Chapter 93 January 4th, the bubble bursts

1990 1 Month 4 Day.

The festive atmosphere of the New Year had not yet dissipated from the streets of Tokyo when the Tokyo Stock Exchange ushered in its first trading day of the new year.

The opening bell at the Tokyo Stock Exchange was no different from any other day, crisp and clear, carrying the unique joy of the New Year.

However, as the transaction proceeded, the numbers on the large electronic screen, which were always flashing a glaring red light, unusually turned a dark green, representing a decline.

The Nikkei index slowly slipped from its opening level of 38,921.6 points to its closing level of 38,915.87 points.

This drop seems insignificant. Compared to the massive base of nearly 39,000 points, it's just a tiny fluctuation that doesn't even amount to a ripple, and nobody cares about it.

Therefore, in the exchange hall, the brokers in their sharp suits were still holding steaming cups of coffee, looking up at the index with ease, and smiling to reassure their slightly nervous clients: "Don't worry, the stock market needs to catch its breath too. This is just normal consolidation before the market breaks through the historical 40,000-point mark."

Seeing the agents' confident demeanor, the retail investors in the hall also breathed a sigh of relief and burst into laughter, a sound they were used to.

After all, in this frenzied period where you could make money even if you bought blindly, who would believe that the myth of the Japanese economy would come to an end?

However, on January 5th, the Nikkei index suddenly accelerated its decline, falling directly below the 38,000-point support level and closing heavily at 38,713.00 points.

At this point, the atmosphere in the hall calmed down a bit, but some people were still excitedly waving their tickets and shouting that it was a technical correction, believing that this was a perfect opportunity to buy at the bottom.

But after an unsettling weekend, everyone's smiles froze on their faces.

On January 8th, the index plummeted like a train that had derailed, falling without any resistance and officially breaking through the 1-point mark!

The continuous decline in prices completely silenced the laughter in the hall.

Those brokers and investors who were the first to shout "buy the dip!" were now ripping their ties loosely, gripping the phone receivers tightly, and trying to appear calm as they assured their furious clients, "Please hold on! The fundamentals of the Japanese economy are extremely strong; this fluctuation will pass quickly..."

However, the volatility they had hoped for did not end.

That evening, the ratings for financial programs during prime time on major television stations skyrocketed.

Koji Mishima, the renowned economist who amassed a fortune through real estate speculation using tenfold leverage and arrogantly tore up the pages of his "Scream" serial, once again sat in the guest chair.

Under the bright lights of the photography studio, he was still impeccably dressed in a suit, his hair neatly combed, looking exactly the same as he had been two weeks ago when he arrogantly proclaimed that poverty had been erased from the Japanese dictionary.

However, when the director zoomed in and gave him a close-up of his face, a closer look would reveal that the muscles in his seemingly calm cheeks were twitching slightly out of control.

On his otherwise gleaming forehead, a fine layer of cold sweat, which even thick foundation couldn't conceal, was faintly visible.

But his voice remained loud and clear, his posture still arrogant. Facing the camera, he slammed his hand on the table and shouted, "Fellow citizens, there is no need to panic!"

Today's decline is merely a healthy technical correction before the stock market attempts to break through the 40,000-point mark!

"The goal is to shake out those retail investors who lack resolve."

"The fundamentals of the Japanese economy are rock solid. I can confidently tell you that now is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to buy at the bottom. The market is poised for an even more spectacular surge!"

When he said this, his eyes were firm and his tone left no room for doubt, and a few scattered claps rang out from the audience.

On the television, Koji Mishima continued to spit as he spoke.

Kitahara Iwa sat on the sofa, quietly watching the screen without saying a word.

Just then, the phone on the table suddenly rang.

"Teacher Kitahara..."

The caller was Editor-in-Chief Sato.

But his voice was completely different from that on New Year's Eve; the festive spirit was gone, replaced by an undisguised tremor and nervousness as he asked, "Did you watch the news today?"

"The stock market has really started to crash! And I just went to the trading floor and saw the faces of those people... the atmosphere of panic is exactly like the harbingers of bankruptcy described in 'The Cry'!"

At this point, Editor-in-Chief Sato swallowed hard, lowering his voice slightly as he said, "Teacher Kitahara, your prediction... seems to be coming true!"

While listening to Editor-in-Chief Sato's words, Kitahara Iwao kept his eyes fixed on Mishima Koji on the television screen.

"Editor-in-Chief Sato is too kind."

Kitahara Iwa shook his head and said, "It was just a coincidence."

But Editor-in-Chief Sato didn't believe Kitahara Iwao's response and continued, "Teacher Kitahara, let's stop playing games."

"To be honest, I have a huge mortgage and some stocks tied up in the market... If the kind of crash depicted in 'The Scream' really comes true..."

At this point, Editor-in-Chief Sato paused, then continued, "Teacher Kitahara, can you give me a heads-up? Do you have some inside information? How will things develop next?"

At this point, Editor-in-Chief Sato paused, then continued, "Teacher Kitahara, can you give me a heads-up? Do you have some inside information? How will things develop next?"

Faced with Editor-in-Chief Sato's question, Kitahara Iwa recalled how Sato had fought against immense pressure to secure resources for him during the serialization of "The Cry," and his tone softened as he said, "Mr. Sato, take my advice. While the decline isn't too significant yet, sell all the stocks you can hold tomorrow morning."

As Kitahara Iwa finished speaking, the other end of the phone fell silent.

For a normal investor, suddenly selling off all their holdings after only a few days of decline is undoubtedly an extremely difficult decision.

Kitahara Iwao understood Editor-in-Chief Sato's hesitation, so he offered a more prudent suggestion: "If you're really worried about the money you've invested, you can exchange it for US dollars. Don't worry about the low interest rates now; once this storm passes, you'll find that as long as you've managed to keep your principal safe, you're already luckier than most people."

At that moment, only the slightly heavy breathing of Editor-in-Chief Sato could be heard through the receiver.

After a long while, Editor-in-Chief Sato's voice came again.

Although her voice sounded a little dry, she had regained her usual tone: "...I understand. Thank you for reminding me, Kitahara-sensei."

The two exchanged pleasantries for a while before the call was disconnected.

Kitahara Iwa put down the receiver, picked up the water glass on the table, and took a sip.

The landline, which had been quiet for less than half a minute, rang again.

This time, it's Northern Kenzo.

The voice of this tough-guy bigwig now carried a chilling, ghostly tremor: "Kitahara, I've read 'The Cry' three times today. What you wrote isn't a novel... it's a prophecy!"

"But tell me honestly, should I take all the money out of the stock market next?"

After a few brief instructions, the call ended.

"Ring ring ring"

The bell rang for the third time.

This time it was Yoshio Takahashi, then it was Go Osaka...

During this winter when the stock market began to collapse, Kitahara Iwa's phone rang almost non-stop.

These usually composed writers keenly noticed something at this moment: the unsettling fictional background at the beginning of "The Cry" was becoming reality at an absurd speed.

Kitahara Iwa simply sat quietly on the sofa, patiently answering the calls from his colleagues.

He didn't explain any profound financial knowledge; he just repeated the process of clearing out his stocks and converting them into US dollars over and over again.

After hanging up the phone, Kitahara Iwa's gaze fell once again on the lit television screen.

On television, Koji Mishima, still impeccably dressed in a suit, confidently assured viewers across Japan that the 40,000-point mark was just around the corner.

But reality ignored this clamor.

By January 11, the Nikkei index had fallen to 1 points.

In the exchange hall, the worries that were only talked about before finally became a reality.

The ties that the traders usually wore so meticulously were now loose and disheveled.

They still held the phone, repeating to customers in dry voices the same old lines: "Wait a little longer, it will definitely backfire," but their eyes revealed a sense of bewilderment.

When the scale of a disaster exceeds the limits of ordinary people's cognition in an instant, the first reaction of mankind is not collapse, but a kind of numbness as if nerves have been forcibly cut off.

Some people were clutching their invalid buy orders tightly, standing frozen in place like wooden sculptures drained of their blood.

They looked up at the indices cascading down like a waterfall on the big screen, their minds blank, even losing the ability to convert those numbers into their own losses.

Beside him, a young agent who was usually eloquent was mechanically dialing a client's number.

Even though the receiver was already busy, he kept repeating to himself, "Please don't sell."

In a corner at the edge of the hall, someone finally couldn't bear the extremely heavy psychological gap and the sharp drop in adrenaline. Suddenly, they clutched their stomach, stumbled towards the trash can, and began to dry heave in an extremely disheveled state.

This dull ache quickly spread beyond the exchange.

The urban white-collar workers who had flown to Hawaii to shop just three days ago initially didn't believe it.

They maintained their elegant smiles in the company's break room, comforting each other that as long as they didn't sell, they wouldn't lose money.

But with the market plummeting by hundreds of points every day, nobody is interested in discussing which restaurant to go to for a bottle of wine on the weekend anymore.

During lunch break, someone's gaze lingered for a moment on the discounted bento boxes at the convenience store, but as soon as a colleague approached, they looked away as if electrocuted, and casually picked up a bottle of imported mineral water to pay.

They desperately tried to maintain the dignity of the previous era, but in the unnoticed restrooms, the time they spent touching up their makeup in front of the mirror quietly grew longer and longer.

Nowadays, people who receive calls from banks demanding additional margin payments often just hold the receiver blankly, then get up and walk to the floor-to-ceiling window in their office, looking down at the still bustling streets, and stand there for an entire afternoon.

After get off work, no one rushes home to face their wife. Instead, they go to an izakaya on the street corner, order the cheapest sake, and sit there until late at night.

Even Ginza, the once golden street where you couldn't hail a taxi even with a 10,000 yen bill, has quietly changed in this silent avalanche.

The doormen at the upscale restaurant still wore their smart uniforms, and the expensive crystal chandeliers in the shop windows still lit up precisely late at night.

The frenzy of extravagant spending on the streets seemed to have been quietly drained of its moisture.

These lavish sets still stand in the cold wind of January 1990, but those inside can already vaguely feel the chill of an impending awakening from a grand dream.

In this silent avalanche, some people have nowhere left to retreat.

On the edge of the rooftop of a high-end office building in Roppongi, a biting wind tore a finely crafted silk tie into disarray.

Koji Mishima lowered his head, staring intently at the street below, still flashing neon lights, but his pupils had lost focus.

Just two weeks ago, he was a spirited guest on television, an authoritative scholar who confidently assured the entire Japanese nation that the 40,000-point mark would definitely be reached.

But now, standing here is a bankrupt man who doesn't even dare to face tomorrow's sun.

He not only convinced millions of viewers with his fancy economic jargon, but also completely hypnotized himself.

With absolute faith in perpetual prosperity, he staked his entire fortune on the gambling table, even employing an extremely reckless leverage of ten times.

Stocks, land, revolving mortgages... He firmly believed that he controlled the pulse of the times, that Tokyo's land would always produce gold, and that he was an elite above ordinary people, and that he could never fall into the mire like in the book.

Until the calls demanding additional margin were made, his phone was bombarded with calls all day.

The collapse of the index not only shattered all his proud theories, but also left behind a debt black hole that he could not fill even in several lifetimes.

Gone are the glitz and glamour of the studio, and the ease with which they once spoke eloquently.

In the cold wind, Koji Mishima felt a chill run through his body, and his stomach churned violently.

His right hand was tightly gripping a roll of something, a crumpled and crumpled latest issue of "New Tide of Fiction".

He bought it from a newsstand this morning on a whim and carried it all the way to the rooftop.

Just an hour ago, he sat in his office and opened the serial he had once torn up in public and denounced as garbage.

This time, having lost his self-assured confidence, those words he once mocked so freely have become extremely precise death sentences.

He read it word by word, feeling a chill run down his spine from between the lines.

The woman named Suzuki Yoko, the huge debts left by her husband, the property forcibly mortgaged and liquidated, and those predatory loan contracts that devour people without spitting out the bones...

These are no longer printed words on paper, but the real texture that Koji Mishima is personally experiencing at this moment, on a one-to-one scale.

Kitahara Iwa wasn't writing any fictional suspense story at all; he had already written a prophecy about this country several months ago.

Koji Mishima tugged at the corners of his chapped lips, forcing out a bitter smile that looked worse than crying.

He once boasted that he could accurately calculate every economic cycle, and was adored by thousands in the studio with his charts and leverage.

But at this moment, all the knowledge he was so proud of throughout his life crumbled like a clumsy joke in front of these few thin pages of serialized articles.

He thought he was a master strategist of the era, but in the end, he was reduced to a background character in someone else's book who didn't even deserve a name.

The next second, Koji Mishima let go, allowing the crumpled magazine to be swept off the rooftop by the fierce wind and fall into the abyss like a kite with a broken string.

Then, he closed his eyes and took a step forward, following the page filled with death prophecies.

Five days later.

Police officers from the jurisdiction covered their mouths and noses as they pried open the metal door of a low-rent apartment building on the outskirts of Tokyo.

A nauseating stench assaulted my senses.

A woman's body was curled up on a tatami mat scattered with countless payment reminder slips.

The forensic examination was extremely brief: death was attributed to starvation and sudden illness.

Furthermore, due to the long period of abandonment, the face and limbs of the remains showed extremely obvious signs of being gnawed by wild cats.

This kind of tragedy at the bottom of society couldn't even squeeze into the margins of a newspaper during the bubble era when everyone was middle class.

But at a time when the stock market is collapsing and bankruptcies and suicides are surging, this seemingly insignificant news story has become like a drop of ice water falling into a scalding oil pan.

But at a time when the stock market is collapsing and bankruptcies and suicides are surging, this seemingly insignificant news story has become like a drop of ice water falling into a scalding oil pan.

Soon, astute readers and media professionals noticed that scattered next to the lonely body, devoured by stray cats, were loan shark bills. The details of this match up so closely with the tragic state of Suzuki Yoko described in the opening of Kitahara Iwao's "The Cry" were appalling.

Without the need for sensationalist rolling news broadcasts on television, a kind of fear called real fear began to spread rapidly in the hearts of people all over Japan.

No one mentioned conjecture anymore, and no one cursed the darkness anymore.

Several major newspapers that had previously launched scathing attacks against Kitahara Iwa changed the layout of their supplements overnight.

The writers who had once used the most cutting words to mock the editors of "The Cry" sat at their desks, watching the constant stream of bankruptcy news and this extremely glaring social notice, and fell into a long, deathly silence.

In the end, they set aside their literary arrogance and wrote a new commentary with an almost repentant and extremely heavy tone: "We had arrogantly thought that Kitahara Iwa had written a sensationalist fictional thriller."

"It wasn't until these two absurd weeks had passed that we were horrified to discover that 'The Cry' was an extremely accurate record of the times."

"He sounded the alarm for us when all of Japan was indulging in a dream of eternal prosperity, but we paid no heed."