisely the significance of the existence of the "Free Writers' Alliance".

This alliance, formed in the early stages of the Great Depression to resist the Ministry of Finance's pressure to cut off loans and government cultural censorship, brought together the top creators and publishers in Japan.

They came together not to form factions for any benefit, but to uphold the unyielding backbone of literature in the harsh winter.

Since Kitahara Iwa single-handedly vented the anger of the entire Japanese publishing industry, the alliance will never allow him to become an isolated island targeted by concentrated attacks.

At 4 p.m., a joint statement drafted by the Japan Free Writers' Union was simultaneously sent to the editorial desks of major mainstream media outlets via fax machines from major publishing houses such as Shinchosha.

"Mr. Kitahara Iwao defended the absolute independence of literature from being co-opted by power through his own choice."

The Free Writers' Alliance hereby solemnly declares that writers have the right to refuse any political honors that violate their literary conscience.

If any organization or individual attempts to exert undue pressure on Mr. Kitahara regarding this matter, all members of this alliance will consider it a blatant violation of creative freedom in Japan and will stand with Mr. Kitahara.

Signatures: Kenzaburo Oe, Kobo Abe, Haruki Murakami, Ryu Murakami, Saiichi Marutani —

This string of names, representing half of contemporary Japanese literature, completely sealed off Kasumigaseki's path to covert revenge.

Even though officials from the Ministry of Finance and the Cabinet were so angry they were practically bleeding from their teeth, they could only hold their noses and remain dead silent after seeing the statement.

Because they are well aware that taking action against Kitahara Iwa is no longer just dealing with a disobedient writer, but tantamount to declaring war on the entire Japanese cultural world.

The uproar outside had no effect on the port area apartments at the center of the storm.

Downstairs, the private security team hired by Shincho-sha at great expense has taken over all entrances and exits.

In a more secluded spot on the street corner, several plainclothes vehicles belonging to the Metropolitan Police Department were parked.

Given the precedent of the alleyway attack and Kitahara Iwa's sensitive status as a Nobel laureate, the Metropolitan Police Department fears more than anyone that he will be attacked by far-right extremists at this critical juncture.

In the study of the apartment.

Izumi Sakai gently placed the brewed hot tea on the desk.

Just then, the landline phone next to the desk rang.

Izumi Sakai picked up the receiver, covered the microphone hole, and whispered, "Teacher Kitahara, it's Editor-in-Chief Sato."

Upon hearing this, Kitahara Iwa took the phone.

"Teacher Kitahara."

Kenichi Sato's voice betrayed the exhaustion of staying up all night, but his tone was filled with excitement as he said, "The coordination with the Swedish Academy is complete. The plane tickets and accompanying team have also been finalized, and we can set off for Stockholm at any time."

In the background noise of the phone call, one could vaguely hear the battlefield-like commotion of the Shinchosha editorial department, with the operator loudly confirming reprint quotas for various regions and the copyright department urgently replying to faxes from Europe.

Listening to Kenichi Sato's hoarse voice struggling to stay awake on the other end of the phone, and the deafening noise behind him that seemed to be lifting the roof off, Kitahara Iwa chuckled and said, "Judging from this noise, Editor-in-Chief Sato, you probably stayed up all night in the editorial department again last night."

Sato Kenichi on the other end of the phone paused for a moment, then couldn't help but let out a long sigh, saying with a wry smile and a hint of relief, "Thanks to you, I'm almost falling asleep standing up now."

Kitahara Iwa continued, "You've worked hard these past few days. Now you should get some rest."

"We'll go to Stockholm together then."