Chapter 122 Yasuko Sawaguchi's Confession and White Night

March 27th, evening.

Ohara, Kyoto, Sankobo.

From the distant main hall came the low chanting of the nuns as they performed their evening prayers.

Yasuko Sawaguchi sat quietly alone on the tatami mat in the guest room, her gaze habitually drifting towards the cedar forest outside the window, which had completely blended into the night.

Just now, she received an urgent message from her agent through the paging system: "All clear, you are safe."

Not only did Yoshiaki Tsutsumi cancel the dinner party for tomorrow night, but he also personally ordered that there should be no further contact.

I am completely saved.

But Kitahara Iwa's words on the phone yesterday began to echo in her mind: "This morning, a mountain will crash directly onto Tsutsumi Yoshiaki's head."

What exactly is that mountain?

Yasuko Sawaguchi sat quietly on the tatami for a few seconds before finally putting on her coat and leaving the guest room, heading to the small tea room shared by the temple.

In the corner of the tea room sat an old, small television set, which the nuns occasionally used to watch NHK news.

She turned on the TV and tuned to NHK's evening news.

The moment the screen lit up, a barrage of bold red text and a chaotic visual display immediately hit you.

"The Ministry of Finance officially released the 'Guidelines on Controlling Land-Related Financing' today..."

"Major earthquake in the financial world: Major banks tighten real estate lending across the board..."

"Real estate giants such as Seibu Group are facing a crisis of broken capital chains..."

"Chairman Yoshiaki Tsutsumi convened an emergency board meeting; Seibu Group's stock price experienced a panic sell-off today..."

As she watched the content on the television, Yasuko Sawaguchi stood frozen in front of the old television, completely motionless.

The images on the screen kept changing: the entrance to the Seibu Group headquarters was surrounded by a throng of reporters; executives from major banks refused to be interviewed and hurriedly got into their cars; and economic commentators in the studio were analyzing the devastating impact of this sudden policy on the entire Japanese real estate industry in an extremely somber tone.

At that moment, Yasuko Sawaguchi watched as the news anchor repeatedly mentioned the name "Yoshiaki Tsutsumi".

And every time it is mentioned, it is followed by alarming words such as "broken funding chain", "emergency response" and "imperial crisis".

Yasuko Sawaguchi stood in front of the old television set and let out a long sigh.

At this moment, her heart was pounding uncontrollably in her chest.

This is a powerful shock and...longing that arises after witnessing terrifying abilities.

After all, Kitahara Iwao had said in yesterday's phone call that Tsutsumi Yoshiaki wouldn't have time to deal with him.

At the time, she was still skeptical.

And now, what's being shown on television is the billowing smoke from the collapse of Yoshiaki Tsutsumi's capital empire.

As Yasuko Sawaguchi looked at the screen, the image of Kitahara Iwao's young face involuntarily surfaced in her mind.

In the cutthroat entertainment industry, women often have no choice but to rely on some form of power to survive.

Yoshiaki Tsutsumi, that arrogant and conceited old-fashioned zaibatsu, was a quagmire trying to forcibly devour her.

But Kitahara Iwa is completely different.

He was only in his twenties, and was not only outstanding in appearance but also exceptionally talented.

If Tsutsumi Yoshiaki was the cliff she was desperately trying to escape, then Kitahara Iwa was the towering tree she desperately wanted to cling to.

Thinking of this, Yasuko Sawaguchi's eyes gradually changed.

The fear and helplessness that had enveloped her for half a month gradually faded away, replaced by a sense of adult clarity and ambition.

She not only wanted to repay a debt of gratitude.

She wanted to get close to him, to hold him, and even... to completely enter that man's world.

A soft snap.

Yasuko Sawaguchi turned off the television and, amidst the night breeze of the deep mountains and the lingering sound of evening bells, turned and walked back to the guest room.

Compared to her staggering steps when she fled into the mountains half a month ago, her steps were unusually firm now.

In early April, Tokyo's cherry blossom season was nearing its end.

The Japanese financial sector, which has been hit by the "total volume regulation" nuclear attack, is in dire straits, and the collapse of the Seibu Empire has become a frequent topic in the financial sections of major newspapers.

But all of this is no longer relevant to Yasuko Sawaguchi.

After a month-long retreat in Jikobo, she finally returned to her apartment in Setagaya Ward with only a few simple belongings.

Pushing open the door, the answering machine next to the landline was flashing its red light frantically.

Without even listening, you can tell that it's filled with anxious inquiries from agency presidents and frantic invitations from producers from all walks of life.

But Yasuko Sawaguchi didn't even glance at it, and went straight over to unplug the phone line.

Then she took a long hot bath, thoroughly washing away the bitter cold of the deep mountains and the scent of incense that she had accumulated over the past month.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, Yasuko Sawaguchi examined herself. The panic of being hunted by the chaebols in her eyes had completely faded, replaced by a clarity after calming down, and a trace of barely perceptible ambition.

Then Yasuko Sawaguchi took a deep breath, plugged the phone back in, and dialed the number she had silently repeated countless times in her mind.

"Teacher Kitahara, I'm going back to Tokyo."

At this moment, Yasuko Sawaguchi's voice was much calmer than it had been half a month ago, but upon closer listening, a hint of tension was still hidden in the last syllable.

"I've always wanted to thank you in person for what happened before. Would you do me the honor of having me treat you to a simple meal tonight?"

The soft scratching sound of a pen gliding across paper came from the other end of the phone.

Kitahara Iwa stopped writing. He initially wanted to refuse outright, but after thinking for a moment, he replied, "Okay. You choose the place."

That evening, at 7:30.

Tokyo, Kagurazaka.

The light rain on a spring night gave the stone path of Kagurazaka a dim sheen.

Yasuko Sawaguchi booked a high-class ryotei (traditional Japanese restaurant) hidden in a secluded alley.

There are no conspicuous signs here, only a simple white lantern hanging in front of the wooden door.

This restaurant isn't the kind of exclusive, members-only club that demands political or business connections, but it excels in its absolute privacy and tranquility.

The proprietress has lived in Kagurazaka for thirty years and knows best what it means to keep a secret.

When Kitahara Iwa, led by Nakai who was dressed in a kimono, pushed open the paper sliding door of the private room, Sawaguchi Yasuko had already arrived half an hour early.

Her outfit tonight was meticulously planned and executed without leaving a trace of artifice.

Yasuko Sawaguchi did not wear a haute couture gown tonight, the kind that makes people feel distant and unapproachable, nor did she wear any dazzling jewelry.

She chose a perfectly tailored off-white cashmere knit sweater, paired with a flowing dark long skirt.

Her long, black hair was no longer meticulously combed as it was on the big screen, but instead softly draped over her shoulders, and her makeup was so light that it was almost impossible to see any trace of embellishment.

At this moment, Yasuko Sawaguchi has shed the suffocating coldness of Yuko Moriguchi in "Confessions" and also removed the aloof halo of a national star. Sitting under the warm lamplight, she exudes a gentle grace that is stunningly beautiful.

"Teacher Kitahara, thank you for coming."

Yasuko Sawaguchi rose and bowed slightly, then politely guided Iwata Kitahara to his seat. She then rolled up her sleeves and personally poured him a full cup of sake.

Kitahara Iwa glanced at the bottle on the table; it was a high-quality Junmai Daiginjo sake, with the words "Dassai" printed on the label.

"Good wine."

"Before I came here, I asked the editors at Kadokawa Shoten, and they said that you prefer mellow-tasting Japanese sake to whiskey."

"That's why I specifically asked the boss to reserve this one."

Yasuko Sawaguchi spoke simply and naturally, but Iwao Kitahara knew in his heart that she had obviously put a lot of effort into this meal.

Next, I suppose there's something they want.

The two sat down, and exquisite kaiseki cuisine was served one after another.

The initial atmosphere still carried a hint of politeness, but as the glasses clinked again and again, that thin layer of restraint gradually dissipated in the warm aroma of the wine.

Yasuko Sawaguchi talked about her life in the temple: the morning prayers at 4:30 a.m., copying the Heart Sutra until her wrists ached, and the cedar forest stone steps on the back mountain that she had walked countless times.

"You might not believe it, but this past month has actually been the most peaceful time I've had in recent years."

Yasuko Sawaguchi looked down at the gently swirling liquid in her glass, a serene smile playing on her lips. "After returning to Tokyo today, I actually feel a little out of place. It's too noisy."

Kitahara Iwa listened quietly, holding his wine glass, occasionally nodding in response.

Yasuko Sawaguchi then shifted the conversation to the works of Iwao Kitahara.

"There's not much entertainment in the temple, so I had my agent send you all the books you've published."

At this point, Yasuko Sawaguchi's tone became exceptionally serious: "I've read 'The Scream,' 'Confessions,' 'Railroad Man,' and the entire 'Ring' series... I've read them all. A month was just right."

Upon hearing this, Kitahara Iwa raised an eyebrow slightly and said, "Reading 'The Ring' in a remote mountain temple? Miss Sawaguchi is bolder than I imagined."

Yasuko Sawaguchi couldn't help but cover her mouth and laugh.

This smile was bright and cheerful, shedding the standardized, mask-like demeanor she wore when facing the media.

"I was really scared. When I read the part in the second book where Sadako is resurrected through her womb, I was too scared to walk alone down the hallway to the bathroom at night."

After her smile faded, Yasuko Sawaguchi's expression gradually returned to calm.

"However, after reading it all, my feelings towards you..."

At this point, Yasuko Sawaguchi paused, as if carefully choosing her words, and said, "It's not just the respect I feel as an actress for the original author, but a kind of... awe that I don't know how to describe."

She raised her head, her gaze clear and direct as she stared at Kitahara Iwa across from her.

"The world in your mind is too vast. I have been acting for so many years and have met many top screenwriters and directors, but I have never met anyone who can write both 'Railroad Man', which makes people cry their eyes out, and 'The Ring', which makes people afraid to turn off the lights."

Kitahara Iwa smiled faintly, picked up his wine glass, took a sip, and said nothing.

After several rounds of drinks...

Most of the dishes on the table had been cleared away, and the second bottle of Dassai was empty.

At this moment, a light blush rose on Yasuko Sawaguchi's cheeks, and her slightly tipsy eyes were a bit brighter than before, shimmering with moisture.

At this moment, she gently placed the wine glass back on the table, folded her hands on her knees, and remained silent for several seconds with her head down.

The private room was so quiet that the only sound was the clear, thudding sound of a startled deer striking stones in the courtyard.

Finally, Yasuko Sawaguchi raised her head again and looked at Iwao Kitahara.

"Teacher Kitahara."

"Um?"

"May I ask you a personal question?"

Looking at the obvious look on her face as she tried to muster her courage, Kitahara Iwa could roughly guess what she wanted to ask.

"Go ahead and ask."

Yasuko Sawaguchi bit her lower lip slightly, as if she had made up her mind.

"You are now..."

Her voice was soft, yet exceptionally clear: "Do you have someone you're dating?"

The question lingered in the quiet private room for two seconds.

Kitahara Iwa held his wine glass, his gaze falling on the slightly swirling liquid inside, before gently shaking his head.

"Not at the moment."

Upon hearing this, Yasuko Sawaguchi's eyes lit up for a moment.

Although the light was brief, it revealed an uncontainable hope.

"That--"

At this moment, Yasuko Sawaguchi's voice softened by half an octave, but her tone became even more resolute.

"Teacher Kitahara, may I be frank with you?"

"It all started when I heard you use that metaphor on set, when I caught up with you in the corridor at the premiere, and that night I read all your works in the deep mountains of Kyoto—"

At this moment, Yasuko Sawaguchi stared directly at Iwao Kitahara, her voice so soft it was as if she were afraid of breaking something extremely precious, and said, "My feelings for you are more than just admiration."

The private room fell completely silent.

Kitahara Iwao looked at the top actress in front of him, who was the most sought-after actress in all of Japan, and saw the serious expression on her face, which even carried a hint of vulnerability as she let down all her guard.

Kitahara Iwa put down his wine glass, a gentle smile appearing on his lips.

But that smile revealed an insurmountable boundary, subtly extinguishing any sparks of ambiguity.

"Ms. Sawaguchi, you've had too much to drink tonight."

Kitahara Iwa subtly deflected the topic, his tone even carrying a hint of elder-like tolerance and teasing: "Dassai sake is smooth on the palate, but it has a strong aftereffect."

"When you wake up tomorrow morning, you'll probably regret more than half of what you said tonight."

Yasuko Sawaguchi froze on the spot, a hint of undisguised astonishment flashing in her eyes.

She even doubted whether she had misheard.

As Japan's undisputed "last beauty of the Showa era" and now the most sought-after national actress, countless tycoons, powerful figures, and top talents are willing to flock to her if she shows even the slightest sign of goodwill, even a hint.

Otherwise, she wouldn't have allowed herself to have dinner with him.

But now, having almost abandoned all her reserve and pride, and offered her heartfelt sincerity to the other person, she was met with a dismissive "You've had too much to drink."

In Kitahara Iwa's eyes, was his own proud appearance and charm really so unattractive?

Yasuko Sawaguchi opened her mouth, seemingly wanting to try and get something more, but looking into Iwata Kitahara's eyes, she suddenly realized that in front of Iwata Kitahara, any persistent pleading was worthless.

She swallowed the words that were on the tip of her tongue, then lowered her head, a bitter smile of resentment and helplessness on her lips as she said, "I didn't drink too much..."

Yasuko Sawaguchi defended herself in a very soft voice.

But after this weak rebuttal, the disappointment in Yasuko Sawaguchi's lowered eyes quickly receded like a tide, replaced by an unprecedented competitive spirit.

The more aloof and rational Kitahara Iwa was, and the less he was swayed by her beauty, the more she felt that this man possessed a fatal attraction.

After all, in this hypocritical and murky world where fame and fortune can be bought with money, only a mountain that is not easily climbed is truly worth looking up to and conquering.

Yasuko Sawaguchi then stopped pressing the issue.

Since tonight's timing isn't right, I'll just have to keep waiting.

One day, I will make Kitahara Iwa willingly admit that he likes me!

The dinner ended at nearly ten o'clock.

The two walked out of the side door of the ryotei (traditional Japanese restaurant) and headed towards the parking lot along the quiet stone-paved path of Kagurazaka.

The night wind in early April still carried a hint of late winter's chill, and when it blew on your face, it had a coldness that instantly sobered you up.

Yasuko Sawaguchi lagged half a step behind Iwao Kitahara, and they remained silent the whole way.

The two walked side by side for about thirty meters. Her agent's car was already waiting at the alley entrance, while Kitahara Iwa's car was parked in the opposite direction.

Just as the two were about to part ways, Kitahara Iwa stopped and said, "Let's stop here. Go back and get some rest."

"Okay. Thank you for your time tonight."

Yasuko Sawaguchi lowered her head slightly, concealing the complex emotions in her eyes in the darkness of the night.

The two said goodbye from a distance of half a meter under the dim streetlights.

At that very moment, from a black sedan parked in the shadows thirty meters away, with its engine off, a telephoto lens silently peeked out from the half-open window.

A burst of boisterous laughter erupted from an izakaya in the distance, perfectly masked by the howling of the early spring night wind, and the faint clicks of camera shutters. Update released! Readers, go check it out! "Click—click—"

Under the perfect cover of night, neither Kitahara Iwao nor Sawaguchi Yasuko were aware of the eyes lurking in the shadows.

Yasuko Sawaguchi took a deep breath, nodded, and turned to walk towards her manager's car.

As the car door closed, Yasuko Sawaguchi looked back through the tinted window and glanced one last time at Kitahara Iwao's retreating figure.

At this moment, Kitahara Iwa had already turned and walked towards the other end of the alley, his hands casually in his coat pockets, leaving the place at a leisurely pace.

The next morning.

Entertainment newspapers across Japan were in an uproar.

Tokyo Sports' front-page headline: "Late-Night Rendezvous! The Dangerous Romance Between Genius Writer Kitahara Iwao and National Idol Yasuko Sawaguchi!"

Nikkan Gendai: "Exclusive paparazzi photos! The original author of 'Confessions' and the female lead stroll side-by-side in Kagurazaka late at night—how far is it from the film set to their bedroom?"

Weekly Bunshun went even further, releasing a set of four candid photos: the two walking out of the side door of a ryotei (traditional Japanese restaurant), their profiles walking side by side on a stone path, the moment when Yasuko Sawaguchi looked back and gazed at them as they parted, and the back view of Iwata Kitahara leaving alone.

Although the photos have a grainy, rough clarity, the atmosphere of the late-night streets is enough to spark endless imagination among readers all over Japan.

The accompanying text was even more sentimental: "According to our exclusive report, Kitahara Iwao visited the set multiple times during the filming of 'Confessions' to give Yasuko Sawaguchi acting advice. Sawaguchi herself publicly thanked Kitahara Iwao at the premiere for 'reshaping her soul.'"

"The two are now secretly meeting late at night at a high-class restaurant, and all signs indicate that this national star has already fallen for the talented man..."

The scandal swept across Japan with overwhelming force within 24 hours.

The TV gossip program repeatedly played those few candid photos, and the guests excitedly discussed "everything that might have happened" between the two during their time on set.

The public was completely divided into two diametrically opposed factions.

There is a fervent support for this "golden couple," with many believing that a genius writer paired with a top actress is the most perfect combination in the Japanese entertainment industry.

The other faction, mainly composed of Kitahara Iwao's pure literature enthusiasts, exhibited strong rejection and cultural arrogance.

In the eyes of these self-important guardians of the literary temple, Kitahara Iwa was a genius destined to be remembered in the history of Japanese literature, a lofty and inviolable "master".

Even with the halo of being the last beauty of the Showa era, Yasuko Sawaguchi was essentially just an entertainer who mingled in the glamorous entertainment industry.

They wrote furious letters to major newspapers, their words sharp and sarcastic: "Kitahara-sensei is a literary treasure of all of Japan; how could anyone in the entertainment industry possibly reach the heights of his soul?"

"A woman who only knows how to memorize lines in front of the camera is completely unworthy of Kitahara-sensei's unparalleled talent! Ms. Sawaguchi, please stay away from our genius and don't tarnish his pen with the worldly affairs of the entertainment industry!"

The two sides argued fiercely in izakayas, tea rooms, and the letter-to-letter sections of major newspapers, with the intensity even overshadowing the news of the Ministry of Finance's announcement of "total quantity regulation."

On the night the scandal broke.

Kitahara Iwa sat in his study, with the original manuscript of "Journey Under the Midnight Sun" spread out in front of him, conceiving an extremely oppressive scene of Kirihara Ryoji crawling through ventilation ducts during his childhood.

Just then, the landline on the table suddenly rang.

Kitahara Iwa stopped writing with his pen and picked up the receiver.

"Feed".

"Teacher Kitahara!"

A clear and cheerful female voice immediately came from the other end of the phone.

He speaks half a beat faster than most people, but every word he pronounces has a natural clarity.

Upon hearing this voice, Kitahara Iwa's face, which had been somewhat indifferent due to his depressing plot, curved into a gentle smile.

The person who called was Izumi Sakai.

"Long time no see! I have some really exciting news to tell you!"

Sakai Izumi's voice was filled with barely suppressed excitement as she said, "The debut song that you helped me and Mr. Oda finalize has been recorded! Producer Mr. Nagato said it could be officially released as early as August!"

"Moreover, Mr. Oda said that the arrangement of this song is even more amazing than expected. He said that once this song is released, it will definitely be... Ah, sorry, I got too excited and spoke too fast..."

Listening to the girl on the other end of the phone, who would soon shake the entire Japanese music scene under the name "ZARD" in a few months, Kitahara Iwa's lips curled up even more, and he said, "Take your time. As long as the recording goes smoothly, that's good. If you debut in August, there's plenty of time for promotion."

"Yes, yes! Mr. Nagato said the promotional plan is already underway. By the way, Kitahara-sensei, I'm so grateful that you accompanied me to see Oda-sensei, and for the inspiration for that song's melody..."

"If it weren't for you, I'd probably still be working as a model in a video store, doing nothing of note."

"This is your own strength."

The two chatted for a few more minutes about the details of their debut preparations.

Izumi Sakai always spoke very quickly and clearly. Occasionally, she would raise her voice by half an octave when talking about a particular arrangement detail that excited her, and then immediately realize that she had lost her composure, so she would quickly lower her voice and let out a soft laugh filled with apology and shyness.

As the conversation progressed, the topic of music gradually subsided.

There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone.

Kitahara Iwa heard an extremely faint, hesitant breath, like swallowing saliva.

Then, Izumi Sakai's voice rang out again.

But this time, his speaking speed was noticeably slower.

That bright and natural girlishness had largely faded, replaced by a cautious, even slightly precarious, probing quality: "Um... Kitahara-sensei. This morning when I went out... I saw Weekly Bunshun at a newsstand on the street..."

"Um... Kitahara-sensei."

"Um?"

At this moment, Izumi Itai's voice was so soft, as if she were afraid of breaking something, that she asked, "The newspaper says, teacher... are you really dating Ms. Sawaguchi?"

When he said those last few words, Banjingquanshui almost squeezed them out in his breath.

Kitahara Iwa leaned back in his chair, listening to the tone on the other end of the phone—a tone that was feigned ease yet extremely tense—and smiled silently.

"That's not true."

Kitahara Iwao's tone was as indifferent as if he were discussing the weather, completely dismissive: "I helped her with a small favor before, and she treated me to a meal to thank me."

"The media likes to make wild guesses; don't take them seriously."

As Kitahara Iwa finished speaking, there was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

Then, Izumi Sakai's voice rang out again.

"Ah...I see."

In just four words, the tone underwent a vivid shift; the first two words still carried a lingering sense of holding one's breath and probing, while the last two words completely relaxed.

The last syllable of her voice even rose unconsciously, carrying a lightness that she herself probably didn't even realize.

"That's good! I knew it! How could you believe all that nonsense in gossip magazines?"

Izumi Sakai quickly steered the conversation back to a safe zone, as if the cautious girl who had just been probing her was not her at all.

At this moment, Izumi Itai's speech returned to its natural brightness, her voice carrying a relieved lightness as she said, "Alright, Kitahara-sensei, I won't disturb you while you're writing!"

After saying that, Izumi Ban paused for a moment, then her tone suddenly became incredibly serious as she said, "When I debut in August, I will definitely send you the first physical album that the factory has produced myself!"

Kitahara Iwatsu sensed the heavy expectation in the girl's words and said gently, "Okay. I'll reserve the most prominent spot on the record shelf in the study."

A loud nod came from the other end of the phone, with a slightly nasal tone: "Yes! Goodnight, Kitahara-sensei!"

A soft click.

The call was disconnected.

Looking at the half-written manuscript of "Journey Under the Midnight Sun" in front of him, Kitahara Iwa shook his head with a smile, then picked up his pen again.

Time flew by and it was already mid-April.

Tokyo, Shin-Takanawa Prince Hotel.

This is the venue for the 13th Japan Academy Film Prize, also known as the Japanese Oscars.

The giant crystal chandelier on the dome illuminated the entire Flying Hall as bright as day.

Tonight is the grandest night of the year for the entire Japanese film and television industry, a gathering of celebrities, elegant attire, and dazzling lights.

However, this year's event saw a complete disappearance of the public relations battles that used to take place behind the scenes among major film studios.

Because from the moment the nomination list was announced, all the suspense was already over.

"Confessions" is like a prehistoric behemoth that has broken into a flock of sheep, crushing all the major awards with an unreasonable and overwhelming force.

Best Picture – Confessions.

Best Director – Kun Ichikawa.

When this seventy-something Showa-era film giant walked onto the stage amidst thunderous applause, leaning on his cane, he maintained the composure and poise of an old-school filmmaker in front of the microphone.

He began by thanking the jury for their recognition, the investor Kadokawa Shoten for their support, and the crew and actors who worked tirelessly day and night.

At the end of his speech, Ichikawa Kun paused slightly, his tone tinged with genuine emotion, and said, "Of course, the foundation of a good film always lies in a good story. Here, I would like to especially thank Kitahara Iwao-sensei, who provided us with an impeccable and superb script. Thank you."

After speaking, Ichikawa Kun bowed slightly and turned to walk off the stage amidst thunderous applause from the audience.

Soon, the awards ceremony reached its biggest climax of the evening.

Best Actress.

When the presenter opened the envelope and read out the name "Yasuko Sawaguchi," the entire venue erupted in applause that nearly lifted the ceiling.

At the intersection of countless spotlights, Yasuko Sawaguchi slowly stood up from the front row of the main cast seats.

Her agent noticed that her fingers, which were holding up her skirt, were trembling slightly.

Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Yasuko Sawaguchi walked onto the stage and accepted the heavy trophy, representing the highest honor for Japanese actresses, with both hands.

She looked down at the name engraved on the cup base for a long time, then raised her head to meet the gazes of hundreds of top industry professionals below the stage, as well as countless cameras broadcasting live to thousands of households across Japan. She gently pressed the trophy to her left chest and took a deep breath.

"Thank you for the jury's recognition. Thank you to Director Ichikawa for his guidance, and thank you to Kadokawa Shoten for their trust."

This is a standard opening that is flawless.

But then, Yasuko Sawaguchi paused for a moment.

"But tonight, the person I want to thank the most is not on this list of nominees, nor is he in the venue tonight."

"I am able to stand here today entirely because of Mr. Kitahara Iwao."

Yasuko Sawaguchi's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a unique solemnity: "He created Yuko Moriguchi, and he also helped me dispel the fog in front of me with a single sentence when I was stuck in a bottleneck."

At this point, Yasuko Sawaguchi lowered her head slightly, the image of Kitahara Iwao leaving in the light rain of Kagurazaka appearing in her mind, and a gentle smile unconsciously appeared on her lips, a smile so tender that it captivated everyone.

"Without Kitahara-sensei, I might still be just an actor who routinely recites lines in front of the camera."

Yasuko Sawaguchi lowered her head slightly, her tone filled with undisguised gratitude, and said, "It was the soul created by his writing that shattered my past self and reshaped me."

This sentence was broadcast simultaneously across television networks throughout Japan via radio waves.

At the height of the controversy surrounding the "secret meeting in Kagurazaka" that was recently exposed by Weekly Bunshun, the national star involved not only refrained from making any polite remarks to avoid suspicion, but also took the opportunity of accepting one of the most prestigious awards in Japan to offer her most sincere thanks.

The weight of these words and the candor they contained caused the large hall to erupt in enthusiastic applause once again after a brief silence.

This time, however, there was a subtle undertone to the applause.

The reporters and guests in the audience, who had just seen the candid photos on the front page of entertainment news a few days ago, maintained their polite and proper smiles, but their gazes began to subtly intertwine with each other.

In the front row of the photography area, the frequency of flashes became noticeably more intense. All the media personnel present knew perfectly well that the headlines of tomorrow's major newspaper entertainment sections had already been decided without any suspense.

Unsurprisingly.

The following morning, along with the news that "Confessions" had swept the Japan Academy Film Prize, Yasuko Sawaguchi's acceptance speech, which was highly personal, completely dominated the prominent positions of all newsstands across Japan.

The Yomiuri Shimbun's entertainment section headline reads: "A Hidden Sentiment Beneath the Best Actress Crown? Yasuko Sawaguchi Expresses Heartfelt Gratitude to Iwao Kitahara on the Award Stage!"

"Josei Jishin" celebrated in bold, large print: "'He reshaped me'—National actress fearlessly acknowledging her genius as a writer at the peak of her career!"

Even the usually serious political and economic newspapers have reserved a small section in their supplements to discuss the possibility of a marriage between a literary genius and a top celebrity.

The entire Japanese public is buzzing with excitement over this anticipated "talented man and beautiful woman" drama.

However, Kitahara Iwao, the male protagonist at the absolute center of this media storm, had no interest in the outside world's celebration.

In the early morning in the apartment, Kitahara Iwa held a cup of freshly brewed tea, glanced at the newspapers that had been brought to the coffee table, and then casually turned them over to cover them up.

Now, Kitahara Iwa's mind is filled only with the dark ventilation duct in "White Night Walking," and there's no room for any clamor about romance and gossip.

But the media frenzy did not cool down because of Kitahara Iwa's indifference.

On the contrary, this aloof silence only fueled the paparazzi and reporters' even stronger voyeuristic desires.

In the two weeks following the awards ceremony, entertainment media across Japan practically wore down the doorstep of Kitahara Iwa apartment.

Interview invitations poured in like snowflakes—major TV stations vied to do exclusive interviews, and top publications lined up to feature them on their covers.

Kitahara Iwa's response was to refuse everything, and he asked Sato Kenichi to shield him from the outside noise, locking himself completely in his study.

At this moment, Tokyo outside the window is experiencing its most devastating spring since the bursting of the bubble economy.

The number of businesses closing down was updated in the newspapers every day, the unemployment rate began to climb vertically at an alarming angle, and long, desperate lines formed outside occupational safety and health centers on the streets.

On this slowly sinking land, in the study at the highest point, Kitahara Iwa sat down at his desk at nine o'clock every morning and didn't put down his pen until midnight.

The creation of "Journey Under the Midnight Sun" has officially entered its final sprint.

What Kitahara Iwa wove on the manuscript paper was far more than just a simple mystery or suspense story.

Ryoji Kirihara and Yukiho Karasawa, as depicted by Iwao Kitahara, experienced nearly two decades of changing times, from the 1970s to the present.

The grand backdrop of each era is not a cheap decoration, but the driving force of fate that directly pushes these two people into the abyss.

The poverty and acne of the lower classes in Osaka's Nishinari Ward in the 1970s gave rise to the original sin that changed everything.

The rampant materialism of the economic boom of the 1980s provided Yukiho with a bloodstained ladder to climb higher, and also provided Ryoji with a crack to eke out a living in the ventilation duct.

The current oppressive society, where the bubble is bursting and a storm is brewing, becomes the perfect fuse for the story's ultimate collapse.

While faithfully preserving the classic core of his past life's memories, Kitahara Iwao ruthlessly infused every word with his cold dissection of the malignant diseases of Japan in this era.

Xue Sui is the bubble itself, which is beautiful, exquisite, and flawless on the surface, but is already a dead and hollow inside.

Ryoji is the price of an era buried beneath the surface after being crushed by the bubble, silent, violent, and forever unworthy of being seen in the sunlight.

Until an ordinary afternoon in May.

Kitahara Iwa paused slightly with his pen, then heavily wrote the last line of the book on the manuscript paper.

She never looked back.