Chapter 128 Izumi Sakai's Debut Song and the Literary World's Open Scheme

Shibuya.

Deep in a narrow alley whose name even local residents might not know.

There was no conspicuous signboard; the narrow stairwell was adorned only by a dim light bulb, yellowed from cooking fumes, with a handwritten menu, mostly faded, pasted diagonally beside it.

If it weren't for a regular customer leading the way, passersby would probably just think of it as someone's storage room.

Kitahara Iwa climbed the creaking wooden stairs and finally found a small private room with a warm yellow glow at the end of the corridor.

Reach out and push open the old wooden sliding door.

Izumi Sakai had arrived by then.

She sat cross-legged on a cushion next to a low table, changed into a pair of slightly faded jeans, and wore a loose, casual white cotton T-shirt.

Her long hair was casually tied into a neat ponytail, with a few strands falling from her ears and gently brushing her cheeks as she leaned forward.

There was no elaborate makeup, no dazzling jewelry.

She was as clean as a female college student who had just finished her graduation thesis and was out for a late-night snack.

At this moment, this future national-level diva is bending down deeply, her cheek almost touching the grill, her eyes sparkling as she stares at the sizzling Wagyu beef shoulder on the plate.

Her expression was extremely focused, as if turning over these few slices of beef was her most sacred mission tonight.

The grease sparked as it burned on the hot iron mesh, and the smoke from the charcoal fire, carrying a rich aroma of meat, rose and spread under the low ceiling.

Hearing the sound of the door being opened, Izumi Sakai suddenly looked up.

"Ah, Kitahara-sensei! You've arrived!"

Upon seeing who it was, Izumi Sakai's eyes instantly curved into two crescent moons, and a smile bloomed on her face without any defenses.

Then, as if realizing something, she looked down at the dripping tongs in her hand, then at the Wagyu beef on the grill that had changed color, and a genuine embarrassment appeared on her face.

"Sorry... I just couldn't resist the aroma, so I started grilling it first."

Sakai Izumi scratched the back of her head sheepishly with her free hand, her smile a little guilty.

Kitahara Iwa stood quietly at the doorway, gazing at the scene before him.

Faded jeans, a loose white T-shirt, and a neat ponytail.

This unadorned, non-threatening smiling face, and the rising, warm smoke from the charcoal fire between the two of them.

Kitahara Iwa chuckled, then said softly, "It's alright, you eat first."

Then Kitahara Iwa took off his coat, casually hung it on a dark coat hook in the corner, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and sat cross-legged on the cushion opposite Sakai Izumi.

Then, Kitahara Iwao naturally leaned out and took the barbecue tongs from Sakai Izumi's hand.

"I'll grill it, you just eat it."

Izumi Sakai paused for half a second, then obediently let go of her hand, picked up the rough ceramic cup with the izakaya logo in front of her, and took a big gulp of iced barley tea.

But her gaze never left the few slices of Wagyu beef on the wire mesh, their edges slowly curling in the grease.

As the charcoal grills, the Wagyu beef drips fat, sending up plumes of fragrant white smoke.

The exhaust fan overhead hummed, its power clearly insufficient; the bluish-white smoke swirled around the low ceiling before being slowly drawn away.

On the narrow wooden table were only coarse salt, lemon wedges, a soy sauce dish, and a small portion of finely chopped scallions.

Kitahara Iwa skillfully picked up the perfectly grilled meat slices and placed them into the bone plate in front of Sakai Izumi.

"Eat."

Izumi Sakai cheered, put her hands together and whispered, "I'm starting," before eagerly stuffing the grilled meat dipped in lemon juice into her mouth.

Although her mouth was burning and she was panting, her eyes squinted happily.

During this heartwarming dinner, the two of them sat in the small, four-and-a-half-tatami room, facing a smoking grill, and chatted casually.

However, neither of them mentioned "White Night" or its sales figures.

Kitahara Iwa didn't mention it because he wanted to clear the snow and long night from his mind.

Izumi Sakai didn't mention it because, with her keen, animal-like sensitivity, she instinctively sensed that Kitahara Iwao needed nothing more than any topic related to literature.

So the two of them talked about nothing more than trivial daily matters.

Izumi Sakai complained while biting her chopsticks, saying that she recently moved to a slightly larger new apartment, but the walls were as thin as paper, and her neighbors would always bang on the walls to protest when she practiced her vocalizations at home.

While turning the beef tongue on the grill, Kitahara Iwa suggested that she buy some cheap, eggshell-shaped sound-absorbing cotton and stick it on the wall; it would be effective and save money.

Sakai Izumi's eyes widened in surprise, and she asked him how he even knew such unconventional home renovation tips.

Kitahara Iwa handed over the grilled beef tongue, jokingly saying that he had been driven crazy by the sound of the electric drill next door when he was rushing to finish his manuscript, and that was a survival wisdom born out of desperation.

But this was actually survival experience that Kitahara Iwa accumulated while studying alone in Tokyo in his previous life.

Izumi Sakai burst out laughing at Kitahara Iwao's words.

When she smiles, her eyes always curve into beautiful crescent moons first, and then the corners of her mouth naturally turn up.

This is a very slight difference in physiological sequence. In social situations, most people tend to first use their muscles to pull the corners of their mouths, and then make their eyes make a corresponding arc.

But Izumi Sakai's smile comes from her eyes.

This means that every smile she gave was not a social pretense, but a pure outpouring of emotion.

At this moment, Kitahara Iwa picked up a perfectly grilled piece of Wagyu beef shoulder and placed it steadily into the bone plate in front of Sakai Izumi.

The surface of the meat was slightly charred, with an amber hue at the edges, and rich fat slowly seeped out along the fine texture.

"How are your debut preparations going lately?"

Kitahara Iwa casually placed the barbecue tongs on the edge of the plate and asked a question.

"How did the recording of 'Don't Give Up' go? Has the company changed your debut schedule?"

Izumi Sakai was focused on the meat in the bone dish. She first dipped it in soy sauce, hesitated for half a second, and then impulsively dipped it in lemon juice.

Upon hearing this, Izumi Sakai, still chewing on Wagyu beef, suddenly brightened her clear eyes.

She quickly wiped the oil stains from the corner of her lips with a napkin, instantly switching seamlessly from "dry rice mode" to "excited sharing" mode, even unconsciously speeding up her speech by half a beat.

"Recorded! All recorded!"

Sakai Izumi's voice rose slightly with excitement, but she immediately remembered the paper-thin wooden wall next to her and quickly lowered her voice as if she had done something wrong.

"Mr. Oda was extremely satisfied with the final version, saying it was even better than he had envisioned when he first arranged it."

"Furthermore, President Nagato has signed a confirmation letter, and the debut date is set for July."

July, a month earlier than August as mentioned in our last exchange.

Upon hearing this, Kitahara Iwa began to ponder.

When she mentioned "July," Izumi Sakai's smile deepened, but a barely perceptible tremor was clearly mixed into the last syllable of her voice.

This is the reaction of a newcomer about to step onto an unknown stage, a mixture of extreme anticipation and a little nervousness.

"and--"

Izumi Sakai put down her chopsticks, placed her hands neatly on her knees, leaned forward slightly, and her expression became serious.

The initial excitement gradually subsided, replaced by the focused concentration of someone who truly loves music discussing a work that resonates with their soul.

"The company recently sent me several new song demos to try singing."

"There's one of them that feels particularly different."

"The moment the melody started playing, I was completely captivated. It wasn't just because it sounded 'good,' but rather..."

Izumi Sakai frowned slightly, as if she was trying to find the right words.

"A sense of destiny, that 'this song has been waiting for me from the very beginning.'"

Izumi Sakai paused for a moment, then continued, "The producer said that if the audition goes well, they plan to use it as their debut single."

"What style?"

Kitahara Iwa picked up two more slices of raw meat and laid them flat on the grill, asking questions as the fat sizzled.

Izumi Sakai tilted her head and thought for a moment before explaining, "Well... it's more lyrical and more restrained than 'Don't Give Up'."

"The intro is a very clean guitar arpeggio, and when the vocals come in, there is a very thin layer of strings underneath."

"The melody of the chorus keeps rising, but it's not the kind of screaming that's deliberately raised for the sake of showing off; rather, it's a kind of..."

Izumi Sakai wrinkled her nose and struggled for a long time before finally giving up on her pale descriptions.

"Forget it, I'll just sing a few lines; that'll be more direct."

As she spoke, Izumi Sakai cleared her throat lightly.

Then, in this four-and-a-half-tatami room filled with the aroma of Wagyu beef and with virtually no soundproofing, Izumi Sakai naturally began to hum a tune.

At this moment, Izumi Sakai deliberately suppressed her voice, making it only about half the volume of her normal conversation, for fear of disturbing the diners next door by penetrating the wooden wall.

Even with the sound reduced to its limit, the beautiful structure of the melody still unfolds clearly in the confined space.

The tone was restrained and gentle, like someone whispering to the moonlight in an empty room late at night.

But once the chorus begins, the originally soothing and gentle build-up suddenly erupts.

Izumi Sakai kept her eyes closed.

This is an instinctive habit she developed while immersed in the recording studio—only by closing her eyes can she perceive the resonance of sound in her chest cavity in the purest way.

The dim light shone on her plain profile, and her long eyelashes cast a soft shadow on her eyelids.

Then, Izumi Sakai parted her lips slightly and sang the heart-wrenching lyrics in her highly recognizable, clear voice: "Good-bye my loneliness—"

Then, the melody suddenly rises, and the Japanese lyrics flow out like a clear spring: "How wonderful it would be if I could gently fall into your arms..."

There was no violent, shouting vocals, and no deliberately showy, roundabout techniques.

These few simple lyrics contain a power that bursts forth from the deepest part of the chest.

This power carries the resoluteness of waving goodbye to the loneliness of the past, yet it is also filled with a kind of tenacity and tenderness that "even in saying goodbye, I will never bow my head."

As he listened to Sakai's singing, Kitahara Iwao's hand, which was turning over the meat, stopped abruptly.

The metal barbecue tongs hovered motionless above the sizzling wire mesh.

Kitahara Iwa's gaze shifted from the gradually browning meat slices to the girl's face opposite him.

The lyrics and melody that flowed from her lips were all too familiar to Kitahara Iwao.

"Good-bye My Loneliness".

In the depths of Kitahara Iwa's memory, this is ZARD's true debut hit.

Released in February 1991, it debuted in the top ten of the Ori charts in its first week, becoming the first immortal cornerstone of Izumi Sakai's transformation from an unknown newcomer to a national diva of the Heisei era.

And it has been covered countless times in later generations and written into the hall of fame of popular music. This chorus has long been imprinted on the youth of an entire generation.

And now—in the smoky private room of a barbecue restaurant in the early summer of 1990—this song was destined to shake the entire Japanese music scene.

It flows gently from the singer's lips in its most original, unprocessed, and unadulterated state, without any arrangement or recording equipment.

There is no accompaniment, no reverb, and no post-processing.

Only Izumi Sakai's voice, with its indelible clarity, and the occasional sizzling sound of grease on the baking tray.

As the song ended, the last note slowly faded away beneath the low ceiling.

Izumi Sakai opened her eyes, still wanting more, and was about to ask about the listening experience when she found that Iwata Kitahara across from her seemed to have had his voice paused.

Kitahara Iwa's metal barbecue tongs hovered in mid-air, and he remained completely still.

Looking down through the tongs, the once bright red Wagyu beef on the grill was now sizzling with faint charred smoke.

"Ah—the meat's going to burn!"

Izumi Sakai gasped in surprise, her beautiful emotions, which she had been immersed in the melody, instantly shattered.

He quickly leaned halfway over to grab the clip.

Kitahara Iwa suddenly realized what was happening and quickly flicked his wrist, flipping the overcooked piece of meat over.

"Sorry, I was distracted."

Kitahara Iwa chuckled to himself, picked up a piece of meat with charred edges and placed it into his bone dish, then picked up another piece of raw meat and laid it flat on the wire mesh.

With a crisp "sizzle" sound, the smoke and fire in the private room rose again.

Kitahara Iwa didn't immediately offer his opinion; he simply watched the oil slicks dancing on the wire mesh, seemingly still deeply immersed in the lingering echo of the previous conversation.

This brief silence made Izumi Sakai feel slightly uneasy.

Through the thin layer of smoke, she anxiously observed Kitahara Iwao's expression, and finally couldn't help but ask softly, "How is it, Kitahara-sensei? Can you roughly make out the outline of the melody? I was afraid of disturbing the neighbors, so I kept my voice down, and it might not have sounded very good..."

"No, it works very well."

Kitahara Iwa looked up, his gaze piercing through the smoke to meet hers. His tone was utterly sincere and unpretentious as he said, "The melody of this song is beautifully structured. Especially the upward cadence of the chorus, the emotional outburst is perfectly timed. Any more and it would sound hysterical, any less and it wouldn't be decisive enough."

As Kitahara Iwatsu spoke, he flipped the newly laid-out meat over and continued, "Most importantly, it's a perfect match for your voice."

"Your voice isn't the kind that relies on thickness to overwhelm the ears; it's more like a beam of extremely thin light piercing directly into deep water. The darker the water, the cleaner the light appears."

Kitahara Iwa paused, then continued with a purely novelist's emotional perspective: "I don't understand music theory or composition, but when I heard you sing this chorus, I could picture it in my mind."

"It's like someone saying goodbye to the past alone in a thick fog. It doesn't need heavy, ornate accompaniment to make it tragic. What it needs most is your kind of clarity that can 'pierce' the fog—"

As he spoke, Kitahara Iwa placed the perfectly grilled Wagyu beef into Sakai Izumi's dish, giving his final verdict like a reader anticipating a masterpiece.

"This song contains a beautiful story that can touch countless people. Sing it well."

Izumi Sakai paused for two seconds.

Then, her eyes curved into two deep crescent moons, and the smile on her lips spread uncontrollably.

This is the heartfelt joy of a young musician who has just started out, after receiving affirmation from a respected senior in such a romantic way.

"Thank you, Kitahara-sensei!"

Sakai Izumi happily grabbed her chopsticks, stuffed the piece of grilled meat into her mouth, and muttered with puffed-out cheeks, "I'll definitely sing it well! I'll absolutely live up to this 'story'!"

After swallowing the grilled meat, Izumi Sakai picked up a glass of barley tea and took a big gulp to wash away the greasiness in her mouth.

Then, she rested her chin on her hands, tilted her head, and asked with undisguised curiosity in her eyes, "And what about you, Kitahara-sensei?"

At this moment, Izumi Sakai's tone revealed the enthusiasm of creators exchanging inspiration.

"After finishing 'White Night Walk,' did any new musical ideas come to mind? I always feel you have many more amazing melodies to create!"

"Last time, you just hummed a few lines of 'Don't Give Up' over the phone, and Mr. Oda immediately decided to use it. That's amazing."

Kitahara Iwa shook his head with a smile and said, "I just finished writing 'White Night Walk,' and my mind is still full of snow and darkness. No other thoughts can squeeze in."

He put the last piece of meat on the grill into his dish, then set down the grilling tongs and said, "I just want to rest now. Once I've rested enough, new things will naturally grow in the ground."

Upon hearing this, Izumi Sakai's smile faded instantly, and her brows furrowed slightly.

This wasn't confusion; it was an unconcealable heartache, and a touch of indignation on behalf of Kitahara Iwao.

Izumi Sakai was silent for two seconds, then turned around and took out a neatly folded newspaper from the faded canvas bag beside her, gently pushing it in front of Kitahara Iwao.

"Teacher Kitahara... Actually, you're not the only one who needs to get some fresh air."

Her voice softened, and she said with a hint of cautious seriousness, "Recently, it seems that readers all over Japan are trapped in the darkness of 'Journey Under the Midnight Sun'."

She paused for a moment and gently bit her lower lip.

"Moreover... today a very influential senior figure in the literary world, taking advantage of this social sentiment, published a very sharp column that made people very uncomfortable."

Kitahara Iwa glanced up at her, then shifted his gaze to the newspaper on the table.

Asahi Shimbun Evening Edition.

The signature in bold, large font is clearly visible and eye-catching on the front page of the culture section.

Kohei Muroda.

This name carries considerable weight in the Japanese literary world.

As one of the core critics of the old-school pure literature camp, his writing has always been sharp and highly inflammatory.

Although he may not be considered an insurmountable figure, his influence in traditional literary circles is deeply entrenched, with numerous disciples and old friends, making him an absolute "god-maker" who can command the winds and rains.

Intriguingly, during the two years that Kitahara Iwa has dominated the book market, from the sudden emergence of "The Ring" to the social tsunami caused by "Confessions" and "The Scream," and now the frenzy of "Journey Under the Midnight Sun" with two million copies sold, this conservative bigwig who has always called himself the "gatekeeper of the literary world" has always maintained a deathly silence.

Neither praising nor criticizing, and making no statement whatsoever.

And today, at the peak of the popularity of "White Night Walking", he has finally stepped down.

Kitahara Iwa unfolded the newspaper, leaned back against the yellowed wall of the private room, and quickly scanned the densely packed printed words with his eyes.

The first half of the article made him raise an eyebrow slightly.

Unexpectedly, this was not a condescending proclamation, but rather an almost fanatical praise.

"Teacher Kitahara's talent is terrifying."

"Journey Under the Midnight Sun is undoubtedly the 'pinnacle of despair' of the Heisei era. With his cold and flawless writing, he peeled away the disguise of the bustling city and wrote the most extreme report on the pathology of the times."

"In the realm of writing about 'darkness and destruction,' Kitahara-sensei is an insurmountable mountain. Any newcomer who attempts to stand shoulder to shoulder with him on this dark path needs to be prepared to be crushed by an immense sense of despair."

If the article ended here, it would undoubtedly be an excellent endorsement, and could even be printed directly on the dust jacket of the next edition of the novel by Shinchosha.

Kitahara Iwa's gaze slid down the newspaper.

"But precisely because 'Journey Under the Midnight Sun' is so perfect and so hopeless, it is like a powerful medicine that completely froze the national sentiment in early summer."

"In the current economic recession and widespread anxiety, the public's spiritual world cannot survive solely by chewing on despair."

"There is no doubt that Kitahara-sensei gave us the most profound darkness."

"But the ultimate mission of literature, after making people look directly into the abyss, is to have someone stand up and provide a ray of warm sunshine to dispel this chill."

Upon seeing this, Kitahara Iwa couldn't help but smile.

Instead of being furious at being used as a stepping stone, he simply felt that the senior's plan was indeed brilliant.

This critic had no intention of directly confronting a sales phenomenon like "White Night".

Instead, he chose to stand on the shoulders of "White Night Walking," leveraging the enormous momentum of two million copies sold, and forcefully tore open a gap in public opinion that "the masses need light to heal."

What a clever move to take advantage of the favorable winds.

Kitahara Iwa continued reading.

As expected, following this perfectly logical framework, Kohei Murota naturally brought up his beloved protégé in pure literature—Shingo Fujiwara, whom he had personally cultivated.

And the other party's new book, "The Glimmer of Early Summer," which will be released next month.

"If Kitahara's 'Journey Under the Midnight Sun' is a polar night that pierces the heart, then Fujiwara Shingo's new book is the warm sunshine of early summer that provides comfort to the people on this frozen spiritual wasteland."

"As a critic who has witnessed the ups and downs of the literary world for half a century, I sincerely hope that this young man's work can bring a ray of real light to readers after the darkest period."

The article has ended.

Kitahara Iwa placed the newspaper back on the low table, his expression unchanged.

Kohei Murota's cunning scheme was indeed brilliant.

There is not a single word of denigration in the entire text; it even elevates itself to the status of an "insurmountable mountain," firmly cementing itself onto the throne of the "creator of despair."

Then he turned to his readers across Japan and said: You have been frostbitten by Kitahara Iwa. Now, come and buy my apprentice's antidote.

The logic is consistent and flawless.

After all, no one dares to stand up and say, "The masses do not need light."

He didn't even leave you a target to retaliate.

After Kitahara Iwa finished his movement, the private room fell silent for a few seconds.

The last piece of meat on the baking tray was emitting charred smoke, but neither of them paid any attention to it.

Sitting opposite, Izumi Sakai stared intently at Iwao Kitahara's face.

Seeing that he didn't even frown after reading the newspaper, she herself couldn't hold back anymore.

"This is outrageous."

Izumi Sakai lowered her voice, her fingers unconsciously clenching the rough pottery cup, her knuckles turning slightly white, and said, "He's clearly using the popularity of 'White Night Walking' to label you as a 'cold-blooded monster' just to hype up his apprentice's book to the skies."

Izumi Sakai's nose was slightly red, clearly showing her anger and indignation at the injustice done to someone she cared about.

"You wrote such a wonderful piece, and instead of thanking them, they come out and say, 'Look, he's hurt you all, come buy my medicine!'—what kind of logic is that?"

Sakai Izumi's chest heaved slightly with anger, and her eyes welled up with tears.

Kitahara Iwa looked at Sakai Izumi in front of him and couldn't help but laugh.

I didn't expect that Izumi Sakai could see through Kohei Murota's scheme. She's not stupid after all.

However, Izumi Sakai's actions also warmed Kitahara Iwa's heart.

The girl in front of me, who was angry on my behalf, was far more vivid than that painstakingly crafted headline in the culture section.

Then Kitahara Iwa reached out, picked up the newspaper, and casually folded it twice.

Then he shoved it into the trash bag containing the used tissues on the corner of the table.

Sakai Izumi was stunned for a moment upon seeing this.

Immediately afterwards, Kitahara Iwa picked up the tongs, removed the piece of charred meat from the grill, and precisely tossed it into the same trash bag as the old man's carefully laid out plan.

Kitahara Iwa laid the raw meat back on the wire mesh and said, "Spring water."

"Um?"

Izumi Sakai was still angry; the tip of her nose was still red.

Kitahara Iwa placed the first slice of freshly grilled meat onto her plate.

"Eat the meat first, before it gets cold."

Izumi Sakai glanced at the premium Wagyu beef on the plate, then at the expressionless face opposite her, and hesitated before saying, "But—"

"You just asked me if I had any new inspiration after finishing 'Journey Under the Midnight Sun'."

Kitahara Iwa interrupted her, took a sip of his barley tea, and said gently, "Actually, Mr. Murota is right about one thing. After experiencing the darkest night, readers do need a ray of sunshine to dispel the chill."

At this point, Kitahara Iwa put down his cup and looked into Sakai Izumi's clear eyes, which held a sense of openness and honesty.

"The book 'The Glimmer of Early Summer' will be released in a few days, right? I plan to buy it and take a look when it's published."

"If that young man really writes a good story that can heal people's hearts, I don't mind writing a recommendation for him in my column."

Upon hearing this, Izumi Sakai was stunned. Her eyes widened slightly as she said in disbelief, "A recommendation? But they're clearly using your popularity as a stepping stone..."

"Literature is ultimately written for readers, not a tool for literary politicians to use to rank people based on seniority."

Kitahara Iwa held the metal tongs, casually flipping the sizzling meat slices on the wire mesh, and chuckled softly.

"I don't object to others riding on the coattails of 'White Night,' as long as they can produce writing that is worthy of their readers. If a new writer can truly bring a glimmer of redemption to the public, that is indeed a good thing to be happy about."

Kitahara Iwa paused for a moment, then picked up the grilled meat slices.

"However, if that book fails to live up to the readers' expectations, it will just be a cheap match that can't withstand scrutiny..."

"That disappoints me a bit..."

According to Kitahara Iwao, the right to judge literature should never be in the hands of critics, much less become a bargaining chip in the power struggles between literary factions.

If Fujiwara Shingo truly possesses genuine talent and his writings are worthy of acclaim, he wouldn't mind being the one to mentor the younger generation.

But if the other party is incompetent and tries to put him down, then Kitahara Iwa is not someone to be trifled with.

Enjoy reading thousands of great books, including "Tokyo Literary Masters: Starting from the Late 1980s".