Chapter 95 A New Monument to Japanese Mystery Literature

Two weeks ago, in December, when the first installment of "The Cry" was published, it was met with what was essentially a textbook example of public execution by the entire nation.

At that time, there was no room for discussion in the public discourse.

Faced with the novel's somber predictions about economic collapse, the Japanese media and stock market participants only displayed arrogance after being hit where it hurt, and overwhelmingly and fervently condemned the predictions.

"A sensationalist doomsday prophecy!"

"A vicious curse upon the Japanese economy!"

"Does Kitahara Iwa have mental health issues?"

From the Asahi Shimbun to the Yomiuri Shimbun, from NHK's morning news to late-night izakaya gossip, the entire nation of Japan mocked Kitahara Iwa with the same disdainful tone.

After all, when the Nikkei index broke through 38,000 points and the whole nation was immersed in the dream of Japan being number one, you came out and wrote a story about a bubble bursting and the economy collapsing?

This isn't the way to seek death.

Kitahara Iwa's name once became synonymous with being out of touch with reality.

The date was January 11th.

The Nikkei index fell below the 34,000-point mark, marking a true avalanche.

Countless ordinary people who borrowed heavily to speculate in stocks watched helplessly as their life savings vanished overnight amidst a series of margin calls.

Threatening phone calls from debt collectors, a financial chain on the verge of collapse, and a family teetering on the brink of ruin due to exorbitant debt.

The scenes in the first episode of "The Cry" that were once condemned as alarmist are now playing out in reality frame by frame with a cruel and chilling precision.

Then, the wind changed direction.

No, to be more precise, it was an extremely ironic nationwide defection.

Those financial newspapers that used to criticize the most harshly are now shamelessly changing their tune.

They published a completely opposite argument in bold black font on the front page:

"The Cry: A prophetic book buried by the arrogance of the times!"

"As early as two weeks ago, Kitahara Iwao had already issued the highest-level short-selling warning to the entire country of Japan!"

"The novel you once scoffed at could have saved your life and fortune."

At this moment, the phone in the editorial department of Shinchosha rang non-stop from morning till night.

The first edition of the January issue was fetched an astonishingly high price on the secondhand market.

In bookstores, all books related to the bursting of the bubble were sold out, but the top item on the list of books people wanted to buy was still "New Tide of Fiction," which had been returned in large numbers before.

The name Kitahara Iwa was instantly rescued from the pillar of shame of madness by the public, and was even absurdly gilded with a divine golden light.

"Economic Forecast".

"A Handbook for Avoiding Scams at the Grassroots Level"

"The whistleblower of the times."

People, filled with immense fear and awe, elevated "The Last Cry" to a divine status.

Those middle-class people who lost everything in the stock market crash clung to this novel as if it were their last lifeline.

In the dead of night, they gritted their teeth, staring at the pages of the book, trembling with regret. If they had understood these words half a month ago, they could have escaped this calamity.

Amidst this wave of fervor sweeping across society, ordinary people have labeled "The Cry" as: a brutally realistic record of survival at the bottom of society, and an extremely accurate prophecy of the times...

Late at night, deep in an inconspicuous alley.

In an old-fashioned izakaya without a sign, the ashtrays were already overflowing with crushed cigarette butts.

At the bar, three authors from the Japanese hard-boiled and mystery genres—Kenzo Kita, Tsuyoshi Osaka, and Masahiro Osawa—have gathered, staring silently at the book "Shincho Novel," which is turned to its last page.

The usual lofty and eloquent literary flair was absent; an extremely oppressive silence permeated the air.

Finally, Kenzo Kitakata picked up the whiskey in front of him and took a sip.

This usually composed senior colleague, his voice slightly hoarse, broke the silence, saying, "...It's exquisite."

Osaka Tsuyoshi held the rim of his glass with his fingertips, without replying.

Kenzo Kita's gaze fell on the first-person reverse monologue, and he remained silent for a while before speaking: "Seichō Matsumoto founded the social school, while Sōji Shimada clung to the orthodox school. For decades, these two paths have always been clearly distinct."

"But Kitahara Iwa... he actually took the social ill of marginalized people dying alone and used it as the core of his scheme."

At this point, Kenzo Kitakata paused, his tone revealing an undisguised admiration: "He used the indifference of the times as a perfect alibi, turning the numbness of the entire Japanese society into his accomplice."

"This can no longer be defined by the simple social school or the orthodox school."

Go Osaka finally spoke up: "Or rather, before he wrote this plot twist, we didn't even know that the wall between these two genres could be broken down in this way."

Osawa gave a wry smile and threw the crumpled cigarette pack into the ashtray: "It blends a grand historical tragedy with an extremely intricate narrative trick. Even those of us who have made a living by writing for half our lives feel suffocated when faced with such a work."

The three men looked at each other in silence, without any further emotion. Northern Kenzo simply raised his glass, clinked it against the other two, and said, "A toast to 'The Final Cry'!"

"A salute to 'The Last Cry'!"

"A salute to 'The Last Cry'!"

at the same time.

Chiyoda Ward, inside the Mystery Writers of Japan Association.

This meeting room, which was usually filled with endless debates about different schools of thought and tricks, was unusually silent tonight.

Several well-known writers who have established themselves in the social realism genre are circulating the final chapter of "The Cry".

No one rushed to offer their opinions after reading it; the only sound in the air was the suppressed rustling of pages turning.

Miyabe Miyuki sat at one end of the table, and as the last person to finish reading, she gently closed the magazine in her hand.

Although the movement was very gentle, in this quiet room where only the sound of the heating could be heard, the tiny sound of the paper closing still made everyone present pause unconsciously.

"I originally thought..."

She rubbed her aching temples and said in an unusually calm voice, "Teacher Kitahara set the background as Japan's economic recession, just to use a grand social event as a backdrop to make the tragedy on stage seem more profound."

"After all, this is the method we use most often."

At this point, Miyabe Miyuki raised her head, her gaze sweeping over her colleagues present, her tone revealing an extremely complex bitterness.

"But I was wrong."

"The Japanese economy is not even a backdrop here."

"It was part of the murder weapon, and also the perfect accomplice."

"Without this cannibalistic social code, without the indifferent reality that marginalized people are ignored, Yoko Suzuki's final escape would never have been believable."

"Teacher Kitahara is absolutely amazing!"

"He managed to fit the grand era and the micro-fate so perfectly that there wasn't even the slightest flaw."

No one in the meeting room responded.

Everyone here is an expert who makes a living by writing about the dark side of human nature.

Because they are experts, they understand better than ordinary readers just how terrifyingly insightful it takes to construct such a behemoth that perfectly blends social reality with narrative trickery.

At this moment, Miyabe Miyuki sighed.

This was a sigh drawn from the deepest part of the chest, not of anger or resentment, but of profound relief and bitterness after seeing clearly the insurmountable chasm.

Actually, half a year ago, when she first finished reading Kitahara Iwao's stunning novel "Confessions," she still harbored a deep-seated, unyielding literary pride.

At that time, she felt that as long as she honed her writing skills, she would still have enough depth to compete with Kitahara Iwao in the field of social mystery.

But now, with the chilling final performance of "The Cry" appearing before everyone's eyes, this competitive spirit among peers has been shattered into dust.

When someone is only slightly better than you, you secretly compete with them and want to catch up.

But when he has already left you far behind and stands in the eye of the storm of the times, all the chasing becomes a joke.

"Kitahara-kun's talent..."

Miyabe Miyuki shook her head self-deprecatingly, abandoning all professional literary judgment and embellishment.

Then, in the most candid tone, she spoke on behalf of all the top colleagues present, revealing the cruel truth: "Besides looking up to them, perhaps all we have left is deep envy."

The moment those words were spoken, a low, self-deprecating laugh echoed in the conference room.

That was the last shred of dignity and awe that a group of writers retained when faced with an absolutely insurmountable genius.

In the world of literary criticism, an even larger upheaval is underway.

Late at night, in Bunkyo Ward, Tokyo.

The editorial buildings of "Literary Spring and Autumn" and "Group Portrait" magazines were unusually brightly lit.

These two long-established publications, belonging to Bungei Shunju and Kodansha respectively, represent the two most authoritative and discerning banners in the field of Japanese pure literature.

Normally, these literary writers, who are reserved at heart, have always looked down on popular detective novels that emphasize sensory stimulation.

But tonight is different.

Faced with the incredibly stunning double reversal in the final chapter of "The Cry," their proud barrier of pure literature was brutally smashed, leaving a terrifying crack.

Throughout the office area, the scratching of pens on paper, the clatter of typewriters, and the hurried discussions mingled together, creating a cacophony that lasted until the early hours of the morning.

They didn't discuss the financial predictions in the book because that was already old news in the financial section.

In the ten days or so since the real market crash on January 4th, newspapers all over Japan have been thoroughly analyzing the economics content in "The Cry" countless times, exaggerating it to the extreme.

Tonight, these self-important literary writers are truly focused on a core proposition that is far more literary and disruptive than financial predictions.

This is a complete deconstruction of human existence and identity under the alienation of capital.

In a corner of the office area, Tanaka, a senior commentator for Bungei Shunju, pushed up his glasses and stared intently at the final chapter of the serialization spread out on the table.

"It all started in the first chapter when the police hastily closed the case after seeing the corpse..."

Tanaka pointed to the pages and slowly said, "All of us, including the entire mystery fiction world, thought this would be a classic trick that relied on a clever alibi or a high-IQ locked room mystery."

At this moment, Tanaka raised his head, looked around at his colleagues, and a very complicated emotion appeared in his eyes.

"But we were all fooled. Kitahara Iwao didn't play any of those intellectual games at all."

"The most powerful weapon that Yoko Suzuki used to complete this perfect crime was not the method of faking the scene, but the indifference and arrogance of the entire Japanese society."

At this point, Tanaka leaned back in his chair, exhaled a deep breath, and continued, "What does this mean?"

"This means that in this novel, Kitahara Iwao cruelly reveals to us a fact: in this money-driven bubble era, a person at the bottom who has lost economic value and family protection has no uniqueness in the eyes of the state apparatus and social system."

"She has no face, no soul, she is just a set of data that can be deleted at any time."

"So all Yoko needs to do is find a marginalized woman who is also abandoned by society, swap identities, and she can easily fool the police, forensic doctors, and everyone else."

After saying this, Tanaka's knuckles turned slightly white as he tapped the manuscript on the table and continued, "The police misidentified the body not because Yoko's disguise was flawless, but because this selfish society simply can't be bothered to carefully examine the face of someone from the bottom of society!"

"The real Yoko Suzuki, or rather Iwao Kitahara, through this chilling identity substitution, not only mocked the rigid and arrogant state apparatus, but also humiliated the entire cold-blooded era that alienated people into commodities, along with us high-and-mighty intellectuals, by pressing us all down on paper."

As Tanaka finished speaking, the entire editorial department fell silent.

At that moment, everyone felt a chill creep up from their feet.

This is the shudder felt by someone who usually prides themselves on being a detached observer when faced with such brutal social criticism.

A few seconds later, everyone lowered their heads again without prior arrangement.

The scratching sound of pen nibs rubbing against manuscript paper once again filled the air.

At four o'clock in the morning, the final draft of the front-page long commentary in "Literary Spring and Autumn" was completed.

The very first paragraph of the main text has been quoted in countless literature textbooks and has become one of the most classic passages in the history of contemporary Japanese literary criticism:

"In Kitahara Iwao's writing, the disfigured female corpse is no longer a cheap prop used to cover up the truth in traditional mystery, but an extremely sharp scalpel."

"It accurately dissected the hypocritical facade of Japanese society's self-proclaimed civilization—that in this era, a living person who has lost money and social status is no different from the corpse of a stray cat on the roadside."

"It turns out that the condescending pity that society shows towards the lower classes is nothing more than a stepping stone set up by the murderer to achieve the perfect crime."

"Yoko Suzuki's final, unnoticed escape is not simply a victory of evil, but rather a warning from the author, Iwao Kitahara, to the entire pathological society."

"In this world that only recognizes labels and not people, each of us could become the next nameless corpse to be replaced at any time."

On the same night that the editors of Bungei Shunju and Gunzo worked through the night to finish their articles, the NHK News Center building in Shibuya was also sleepless.

The news department's producer decisively canceled the planned morning economics special and rushed to produce a special report on the conclusion of "The Scream" overnight.

The next morning.

At the end of this live broadcast, which achieved record-breaking ratings, the veteran news anchor, known for his objectivity and restraint, paused for a moment when giving his concluding remarks to the camera, a rare occurrence.

"From the initial public condemnation to the current veneration, the reversal of public opinion triggered by 'The Cry' is perhaps more intriguing than the suspense of the novel itself."

The news anchor's voice was steady, yet carried a somber tone unique to journalists: "But Mr. Kitahara Iwa did not predict any miracles."

"He simply used extremely calm strokes to expose the indifference our society has taken for granted towards marginalized groups during its long period of prosperity."

At this point, the news anchor gently adjusted the news script in his hand, his gaze calmly sweeping across the millions of people watching on television.

"Faced with this cruel story, what we should really reflect on is not why the author was able to foresee everything."

"But rather, have we, swept along by the tide of the times, unconsciously displayed arrogance towards those cries for help?"

On this day, the name Kitahara Iwa was completely stripped of all the cheap labels that had been forcibly attached to it by the public.

It took him half a month to go from being a madman reviled by the entire internet to a prophet worshipped on a pedestal by bankrupt stock market investors.

It only took him one night to transform from a revered financial prophet to a literary giant who silenced the entire Japanese literary world.

Today, Japanese society as a whole realizes that Kitahara Iwa, the author of "The Cry," was never some high-ranking, ethereal financial fortune teller.

He is a top-tier novelist with a keen eye for horror.

Kitahara Iwao ruthlessly peeled away the veneer of superficial prosperity, precisely grasped the darkest depths of human nature, and wrote a final judgment on the absurdity and ruthlessness of this crazy era, with every word dripping with blood and leaving no room for argument.

With this complete subversion of perception, the work "The Cry" itself also washes away the worldly fanaticism attached to it.

It is no longer a risk-averse guide that the middle class is scrambling to buy, nor is it a sensational social documentary in the news media.

Instead, it became a structure built with the tragedy of the era as its skeleton and the indifference of society as its flesh and blood.

A new milestone in Japanese mystery literature.