Chapter 120 Yasuko Sawaguchi's Plea for Help and the World's Richest Man
At this moment, the premiere screening ended, and the theater lights slowly came on.
After that long, seemingly endless silence, someone was the first to come to their senses and gave a loud clapping performance.
Immediately afterwards, applause swept through the entire Shibuya Tokyu Grand Theatre like a flood breaking through a dam.
The thunderous applause that lasted for a full three minutes finally subsided, and hundreds of audience members began to stand up from their seats. However, most of them seemed a little sluggish, as if they had just been wheeled out of a high-intensity psychological operation and the anesthesia had not yet worn off.
In this fervent atmosphere that could bring tears to the eyes of any creative team, Kitahara Iwa, who was sitting in the front row of VIP seats, stood up, straightened his suit collar, and turned to walk towards the VIP passage.
For Kitahara Iwao, the quality of the finished film is already confirmed; Ichikawa Kun and Sawaguchi Yasuko have both delivered perfect performances, and he has a general idea of the box office performance.
As for the social interactions and mutual flattery that followed the premiere, I had absolutely no interest in them.
But before Kitahara Iwa could take two steps, a hand reached out from the side and grabbed his arm.
The one who reached out was Haruki Kadokawa.
This media mogul, who wields immense influence in both the Japanese publishing and film industries, now had bloodshot eyes, and his tie knot was slightly loosened from the extreme excitement of the night.
"Teacher Kitahara—"
Haruki Kadokawa lowered his voice and adopted an extremely gentle demeanor, completely shedding the airs of the media mogul he usually possessed.
He reached out and gently tugged at Kitahara Iwa's sleeve, his tone revealing a sincere and heartfelt sincerity: "I know you hate these kinds of public social engagements. But listen to what's going on outside."
As he spoke, he pointed towards the hall.
"Mr. Ichikawa is eighty years old, and he's still struggling to cope with all the cameras and microphones."
"Ms. Sawaguchi practically shed a layer of skin to play this role in your novel."
"And you are the true source of confidence for this film. If you, the original author, hadn't even shown your face at such a triumphant occasion, who knows how those media outlets that love to make baseless accusations would have fabricated stories of discord among the film crew tomorrow."
At this point, Haruki Kadokawa gave a wry smile and naturally played his last card of goodwill: "Just consider it doing me a favor, Kadokawa Haruki. Could you stand aside for a moment, even if you don't say a word, just to keep the crew in check, okay?"
Upon hearing this, Kitahara Iwa looked at the financial tycoon who had humbled himself to the dust, and then glanced at Ichikawa Kun and Sawaguchi Yasuko, who were surrounded by flashing lights not far away.
Kitahara Iwa finally showed a helpless expression, sighed softly, and said, "Just two minutes."
"Alright! In two minutes, I'll personally arrange for security to escort you out the back door."
Kadokawa Haruki relaxed his grip with a sigh of relief, immediately put on a fawning smile, and stepped aside to lead the way.
The interview area was set up in the side wing of the theater lobby, in front of a temporary backdrop, where the red indicator lights of dozens of cameras flickered in the dimly lit lobby.
Hundreds of reporters crowded behind the police cordon, their telephoto lenses and microphones forming an impenetrable steel jungle.
The main creative team stood in front of the backdrop in turn.
Ichikawa Kun stood in the center, his full head of silver hair gleaming coldly under the flashlight.
Yasuko Sawaguchi stood beside him, dressed in a simple black dress with very light makeup. She seemed not to have completely detached herself from the cold-blooded Yuko Moriguchi on screen.
Kitahara Iwa walked up to the backdrop and instinctively stopped in the least noticeable corner, his hands hanging naturally at his sides, intending to quietly serve as a backdrop for two minutes and wait out the agreed time.
But since Haruki Kadokawa had gone to great lengths to invite Iwao Kitahara over, how could he possibly let him waste his talent by hiding on the edge of the camera?
Next, Kadokawa Haruki half-invited and half-pushed Kitahara Iwao onto his back, forcibly bringing Kitahara Iwao from the shadows to Sawaguchi Yasuko's side.
Feeling the instantaneous lock-on from countless telephoto lenses, Kitahara Iwa sighed almost imperceptibly, but there was nothing he could do but let it be.
The interview then began.
The reporters were initially quite organized, first posing questions to Ichikawa Kun.
"Director Ichikawa, the visual style of this film is completely different from your previous works; it's cold and oppressive. How did you set the tone during the creative process?"
Ichikawa Kun gave a brief response into the microphone.
Then, all the microphones were quickly handed to Yasuko Sawaguchi, like a swarm of sharks smelling blood.
"Ms. Sawaguchi! Your performance in this movie is absolutely chilling, completely overturning all your previous innocent image!"
"During the filming of these extremely depressing scenes, did you encounter any insurmountable difficulties?"
Yasuko Sawaguchi took the microphone, but didn't answer immediately. She lowered her head slightly and remained silent for a second. Then she turned her face slightly to look at Iwao Kitahara beside her and said softly, "To be honest, when I first joined the crew, I didn't quite understand the character of Yuko Moriguchi."
Yasuko Sawaguchi took the microphone, but didn't answer immediately. She lowered her head slightly and remained silent for a second. Then she turned her face slightly to look at Iwao Kitahara beside her and said softly, "To be honest, when I first joined the crew, I didn't quite understand the character of Yuko Moriguchi."
Yasuko Sawaguchi's voice was very soft, but with the amplification of professional recording equipment, every word was clearly transmitted throughout the venue.
"I think I've come to understand Ms. Moriguchi's despair."
"I knew she had lost her daughter, and I knew she hated the killers. But when I actually stood on the stage on set, I found that all I could portray was anger, resentment, and even a suppressed breakdown."
"That emotion was too lively and too normal; it completely failed to support the coldness that Director Ichikawa wanted."
"For a while, I was so tormented by this sense of disconnect that I couldn't find my way around the camera at all, which severely slowed down the progress. The entire crew was brought to a standstill because of me."
As soon as he finished speaking, the interview area fell silent for a moment.
At that moment, Yasuko Sawaguchi raised her head again, her bright eyes looking at Iwao Kitahara standing beside her.
"Later, it was Kitahara-sensei who came to the set in person."
As soon as Yasuko Sawaguchi said this, all the reporters present perked up their ears and their eyes kept scanning back and forth between Kitahara Iwao and Yasuko Sawaguchi.
"Teacher Kitahara didn't teach me how to make expressions. He just watched the playback once and then calmly pointed out my mistakes."
Sawaguchi Yasuko's tone became incredibly serious as she said, "He told me I was acting too hard. Moriguchi Yuko died the day she lost her daughter."
"So don't play an angry mother. Play a handful of burnt-out ashes."
At this point, Yasuko Sawaguchi took a half step to the side and bowed solemnly in the direction of Kitahara Iwa.
"It was the word 'ashes' that instantly cleared my way out of my predicament. If it weren't for Kitahara-sensei setting this foundation for me, I would never have become the Yuko Moriguchi I am today. I am truly grateful to you."
Faced with the public tribute from Japan's national sweetheart in front of hundreds of cameras, Kitahara Iwao simply smiled, raised his hand slightly to indicate that she didn't need to be so polite, and didn't try to steal the limelight with a single word.
But Yasuko Sawaguchi's hardcore behind-the-scenes story has completely ignited the media present.
All the long guns and short cannons, like a pack of wolves smelling blood, instantly turned around and aimed at Kitahara Iwa, who was forced to stand in the center position.
"Mr. Kitahara! Are you satisfied with Director Ichikawa's final film?"
"Teacher Kitahara! After the big-screen version of 'Confessions,' will your next novel be immediately adapted into a film or television series?"
"Teacher Kitahara! What is your response to the recent media suppression by the Ministry of Finance?"
"Teacher Kitahara, do you think the current cabinet should resign to take responsibility for the current economic recession?!"
The questions came crashing down like a tsunami.
What was supposed to be a group interview with the creative team behind "Confessions" turned into a personal press conference for Kitahara Iwao in just one minute.
Although Kadokawa Haruki, standing to the side, was sweating profusely from being jostled, he couldn't help but grin wildly from ear to ear. This kind of media frenzy, capable of covering entertainment, culture, and even politics, is an effect that no amount of advertising spending can buy.
Faced with a barrage of questions that seemed to be shoving the microphone right in his face, Kitahara Iwao didn't deliberately put on a cold, unapproachable face, but he also didn't pander to the media's fervor.
He simply selected two questions directly related to the script adaptation and gave brief, clear answers, without uttering a single unnecessary word.
Kitahara Iwao simply ignored any leading questions that tried to drag him into political conflict or economic turmoil.
No matter how much the reporters below pressed him for answers, they couldn't get a single word out of him.
Finally, a reporter in the back row, stepping on his colleague's shoulders, shouted at the top of his lungs the question that all of Japan was most concerned about: "Mr. Kitahara! After 'Railroad Man,' 'The Scream,' and 'The Ring,' what are you planning to write next? Readers all over Japan are waiting for your new work!"
As the words fell, the noisy questions in the interview area gradually subsided.
All the cameras focused on Kitahara Iwa at that moment, awaiting his answer.
Kitahara Iwa looked at the barrage of flashing lights in front of him, paused for two seconds, and then leaned forward slightly to get closer to the microphone.
"You will all know when it is finished."
Only this sentence.
There was no preview of the subject matter, no information about the progress, and no specific information left for the media to make a story out of.
But it is precisely this extremely clean and simple use of white space that is more effective at whetting the public's appetite than any flowery publicity.
After speaking, Kitahara Iwa nodded slightly to the reporters as a final farewell, then turned and walked towards the side door that the security personnel had already opened.
Just then, I heard the rapid sound of high heels behind me, accompanied by a slightly panting shout.
"Teacher Kitahara—please wait a moment."
Kitahara Iwa stopped and looked back.
Yasuko Sawaguchi was seen carrying the hem of her black dress as she hurried along the corridor.
She had clearly just escaped from the reporters' encirclement and hurriedly caught up with them via another passage.
When she stopped, her breathing was still a little uneven because she had walked too fast.
Two security personnel were about to step forward to stop them when Kitahara Iwa raised his hand, signaling them to step back.
"Ms. Sawaguchi?"
Kitahara Iwa looked at the actress who had specifically chased after him and asked in a low voice, "Is there anything else?"
"Teacher Kitahara."
Yasuko Sawaguchi stopped and gave a slight, respectful bow.
"There were media people surrounding me upstairs, so I wasn't able to say some things properly."
She straightened up and looked sincerely at Kitahara Iwa, saying, "I've always wanted to tell you this in person—thank you."
"Yuko Moriguchi in 'Confessions'...you gave my acting career a second life."
Her voice was soft, yet unusually firm.
Prior to this, Yasuko Sawaguchi had almost been completely defined by the industry as "a pretty face with no acting skills."
The major production companies only used her as a pretty billboard to earn ratings, and no one cared whether she could act well.
Kitahara Iwao and Ichikawa Kun defied all opposition and nominated her for the role, pulling her out of the mire of idol acting on set.
Upon hearing this, Kitahara Iwa shook his head and said, "What Moriguchi Yuko needs is utter shattering and numbness."
"The despair and exhaustion you portrayed before perfectly matched Yuko Moriguchi. Rather than saying I gave you the opportunity, it's more accurate to say the role just happened to require you at that time."
Yasuko Sawaguchi paused for a moment, then smiled.
This detached approach, stripping away all social niceties and focusing solely on professional compatibility, is indeed Kitahara Iwao's consistent style.
His understated words miraculously relieved Yasuko Sawaguchi of her heavy burden.
"In that case, I'll treat you to dinner next time, Kitahara-sensei."
Yasuko Sawaguchi's tone became lighter, and she extended the invitation in a more generous manner.
Kitahara Iwa nodded slightly, said no more pleasantries, turned around, opened the car door, and bent down to get into the sedan.
The engine started, and the black car quickly drove out of the underground parking garage, its taillights merging into the traffic amidst the bustling Shibuya night.
Yasuko Sawaguchi stood there for a while, until the early spring night wind blew through her thin dress, before she pulled her shawl tighter and turned to leave.
This was just an ordinary private thank you exchange between the creator and the actor.
What followed was a frenzy following the release of "Confessions" that was more astonishing than any financial statement figure.
It is no longer just a movie, but has become a devastating depth charge that pierced through the hypocritical moral facade of the Heisei era.
The ripples spread from the movie theater screen all the way to the corridors of the National Assembly building.
The reason is simple: once the audience leaves the theater, they simply can't stop talking about it.
Housewives whispered in the supermarket's fresh produce section, exchanging the same chilling hypothetical question: "If it were you, would you also add that blood to the milk?"
Office workers in an izakaya argued heatedly about whether Yuko Moriguchi's vigilante justice was "justice" or "crime."
High school teachers across the country are gripped by a collective sense of professional anxiety because the distorted school environment depicted on screen is all too real.
Television stations rushed to produce special reports, and sociologists published numerous articles in newspapers analyzing the "imbalance between juvenile law and the rights of victims."
And the eye of all these social discussions ultimately converges on the same name—Yasuko Sawaguchi.
She completely shattered the "wooden beauty" label she once held.
The character of Yuko Moriguchi, as portrayed by her, possessed a morbid quality—the way she compressed all her grief into a sophisticated machine of revenge—that was like a scalpel chilled to the bone, piercing the hearts of audiences across Japan.
Film critics scoured dictionaries and ultimately used one word to describe this unprecedented screen image: "the beauty of destruction."
However, when a woman's beauty is sharp enough to pierce the nerves of the masses, it will inevitably attract the attention of predators lurking at the top of power.
This irresistibly alluring assessment quickly reached someone's ears.
Tokyo, Akasaka.
Deep within a sprawling private mansion, completely concealed by towering ancient trees, lies a luxurious private screening room.
The owner of the cinema is Yoshiaki Tsutsumi.
General Manager of Seibu Group, President of National Land Planning Co., Ltd., and Japan's largest private landowner.
On Forbes' newly released 1990 list of the world's richest people, this name is prominently listed at the top—he is the "world's richest man" of that era.
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi's empire encompassed railways, hotels, department stores, golf courses, and a vast, incalculable land reserve.
Protected by the myth that Japanese land prices only rise and never fall, this perpetual motion machine of capital propelled Yoshiaki Tsutsumi to the pinnacle of absolute power.
But beneath that throne symbolizing endless wealth, Yoshiaki Tsutsumi has another identity that is known to both political and business circles, but no one dares to discuss openly—the most greedy "hunter" in the Japanese entertainment industry.
His possessiveness toward female celebrities was like hoarding land—an almost irresistible conquest.
In his history of womanizing, his methods never needed to be sophisticated. He only needed to casually mention a name at a high-level banquet, and the massive gears of capital would automatically start turning: probing, applying pressure, and even cutting off all the other party's escape routes.
Offending Yoshiaki Tsutsumi is not just about offending a wealthy businessman, but about offending the entire ecosystem that controls most of Japan's service and media industries.
Tonight, Yoshiaki Tsutsumi sat alone on the leather sofa in the screening room and watched the special edition of "Confessions".
As the screen went dark, he leaned back in his chair, his right index finger slowly tapping the armrest.
The chilling smile that Yasuko Sawaguchi wore on the podium left a burning afterimage on his retina.
As the world's richest man, Yoshiaki Tsutsumi has seen far too many beautiful, submissive, and timid women.
Those women were like exquisite dolls in the windows of Seibu Department Store, and he had long since grown tired of them.
But Yuko Moriguchi on the big screen is different.
This is a morbid beauty that has been completely stripped of its appeal and exudes an aura of death.
Like a cold blade, the sharper it is, the more it arouses the tyrannical desire of those in power to forcibly break it and hold it in their palm.
After a short while, the fingers tapping on the armrest stopped.
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi stood up, wiped his hands with a hot towel on the table, and said to his secretary, who was waiting in the shadows outside the door, "Yasuko Sawaguchi."
The secretary bowed deeply, asked no questions, and accepted the order to retreat into the night.
three days later.
At a private dinner hosted by a zaibatsu (financial conglomerate) at a top-tier restaurant in Akasaka, Tokyo, a powerful politician with close ties to the Seibu Group casually mentioned Yasuko Sawaguchi's name to an entertainment industry tycoon at the table amidst the clinking of glasses.
His wording was very deliberate, and his tone was very casual, but everyone present understood the meaning.
"Chairman Tsutsumi recently watched 'Confessions' and praised Ms. Sawaguchi's acting skills highly."
"I wanted to find an opportunity to talk to her privately about her thoughts on the movie. I wanted to arrange a relaxed dinner, in a quiet, private setting."
After finishing his remarks, the politician picked up his sake cup and, with a smile, changed the subject.
But the entertainment industry mogul's chopsticks remained suspended in mid-air for a full three seconds.
He'd heard this line more than once: a quiet, private, and relaxing dinner.
In Yoshiaki Tsutsumi's language system, these words, when combined, form an irresistible hunting net.
Within 24 hours, the news landed precisely on the desk of the president of Toho Entertainment, the agency to which Yasuko Sawaguchi belongs.
The president of Toho Entertainment turned pale on the spot.
Having worked in this industry for thirty years, he knew all too well what this meant.
This is not an invitation to "consider"; it's a forced, life-or-death question, and there's only one standard answer.
But he also knew Yasuko Sawaguchi's personality well; this woman had a stubbornness and bottom line that were completely inconsistent with her delicate appearance.
If you tell her directly, "Yoshiaki Tsutsumi wants to ask you out alone," she will definitely refuse.
The consequence of refusing was not just that Yasuko Sawaguchi was sidelined, but that the livelihoods of dozens of people at Toho Entertainment were directly ruined.
At this moment, the president of Toho Entertainment fell into a long and agonizing silence.
In the end, he called Yasuko Sawaguchi over and laid everything out in the open.
"Jingzi,"
The president of Toho Entertainment said in a low voice, tinged with deep helplessness, "I won't make this decision for you. But you must understand, if we refuse..."
He didn't finish speaking, nor did he need to.
Yasuko Sawaguchi sat on the sofa, her ten fingers tightly clasped above her knees, her knuckles white, her face expressionless, but she looked as if all the blood had been drained from her body in an instant.
Without saying anything, she stood up, bowed deeply, and then walked out of the office.
It was late at night, almost one in the morning.
The landline phone in Kitahara Iwa's apartment in the port area rang abruptly in the darkness.
Kitahara Iwa turned off the bedside lamp and picked up the receiver.
There was no immediate sound from the other end of the phone, only a suppressed, almost broken breathing sound.
Three seconds later, Yasuko Sawaguchi's slightly trembling voice finally came through.
"Teacher Kitahara... I'm so sorry to call you so late at night."
Yasuko Sawaguchi tried to keep her tone steady, but the despair in her voice at the end was impossible to hide: "I've encountered a situation with no way out, and I really don't know what to do."
Kitahara Iwa leaned against the headboard, not urging her on, quietly waiting for her to continue.
"This afternoon, I called every number in my contacts, and begged every senior I knew in the industry, even the most influential figures..."
Yasuko Sawaguchi's voice tightened, filled with a deep sense of helplessness: "But when they guessed who had passed the message to me, everyone fell silent."
"They didn't dare say a word, they just advised me to accept my fate."
A bitter laugh came through the receiver.
"A very influential politician contacted my firm, saying that a big shot admired my performance in 'Confessions' and wanted to have dinner with me alone."
When she uttered those two words alone, there was a strong sense of physical resistance.
"I don't dare say that person's name on the phone, I'm afraid it will cause you trouble."
Yasuko Sawaguchi lowered her voice to a whisper, as if the name itself were some kind of terrifying taboo: "I can only tell you that he controls the most land, railway lines, and resort hotels in all of Japan. In present-day Japan, no one can say no to him."
"I don't want to have dinner with him. But I'm even more afraid to refuse him outright."
"Because if someone of his caliber feels that his words have offended me, my firm and the livelihoods of dozens of my staff members could be completely ruined by his single sentence."
She seemed to be on the verge of collapse, her voice trembling with barely audible sobs: "Teacher Kitahara, can you help me think of a way... How can I reject him while also keeping the people around me?"
After saying that, all that could be heard on the other end of the phone was suppressed breathing.
Kitahara Iwa held the receiver, never interrupting her for a single word.
He didn't need Yasuko Sawaguchi to say the name; he knew who that so-called important person was.
There is only one powerful figure in all of Japan who owns the most land, railways, and hotels, and who can silence the entire political and entertainment worlds.
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi, CEO of the Seibu Group and number one on the 1990 Forbes list of the world's richest people.
With personal assets estimated at over 1.5 trillion yen, he is the absolute dictator of a vast business empire spanning transportation and real estate.
During the peak of the bubble economy, his power was at its zenith, and no one in Japan dared to challenge him.
Offending such an arrogant tycoon for the sake of an actress with whom one has only a brief working relationship is definitely not a smart choice.
Kitahara Iwa lowered his eyes, reason instantly prevailing. He was about to speak, intending to sever this inappropriate entanglement, when he said, "Ms. Sawaguchi, I'm just a writer. This level of game..."
"I know this is asking too much of you."
On the other end of the phone, Yasuko Sawaguchi seemed to have a premonition of Iwao Kitahara's rejection.
But instead of breaking down, her voice became strangely calm.
"I plan to hold a press conference first thing tomorrow morning to announce my indefinite retirement from the entertainment industry."
Yasuko Sawaguchi's tone revealed a death wish with no way out: "I would rather destroy myself than be his caged canary."
At this point, Yasuko Sawaguchi paused, then pleaded with a final hint, "I'm calling to ask you... if I unilaterally retire from the industry, or leave this country... and take all the blame and responsibility for the breach of contract upon myself, will that person let my agency and those innocent staff members off the hook?"
Upon hearing this, Kitahara Iwa's refusal, which was about to utter, suddenly stopped.
He sensed the resolve in Yasuko Sawaguchi's words.
She wasn't desperately seeking protection; she was seeking a dignified way to die, even if it meant mutual destruction.
This actress, who had just begun to shine on screen, is now forced to kill her own hard-won acting career in order to avoid the unspoken rules of capital.
Kitahara Iwa's fingers tightened slightly as he gripped the receiver.
Then, Kitahara Iwa didn't hang up the phone, nor did he say anything more about refusing; his mind kept racing.
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi was indeed arrogant and overbearing.
But in Kitahara Iwa's mind, what appeared at this moment was not Tsutsumi Yoshiaki's aloof face, but a string of macroeconomic dates tinged with blood.
1990 3 Month 27 Day.
There is less than a month left until today.
On that very day, Masaaki Tsuchida, Director-General of the Banking Bureau of the Ministry of Finance of Japan, will sign an administrative guidance document numbered "Director-General of the Banking Bureau of the Ministry of Finance".
Its official name is "Regulations on Controlling Land-Related Financing".
Later historians and economists typically use four words to describe this death knell that directly punctured Japan's real estate bubble and pushed countless zaibatsu to their deaths:
Total volume regulation.
This thin document, just a few pages long, will become the fatal needle that punctures Japan's bubble economy.
Its core provision consists of only one clause: the growth rate of all financial institutions’ real estate-related financing must not exceed the growth rate of their overall loans.
One rule is enough to sever everything.
The business model that Seibu Group has relied on for decades has been "buying land → mortgaging loans → buying more land → taking out more loans as land prices rise".
This seemingly perpetual motion machine of capital, which appears to never stop turning, will have its power suddenly cut off by the Ministry of Finance on March 27.
Banks will no longer approve new real estate loans.
Moreover, those bankers who once groveled before the Seibu Group will turn on them overnight, frantically demanding repayment of old debts like hyenas smelling blood.
The tens of thousands of land reserves of the Western Wu Empire will instantly transform from a money-printing machine into a black hole that is depreciating rapidly every day and draining its cash flow.
At this moment, Yoshiaki Tsutsumi was still reveling at the highest point of his empire, completely unaware that the pyramid beneath his feet had begun to collapse.
A month later, he would no longer have the mood or spare money to hunt down any female celebrities.
A year later, he will be forced to cut his losses and struggle to cope with the group's broken cash flow.
In the historical timeline familiar to Kitahara Iwao, this arrogant world's richest man will eventually be arrested by the Tokyo District Public Prosecutors Office Special Investigation Department for financial fraud and become a prisoner in handcuffs.
Kitahara Iwak knew better than anyone else in this era just how deep the cliff beneath Tsutsumi Yoshiaki's feet was.
Therefore, the solution to this impasse doesn't require a direct confrontation; it only requires two words: delay.
If we can hold out for this month, the balance of power will be completely reversed.
"Ms. Sawaguchi."
After a long silence, Kitahara Iwa finally spoke: "There is only one thing you need to do now: disappear immediately."
Upon hearing this, Yasuko Sawaguchi looked completely bewildered.
"Tomorrow morning, all your public appearances for the next month are cancelled. Announcements, interviews, events—cancel them all."
Kitahara Iwa said softly, "Then we'll take the Shinkansen to Kyoto overnight and find a remote mountain temple to stay in. The more remote the better, and we'll tell everyone it's for 'quiet meditation'."
"Silent retreat?"
Yasuko Sawaguchi repeated the word, completely baffled as to its connection to the billionaire's invitation.
"Let me finish."
Kitahara Iwa continued, "After you leave Tokyo, have your agent contact the middleman at Seibu."
"Remember, let the agent handle it, and keep a very low profile."
Kitahara Iwa held the receiver and explained his entire plan: "Have your agent, in the most terrified tone, pour out your grievances to the middleman—say that you had serious mental problems after filming 'Confessions'."
"I was haunted by the dark side of Yuko Moriguchi's character, tormented by nightmares every night, and on the verge of collapse."
On the other end of the phone, Yasuko Sawaguchi even held her breath, afraid of missing a single word.
Kitahara Iwa continued, "Then, he said that the firm had no choice but to spend a lot of money to hire a highly respected monk in Kyoto."
"The high monk's prediction was: You are too immersed in the role, and you are currently carrying an extremely heavy aura of destruction, which is specifically designed to harm your wealth and luck."
"Before this malevolent energy dissipates, anyone in a high position who comes into close contact with you will suffer a backlash."
"At best, it will cause a significant loss of wealth; at worst, it will destabilize one's career."
He paused, giving the other person time to process the information, and then continued, "Finally, your agent must show absolute reverence, saying that in order not to offend Chairman Ti's luck, you are willing to go to the deep mountains and forests to eat vegetarian food, chant Buddhist scriptures, and suffer. Only after the high monk confirms that the evil aura has dissipated should you personally visit to apologize."
After she finished speaking, a long silence fell over both ends of the phone, with only Yasuko Sawaguchi's slightly rapid breathing being heard.
After her initial shock, Yasuko Sawaguchi suddenly realized the brilliance of this excuse.
It did not directly reject Yoshiaki Tsutsumi at all; instead, it packaged the "not meeting" as "to protect Chairman Tsutsumi's luck."
The reason for refusing changed from "I don't want to see you" to "I don't dare to hurt you".
Not only could Yoshiaki Tsutsumi not find fault with anything, but his reputation was actually boosted.
But after a brief moment of clarity, Yasuko Sawaguchi's voice still betrayed an undeniable unease.
"Teacher Kitahara..."
Yasuko Sawaguchi gripped the microphone tightly and said, "Can such superstitious talk really stop a businessman of Chairman Tsutsumi's caliber? If he thinks we're playing a trick on him, he can just send someone to Kyoto to investigate..."
"You don't understand those who stand at the top of power."
Kitahara Iwa shook his head and said, "The more wealth a person possesses, the more afraid he is of losing it. Tsutsumi Yoshiaki is now the world's richest man, and he knows better than anyone that his success today is not solely due to his abilities."
"Such people outwardly believe that human will can overcome nature, but deep down they are extremely superstitious. The higher they stand, the more they revere 'luck'."
"Before each major project of the Seibu Group starts, they have someone look at the feng shui. This is not just for show; they really believe in it."
"Therefore, when he hears the omen of 'financial loss and bad luck,' he will never verify whether it is true or not."
"Because verification itself means taking on risk."
"Given Yoshiaki's current wealth, he would never gamble even a one in ten thousand chance of losing money for a female celebrity."
As Kitahara Iwao finished speaking, Sawaguchi Yasuko fell completely silent. She had to admit that this logic of manipulating the psychology of those in power was simply impeccable.
But her fear of the future did not completely dissipate.
"Even if he believes it for now... what happens after this period of retreat is over?"
Sawaguchi Yasuko spoke into the microphone, her voice tinged with helplessness, "In a hundred days, or a few months, he'll still come looking for me. What reason will I have to refuse him then?"
Faced with her despair, Kitahara Iwao's response was unusually calm.
"No need for later."
He leaned against the headboard, gazing at the deep darkness outside the window, and said, "You just need to use this excuse to get through the next month."
Yasuko Sawaguchi was slightly taken aback: "A month? Why a month?"
"Because after a month, no one in the world will have the time to think about an actress anymore."
Kitahara Iwa didn't explain to her the bloodshed hidden behind that confident statement; he simply held the receiver and gazed out the window.
But in his mind, a grand picture of a massive collapse a month from now had already been vividly conceived.
After March 27, the approval windows for real estate loans at major banks will close one after another, like dominoes.
The hot money that has flooded into the property market in the past few years will be withdrawn quickly, and the loosening of land prices will turn into an irreparable dam failure.
The astronomical land reserves held by the Seibu Group will see their book value shrink at an alarming rate.
The bankers who once groveled before Yoshiaki Tsutsumi will instantly transform into hyenas that have caught the scent of blood.
Collection calls will come pouring in like a torrential downpour, demanding immediate repayment of loans that were originally "indefinitely postponed."
Yoshiaki Tsutsumi's lifelong pride in his "perpetual motion machine of land" will suffer a fatal backlash the moment policy shifts.
Every piece of land snapped up becomes a black hole that drains the group's cash flow.
He will be forced into a frantic self-rescue effort—selling off assets, restructuring, and seeking help from all sides.
But in the face of this colossal wave that buried the entire Japanese economic miracle, all struggles will be in vain.
By then, a female celebrity's "100-day promise" will be like a grain of sand in a tsunami, washed away without a trace.
"So, go and stay in Kyoto without worry."
Kitahara Iwa pulled himself out of his thoughts and continued into the microphone, his voice as calm as if he were recounting an ordinary, everyday matter: "Find a quiet temple and really experience a life of quiet contemplation."
"Reading scriptures, copying them, and living a secluded life might not be a bad thing for you to shed your idol image and broaden your acting career."
On the other end of the phone, Yasuko Sawaguchi gripped the receiver tightly, a complex mix of emotions welling up inside her.
She didn't understand why Kitahara Iwa was so certain about the "one month" timeframe.
Could it be that he possesses some top-secret information that even the Seibu Group itself doesn't know about?
But she didn't ask any further questions.
"Teacher Kitahara..."
Across the long telephone line, Yasuko Sawaguchi stood up in her dimly lit apartment and bowed deeply into the void.
Her voice trembled with a hint of relief and a sob as she said, "Thank you. I'll be taking the first Shinkansen train tomorrow morning."
"Okay. Go ahead."
A soft click.
The call was disconnected.
The apartment in the port area returned to the silence of the night.
Kitahara Iwa put the receiver back on the landline and gazed at the calm Tokyo night view outside the window.
Now that I've resolved the issue with Yasuko Sawaguchi, it's time to think about what I should write next.