Chapter 90: Just a bunch of clowns

Tokyo at night, neon lights flashing.

Kitahara Iwa, who was at the center of a storm of public opinion, was sitting casually on the sofa in his apartment.

A game console was connected to the TV screen. Kitahara Iwa held the controller and was methodically pressing the buttons, controlling the game character to jump continuously.

This is the action game "Prince of Persia" released by Broderbund.

The game's graphics were quite rough in 1989, and the characters' movements looked like a few blocks of color jumping stiffly on the screen. However, thanks to its hardcore level-clearing mechanism, Kitahara Iwao still had a lot of fun playing it.

Just then, the phone on the table rang.

Upon hearing this, Kitahara Iwa quickly pressed the pause button, freezing the pixelated figure on the screen in mid-air.

Then he picked up the receiver, and after a short while, the voice of the president of the Shincho Club came through: "Teacher Kitahara, sorry to bother you so late at night."

"Your new serialization is making quite a splash."

"President, it's so late and you're calling me personally..."

Kitahara Iwa leaned back on the sofa and replied with a smile, "Did you come to inform me that you're going to revise the plot?"

There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone, followed by the president's gentle chuckle.

"There were indeed some panicked voices within the company, but I've suppressed them."

At this moment, the president's tone was extremely calm: "Teacher Kitahara, I am not making this call to act as a lobbyist."

"Although there is a lot of criticism from the outside world right now, Shinchosha is not so fragile that it needs to interfere with writers' creative work to quell public anger."

At this point, the president paused, then continued, "Teacher Kitahara, rest assured, 'The Cry' is an extremely solid work."

"The outside world is at its most volatile right now. Just ignore those emotional voices and don't take them to heart."

Hearing the president's words of comfort, Kitahara Iwao said softly, "Then thank you for your support, president."

After the business was settled, the two exchanged a few more pleasantries before hanging up the phone.

As the living room returned to silence, Kitahara Iwa picked up the game controller again, pressed the buttons, and accompanied by the monotonous electronic sound, the pixelated figure on the screen began to move once more.

As time went by, despite the continued strong opposition from the outside world, some dissenting voices began to emerge amidst the clamor.

Some seasoned literary critics and core readers, after setting aside the controversial background, have found that "The Cry" itself has a very solid literary foundation.

As a result, several objective book reviews, despite immense public pressure, appeared in the literary supplements of mainstream newspapers such as the Asahi Shimbun, as well as in professional mystery magazines.

A highly influential university literature professor wrote in his column: "Although Kitahara Iwao's setting of the Great Depression seems somewhat unbelievable to us."

"But we must admit that the writing style of 'The Cry' is cold and restrained."

"His portrayal of Yoko Suzuki's psychology in dire straits is chillingly realistic."

"This is by no means a simple act of venting anger. If we remove this social context, we cannot understand Yoko Suzuki's transformation."

Another veteran mystery critic gave it high praise from the perspective of the novel's structure: "From the perspective of narrative technique, the parallel multiple storylines in 'The Scream' are perfect."

"The subtle foreshadowing meticulously depicts a woman's downfall."

"If readers give up reading simply because they don't like the setting of poverty, it will be a great loss to the Japanese mystery genre."

At the same time, some hardcore mystery fans have begun to appeal in literary forums and reader feedback sections: "Art inherently allows for exaggeration and hypotheticals."

"Even if we take a step back and consider the economic recession in the novel as a fictional extreme environment, Yoko Suzuki's struggle on the edge of survival and the distortion of human nature are still full of shocking power."

"Kitahara-sensei's writing is still top-notch. People shouldn't dismiss its pure value as an excellent novel just because of differences in the background setting."

However, amidst the nationwide euphoria as the Nikkei index surges and approaches the unprecedented 38000-point mark, these rational voices attempting to objectively discuss the value of literature seem far too weak.

The still agitated public and the economists who seized the opportunity immediately turned their criticism on these rational voices.

"If a third-rate author can't even capture the most basic social realities correctly, what literary value does their book have?"

"Are these so-called readers and critics being paid by foreigners to speak out for books that denigrate the Japanese economy?"

"Modern Japan is omnipotent; there's no such thing as social pathology!"

Within just a few days, the newspapers that published the objective book reviews faced a massive barrage of phone protests. Under the threat of a sharp drop in subscriptions, the newspapers had no choice but to issue statements distancing themselves from the issue and announcing the suspension of the relevant columns.

Those readers who tried to defend "The Cry" in real life were regarded as incomprehensible oddities by their colleagues and relatives who were immersed in the stock market and real estate frenzy.

In this society that has been completely blinded by money and prosperity, the last remaining rational discussion about "The Cry" was easily swallowed up by the clamor of fervor.

The whole of Japan seemed to be engulfed in a massive witch hunt.

The silence of Shinchosha and Kitahara Iwa's refusal to make revisions not only failed to quell the incident, but instead became a catalyst that thoroughly enraged the public.

The time has come to the fifth day, when public opinion has reached its peak.

As evening fell, the Tokyo cityscape outside the window was a dazzling spectacle of extravagance, while on the television screen inside the apartment, several high-rated prime-time programs were almost entirely relentlessly and viciously attacking Kitahara Iwa.

On the television screen, the special guests were so excited that they were spitting as they talked, as if they wanted to expose their ugly behavior to Kitahara Iwa.

Faced with this overwhelming barrage of insults, Kitahara Iwa, sitting on the sofa, showed no anger whatsoever. Instead, he slightly raised the corners of his mouth, trying his best to suppress a smile.

If he were just an ordinary writer, he would probably have suffered a mental breakdown long ago in the face of such a suffocating attack from the whole society.

But in the eyes of Kitahara Iwao, who has a keen understanding of the times, these well-dressed experts on the screen, talking about how the Japanese economy will never decline, are just like a group of clowns reveling on the edge of a cliff.

The more aggressive they are, the worse they will be in a few days.

Just as Kitahara Iwa was watching the absurd performance of the experts on TV as if he were watching a play, the doorbell in the apartment entrance was gently rang.

Upon hearing this, Kitahara Iwa got up with a puzzled look and walked towards the door.

Who would come over so late?

Looking through the peephole, I saw that standing in the dim light of the corridor was none other than Akina Nakamori.

This nationally renowned singer, who is incredibly popular, wrapped herself up tightly with large sunglasses and a thick scarf to avoid the ever-present media, but carefully protected two servings of warm and fragrant late-night snacks in her hands.

"Ms. Nakamori?"

A hint of surprise flashed in Kitahara Iwa's eyes, then he pushed open the door and asked, "Why are you here so late?"

Akina Nakamori gently pulled down the heavy scarf that covered most of her face. Just as she was about to speak, a series of extremely sharp noises came from the television in the living room...

"A dark writer like Kitahara Iwao, who spreads a sense of despair, is a disgrace to Japan!"

"He's utterly psychologically twisted, jealous of this great and prosperous era! This kind of writing, filled with the stench of the lower classes, should be immediately and completely banned, and all his original manuscripts should be thrown into the incinerator!"

"Letting him continue serializing is an insult to every one of us who are creating an economic miracle! He should not only be kicked out of the literary world, but he should also publicly kneel down and apologize in front of all the media in Japan!"

Hearing these extremely harsh, even violent, insults, Akina Nakamori involuntarily clenched the handle of the paper bag tightly.

So, what Kitahara-sensei was enduring was such merciless malice?

This kind of collective condemnation, waving the banner of justice for the times, is far more vicious, even a hundred times more suffocating, than the accusations I suffered when I was embroiled in public opinion back then…

Thinking of this, Nakamori Akina quickly looked up at Kitahara Iwao, her originally gentle eyes instantly filled with deep worry.

"Teacher Kitahara... I watched the evening news and read the newspapers..."

Akina Nakamori bit her lower lip lightly, her voice revealing a hint of undisguised heartache as she said, "I was really worried about you. So... I thought I'd bring some late-night snacks and come see you."

Ever since Kitahara Iwa pulled her out of the abyss, Nakamori Akina has had slightly different feelings about the man in front of her who can give her a sense of security.

Therefore, when she saw Kitahara Iwa being so viciously targeted by the whole society, her heart ached as if it were being squeezed.

"Come on in, it's cold outside."

Feeling Akina Nakamori's gaze, Iwao Kitahara smiled, stepped aside to make way, and then reached out to take the bag from her hand.

Nakamori Akina followed Kitahara Iwao into the living room. When she saw the despicable faces of the experts on TV and heard their unbridled attacks, she slowly took off her sunglasses.

Besides heartache, her eyes also swelled with an uncontrollable stubbornness and resentment.