Chapter 96 Kitahara Iwa, I Can Make You a Literary Master

Today, the social uproar caused by the final chapter of "The Cry" continues to escalate at an unstoppable pace.

At nine o'clock in the morning, the Shinchosha building was already bustling with activity, like a wartime command center.

The phone rang incessantly with requests from various departments to reprint the magazine, and even inquiries about film and television adaptation rights. The corridors were filled with the hurried footsteps of editors.

However, in stark contrast to the frenzied noise outside, the blinds in the editor-in-chief's office on the third floor were tightly shut.

Kenichi Sato sat at his large desk, his eyes bloodshot from staying up all night.

He spent the entire night finally putting the drafted publishing contract into a kraft paper bag bearing the Shinchosha logo.

This is an extremely rare S-level royalty contract.

This rating system has been used before in Shinchosha's century-long publishing history.

But this prestigious contract, representing the highest respect in the publishing industry, is often reserved for only a few very specific names—Kawabata Yasunari, Mishima Yukio…

Only an absolute titan whose name alone is etched into the annals of Japanese literary history, destined to trigger a buying frenzy across society, deserves such top-tier conditions from Shinchosha.

For a young writer who has only published three works, to directly bypass all levels and place his name alongside these literary giants is an unprecedented and crazy exception within Shinchosha.

Kenichi Sato smoothed out the creases on the paper bag, stood up, and put on his dark coat.

As I stepped out of the editorial office, the mid-January wind, carrying fine ice particles, hit me in the face.

Kenichi Sato turned up the collar of his coat, quickly got into the car parked by the roadside, started the engine, and drove into the chilly streets of Tokyo in the early morning.

Outside the car window, the Ginza area during the morning rush hour had lost its usual vibrant hustle and bustle.

The hurried, haggard-looking office workers on the streets made this city, which had just been hit hard by the financial tsunami, look like a huge body that was rapidly losing its temperature.

But Kenichi Sato had no time to lament the desolation of the times outside his window.

There was only one thing on his mind: to finalize the copyright for the standalone edition of "The Cry".

In fact, Editor-in-Chief Sato felt a certain certainty, typical of a veteran publisher, regarding this morning's meeting.

He firmly believed that the copyright was already in Shinchosha's possession.

The reason is simple.

Two weeks ago, when the first issue of "Scream" was met with overwhelming criticism and attacks from all over Japan, it was Shinchosha that fiercely protected the purity and lifeblood of the work.

During those darkest days when he was condemned by everyone, the more the outside world resisted, the more Sato defied public opinion and poured Shinchosha's most core publicity and promotion resources into this work that was regarded as poison by the public.

When the board of directors, fearing public outrage, issued several directives demanding the forced modification or even deletion of sensitive words in the novel that offended society, the president even dragged him along to slam his fist on the table in the conference room.

With unwavering resolve, they withstood the internal attacks that attempted to emasculate literature, preserving the brilliance of "The Last Cry" unaltered.

In the old-fashioned rules of the Japanese publishing industry, this kind of bond forged in the trenches through shared futures and trust carries a weight heavier than Mount Tai.

Therefore, when he drove to Kitahara Iwa's apartment with this S-level contract, which was full of sincerity, braving the biting cold wind of a winter morning, he felt calm and at ease.

In his view, this is about to be a perfect two-way journey between an old-school publisher and a genius writer, facilitated by shared hardships.

The car came to a smooth stop in front of the apartment building.

Kenichi Sato, carrying his briefcase, strode into the lobby and took the elevator upstairs.

The corridor was so quiet that only his own footsteps and the faint sound of hot water flowing in the heating pipes could be heard.

He quickly stopped in front of Kitahara Iwa's door, first straightening his tie, which had been disheveled by the cold wind, then taking a deep breath before raising his hand to knock on the door.

A few seconds later, the door opened.

At this moment, Kitahara Iwa stood at the door, looking at Editor-in-Chief Sato in front of him. His expression was somewhat unnatural, but he still said, "Editor-in-Chief Sato, it's so early."

"Excuse me, Kitahara-sensei."

Kenichi Sato gave a sincere and gentle smile, bowed slightly, and said, "Because what we are about to discuss is too important for Shincho-sha, I don't want to delay any longer."

I apologize for this unsolicited visit at this early morning.

Upon hearing this, Kitahara Iwa didn't say much, but simply stepped aside to let him in.

As Kenichi Sato bent down to change his shoes, his gaze habitually swept across the floor of the entryway.

Then, he abruptly stopped changing his shoes.

On the clean entryway floor, a pair of men's leather shoes were neatly arranged.

The deep brown leather gleamed with a restrained yet extremely expensive sheen under the ceiling light in the entryway.

The stitching on the sole is meticulous to an extreme degree, without any superfluous embellishment, yet it exudes an aggressive and flamboyant style.

These are a pair of top-quality Italian leather shoes, handcrafted and custom-made.

The cost of just one pair of shoes is probably equivalent to more than half a year's salary for an average white-collar worker.

On this winter morning, amidst a stock market crash and widespread fear, the number of people who would still be wearing such shoes to make their way around the publishing industry in Tokyo is extremely limited.

Kenichi Sato stared intently at the pair of leather shoes, his pupils suddenly contracting.

At that moment, the confident smile on his face seemed to have its supporting skeleton removed, freezing him instantly in place.

Immediately afterwards, an extremely ominous premonition surged up the back of his suit.

Led by Kitahara Iwa, he walked step by step through the entrance hall and into the living room.

Then, he immediately spotted the figure on the sofa.

It was none other than Haruki Kadokawa, the president of Kadokawa Shoten, a top-tier media capital firm and one of the most controversial and feared names in the Japanese publishing industry.

At this moment, in the living room, Haruki Kadokawa was sitting with his legs crossed, casually sinking into the leather sofa.

He held a freshly lit Cuban cigar between his fingers, and on the coffee table beside him sat a cup of steaming black coffee.

This relaxed, hostile demeanor suggests that he's not so much a guest in someone else's home as he's sitting idly in the chairman's office on the top floor of Kadokawa Shoten, waiting for his subordinates.

Hearing footsteps coming from the entrance, Kadokawa Haruki slightly raised his eyelids and glanced at Sato Kenichi.

Then, a half-smile appeared on Kadokawa Haruki's lips.

Good morning, Editor-in-Chief Sato.

Haruki Kadokawa spoke slowly and deliberately, with an air of arrogance in his tone: "However, for a battle destined to reshape the Japanese publishing industry, your arrival at this hour... is rather slow."

This casual morning greeting carries an undisguised provocation.

Kenichi Sato stood still, silently clenching his briefcase, suppressing the anger surging in his heart, ignoring Haruki Kadokawa's arrogance.

Instead, he looked past the swirling cigar smoke and onto Kitahara Iwa, who was sitting on a single sofa.

At this moment, there was a very subtle inquiry hidden in Sato Kenichi's eyes.

However, the moment their eyes met, Kenichi Sato was slightly taken aback.

Because Kitahara Iwa's face showed neither the arrogance of someone waiting for a high price, nor the slightest bit of awkwardness from meeting with other publishers in private.

He simply rubbed his temples wearily, a look of helplessness at having his peace disturbed showing between his brows.

"Editor-in-Chief Sato, please have a seat."

Kitahara Iwa gently put down the hot tea in his hand, and said with a barely perceptible sigh in his voice, "President Kadokawa rang the doorbell at 7:30 this morning."

"I hadn't even finished my cup of tea when I was forced to listen to more than an hour of discussions about the future of the Japanese film industry."

Kitahara Iwa's extremely plain statement immediately put Sato Kenichi's mind at ease.

He immediately realized that the reason Kitahara Iwa allowed Kadokawa Haruki to enter was simply because this tyrant of Kadokawa Bookstore had managed to stay in the business for so long with his astonishing shamelessness.

Faced with Kitahara Iwao's blunt sarcasm, Kadokawa Haruki showed no embarrassment whatsoever. Instead, he let out a hearty laugh, stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray, and naturally continued the conversation: "Teacher Kitahara, some blueprints are meant to be presented to those who truly understand them, before all the old conventions and outdated practices."

At this point, Haruki Kadokawa dusted the cigarette ash off his suit, turned his aggressive gaze back to Kenichi Sato, and said with a mocking smile, "If it's about moving a mountain of gold that can change the times, it's worth it even if it means smashing windows and climbing in."

"Besides, I only arrived an hour and a half earlier than the Shincho-sha people."

Upon hearing this, Kenichi Sato looked back at Haruki Kadokawa, who was sitting on the sofa, took a deep breath, and said, "President Kadokawa, please forgive my bluntness."

"The Cry" was a work serialized in "New Tide of Fiction".

"For decades, the priority bargaining power for individual volumes has belonged to the serialization platform. This is an unspoken bottom line for the entire publishing industry, and it is the foundation upon which they depend for survival."

Kenichi Sato fixed his gaze on the other person and said without backing down, "You're going to bypass Shinchosha and block the author's private residence so early in the morning... Isn't that a bit disrespectful of these rules?"

Sato's words were extremely restrained, but also carried great weight.

In the traditional publishing world, breaking this bottom line is tantamount to declaring war on the entire industry's trust system.

However, after hearing these words, Haruki Kadokawa simply leaned back on the sofa casually and let out a short, snicker.

The sneer sounded extremely jarring in the living room that early morning.

"rule?"

Haruki Kadokawa casually straightened his suit sleeves, his tone carrying a condescending pity: "Editor-in-Chief Sato, the so-called rules are nothing more than rags that you traditional intellectuals who cling to a century-old brand use to keep each other warm while clinging to outdated ideas."

At this point, Haruki Kadokawa leaned forward slightly, staring intently at Kenichi Sato with extremely aggressive eyes.

"Are you still using decades-old industry standards to define a monster that could ignite the entire Japanese market?"

"In the landscape of capital, rules have always existed only to restrict the weak."

"When the commercial value of a work is enough to break through the perception of an entire era, Shinchosha's pitiful priority is like using a piece of waste paper to stop a steamroller."

"Editor-in-Chief Sato, times have changed. Don't waste Kitahara-sense's stale, childish games from your literary circles!"

The moment those words were spoken, the air in the living room seemed to freeze.

But Kadokawa Haruki clearly didn't care about Sato Kenichi's completely somber expression.

He didn't give the other person a chance to refute him, but instead turned his body towards Kitahara Iwa, who was sitting on a single sofa.

Faced with this genius writer who was clearly exasperated by his uninvited arrival, Haruki Kadokawa toned down the arrogance and sharpness he had displayed when speaking to Sato.

Instead, a highly seductive fanaticism emerged.

"Teacher Kitahara."

Haruki Kadokawa leaned forward slightly, the cigar between his fingers extinguished, but the light in his eyes was astonishingly bright as he said, "I know that my forcing my way into your living room so early in the morning is extremely offensive. But I'm sitting here today only to prove one thing to you."

"At most, the Shincho Society can offer you a bit of aloofness and reputation within literary circles."

"But what Haruki Kadokawa can give you"

It will plunge all of Japan into utter frenzy for you.

Without giving anyone time to process it, Haruki Kadokawa then dropped a bombshell: a figure that would send the entire Japanese publishing industry into a frenzy.

"The first printing of the single-volume edition will start at two million copies."

The moment those words landed, Kenichi Sato's eye twitched uncontrollably.

Two million copies.

The three people present all knew perfectly well what this number meant in the history of Japanese publishing.

Even for a money-printing machine like Jiro Akagawa, who has dominated the charts for years, or Haruki Murakami, whose novel "Norwegian Wood" sparked a social frenzy, publishers rarely dare to directly announce a print run of over a million copies when finalizing the initial print run of a single volume.

Haruki Kadokawa, on the other hand, offered two million yen to a young man who had only published three works.

This is no longer a business negotiation; it's using pure capitalist violence to forcibly reshape the laws of gravity in the publishing industry.

The next second, Haruki Kadokawa spoke up again, saying, "And the royalties, twenty percent."

As Kadokawa Haruki finished speaking, Sato Kenichi's fingers gripped the handle of his briefcase tightly.

Twenty percent.

The ironclad rule in the Japanese publishing industry has always been a 10% royalty rate.

Even the unprecedented S-level contract that Kenichi Sato had in his bag this morning was something he had worked incredibly hard to push to 18%.

Haruki Kadokawa, without even glancing at Shinchosha's hand, ruthlessly and brutally shattered the ceiling of the entire industry.

This is no longer about poaching talent; it's a cost-insensitive, dimensional-lowering attack.

But Haruki Kadokawa wasn't finished.

He interlaced his fingers, his aggressive eyes fixed on Kitahara Iwa, and unleashed his true nuclear weapon: "In addition, I, Kadokawa Haruki, will personally serve as the producer and immediately launch the theatrical film project of 'Screaming'."

"I want the film adaptation of this work to be released on time during this year's Lunar New Year holiday season."

"I want Kitahara-sensei's name to be displayed on every major GG sign, in every subway station, and at the entrance of every movie theater in Tokyo."

When Haruki Kadokawa said this, there was no hint of empty promises or grandstanding; rather, he was describing an industrial process that was about to be implemented.

Because in Japan in 1990, once Haruki Kadokawa spoke, it was a fact.

What's truly terrifying about Kadokawa Shoten isn't just selling books, but the unparalleled media convergence strategy created by Haruki Kadokawa—publishing, film, television, music, and GG.

When this enormous commercial machine is running at full speed, it can, within a few months, use overwhelming visual bombardment to forcibly elevate a writer's reputation to the level of a national deity.

This is Haruki Kadokawa's trump card.

A deathly silence fell over the living room.

Kenichi Sato sat on the sofa, and even through the briefcase, he could feel how flimsy the S-level contract he had drafted all night seemed under the heavy pressure of Kadokawa Haruki's capital.

But he did not back down.

"President Kadokawa."

Kenichi Sato took a deep breath and then said, "Two million copies printed initially, 20% royalties, plus the entire film industry's creation of a legend... I admit, Shinchosha really can't come up with these astonishing figures."

He readily admitted to the disadvantage in terms of capital, but the next second, he said bluntly, "However, from the moment you walked in until now, every word you've uttered has been an evaluation of a commodity."

"In your eyes, you only see how many billions it can bring in at the box office and how much media empire it can shake."

"But in Shinchosha's eyes, 'The Scream' has never been some kind of mass-market product that can be arbitrarily cut up and crammed into theaters to rake in profits!"

At this point, Kenichi Sato turned his head and looked at Iwao Kitahara.

"Teacher Kitahara, Shinchosha does not have the financial resources for a first printing of two million."

"But what Shincho-sha gives you is something that no amount of capital in this world can buy..."

"That is the absolute dignity of literature."

"Just two weeks ago, when readers all over Japan were sending you death threats, and the entire media was hurling insults at you, Shinchosha's printing press didn't remove a single punctuation mark from your original manuscript!"

Kenichi Sato said with unwavering determination, "We used the reputation of our century-old publishing house as a shield to withstand all the pressure and preserve the coldest essence and sharpest edge of 'The Cry,' without changing a single word."

"We admire your talent and are even more aware of the true weight of this work in exposing the dark side of society."

"Therefore, we absolutely do not want this desperate cry, made on behalf of countless marginalized people, to become a popcorn script manipulated by capital, arbitrarily altered, and crammed into theaters to extract cheap tears!"

The words fell.

Kenichi Sato's counterattack, which combined literary dignity with camaraderie, tore open a very strong gap in the capitalist web laid out by Haruki Kadokawa.

Upon hearing this, Haruki Kadokawa's arrogant smile gradually disappeared, and he said softly, "Editor-in-Chief Sato, the biggest problem with you old-school writers is that you like to package your work as a favor, and use that to hold geniuses hostage."

At this moment, Kadokawa Haruki's tone revealed a hint of contempt as he said, "Back then, resisting public pressure to serialize 'The Cry,' that was your job as editor-in-chief."

"Using your job as a bargaining chip, don't you feel ashamed?"

Kenichi Sato pursed his lips, his gaze unwavering, but Haruki Kadokawa showed no sign of stopping.

"You're saying we shouldn't treat it as a popcorn product?"

Haruki Kadokawa pointed to the magazine on the coffee table and continued, "It's definitely not. It's a social manifesto powerful enough to ignite an entire era!"

"Faced with such a masterpiece, what does Shinchosha intend to do? Carefully lock it in a glass case of literature, allowing tens of thousands of self-important critics to nod and praise it from behind the window?"

Haruki Kadokawa's voice remained calm, but the ambition revealed between the lines was extremely frightening: "In this era, if words cannot be completely bound to capital, images, and channels, their voice will be too weak."

"It should be promoted by the most mature business matrix and spread to every corner of Japan."

"Two million copies are just the beginning, and theatrical releases are just the start."

"I want to make 'The Scream' a name that every Japanese person will remember this winter."

Haruki Kadokawa leaned back on the sofa, as if making a final pronouncement: "This is an industry worth tens of billions of yen."

"Editor-in-Chief Sato, this is not a business that can be sustained by so-called literary bottom lines and by not changing a single word."

As soon as he finished speaking, the living room fell silent again.

Kenichi Sato did not immediately refute.

Because he knew better than anyone that Haruki Kadokawa was stating a cold, objective fact.

Kadokawa Shoten's mature cross-media business model has long been a proven industrial template in the Japanese publishing industry.

They do indeed possess enormous resources to completely commercialize a novel and package it into a national phenomenon.

This is a barrier that Shinchosha, as a traditional publishing house, cannot overcome no matter what.

But precisely because of this, Kenichi Sato is even less willing to back down.

"President Kadokawa."

At this moment, Kenichi Sato's tone became unusually firm as he said, "I have no doubt about those astonishing figures, channels, and business blueprints you mentioned."

"But although 'The Cry' is a social novel aimed at the general public, it is by no means a cheap product that can be inflated by capital and arbitrarily embellished."

"This is Kitahara-sensei's painstaking work in dissecting the dark side of this era."

"If it is destined to reach millions of people, it should go out as a novel in its original form. It should not be torn apart by your cross-media machine and forcibly reshaped into a popular popcorn movie to cater to box office success."

Haruki Kadokawa leaned back on the sofa and let out a very short sneer.

"The original appearance? Editor-in-Chief Sato, your sentiments are truly touching."

Haruki Kadokawa interlaced his fingers, his eyes revealing a cold pity for the stubborn, and said, "But I ask you..."

"In this harsh winter for the entire Japanese real economy, how many people can Shinchosha's traditional distribution channels reach with this original image that you're so proud of? Two hundred thousand? Five hundred thousand?"

"The respect you keep talking about, frankly speaking, means letting 'The Scream' die quietly in your regular first printing of a maximum of 200,000 copies."

"Then, at some mystery novel award ceremony, he won a worthless trophy that only people in the industry care about."

"Using sales of a few hundred thousand units and praise from a few old-fashioned judges to bury a super IP that could have created billions in value and shocked millions of people. Is this your Shinchosha's respect for Kitahara-sensei?"

Every word Kadokawa Haruki uttered was like a red-hot iron needle, precisely piercing the spot where Sato Kenichi had the least to refute.

After all, Shinchosha's distribution capabilities were indeed no match for Kadokawa Shoten, a fact he could not refute.

"President Kadokawa."

At this moment, Kitahara Iwa took a deep breath, first looked at Sato Kenichi, and then looked at Kadokawa Haruki and said, "You're right. In terms of capital-driven creation and business matrix, Shinchosha is indeed far from being a match for Kadokawa Shoten."

"But there is one thing, and that is that when all of Japan wanted to tear this work apart, it was Shinchosha that stood in front of it."

Hearing Kitahara Iwao's words, Kadokawa Haruki shook his head and said, "Brother Kitahara, I know you have a very touching bond with Shincho-sha."

"But you have to understand that sentimentality can't maximize profits."

"If you can hand over the standalone edition of 'The Scream' and the film rights to me, with Kadokawa Shoten operating at full capacity, I guarantee you that by the day after tomorrow at the latest, you will be elevated to the throne of literary giants in the entire Japanese literary world."

Faced with Kadokawa Haruki's tempting promise, Kitahara Iwao chuckled softly and then said, "President Kadokawa, please don't try to flatter me with that literary title."

Kitahara Iwao remained completely unmoved by Kadokawa Haruki's promise to create a god, and even felt a little amused.

With the terrifying penetrating power of "Scream" in cutting into the pain points of Japanese society, it has already achieved de facto godhood and does not need Haruki Kadokawa to deliberately elevate it.

Even Kitahara Iwa suddenly had an idea pop into his mind.

That is, if I were to die suddenly due to some accident, based on the weight of "Confessions" and "Scream," my portrait would probably be printed on the new Japanese yen banknotes in a few decades.

"However, I really can't give you the rights to publish the standalone edition."

Kitahara Iwatsu bowed slightly, his tone carrying a perfect balance of helplessness and determination as he said, "Shincho-sha did indeed shield me from the attacks, so I will not abandon Shincho-sha."

Upon hearing this, Kenichi Sato's tense back finally relaxed slightly.

But Kitahara Iwao didn't embarrass Kadokawa Haruki. Instead, he changed the subject and said, "However, I can give you the exclusive theatrical film adaptation rights for 'Scream'."

Kitahara Iwao raised his teacup and offered a toast to Kadokawa Haruki from afar, saying, "After all, we had a very pleasant collaboration on the film adaptation of 'Confessions'."

"I trust Kadokawa Shoten to handle this heavy industry of film and television better than anyone else."

After hearing Kitahara Iwa's explanation, Kadokawa Haruki nodded in satisfaction.

His main purpose in coming here was to obtain the film rights to "The Cry". It would be best if he could get his hands on the standalone book, but if he couldn't, that would be fine as long as his main goal was achieved!