Chapter 132 Izumi Sakai's debut, Akina Nakamori and Yasuko Sawaguchi's reactions

July.

The rainy season has just ended, and the early summer heat has been replaced by the damp and oppressive feeling characteristic of midsummer.

Thick cumulonimbus clouds hung low over Tokyo, and the air was thick with a sense of unease, as if a downpour could strike at any moment.

In the penthouse duplex in the port area.

Two o'clock in the afternoon.

Kitahara Iwa was sitting on the sofa in the study, with the white kitten, which had grown quite a bit, lying on his lap.

He was flipping through Kazuo Ishiguro's English original "The Remains of the Day," which had recently won the Booker Prize, with one hand, while the other hand casually stroked the cat's back.

Just then, the landline phone on the coffee table suddenly rang.

Upon hearing this, Kitahara Iwa closed the book, gently pushed the cat aside, and got up to answer the receiver.

"Feed?"

"Teacher Kitahara!!"

The female voice that came through the receiver was at least half an octave louder than usual, filled with barely suppressed excitement and trembling.

Just by his highly distinctive, clear voice and his impetuous manner, Kitahara Iwa knew who he was.

"I...I'm debuting!!"

Upon hearing this, Kitahara Iwa moved the receiver slightly away by half an inch to avoid having his ears go numb from her voice.

"Has it been officially scheduled for release?"

"It's settled! July 15th!"

Izumi Sakai spoke so fast it was as if she might bite her tongue: "And, my song 'Good-bye My Loneliness' has been chosen as the theme song for Fuji TV's prime-time slot!"

"It's the movie 'The World's Favorite' starring Atsuko Asano! Mr. Nagato and Mr. Oda worked incredibly hard to secure it!"

"The producer from Fuji TV listened to the demo and immediately approved it! They said the chorus melody perfectly matched the emotional tone of the drama!"

Kitahara Iwa leaned against the edge of the desk, a smile appearing in his deep eyes.

The theme song for Fuji TV's prime-time slot was, in the 1990s Japanese music scene, of undeniable prestige.

It means weekly exposure to tens of millions of viewers across Japan, making it a top-tier platform that can make new singers resonate throughout the country in their debut week.

Izumi Sakai stood firmly on it.

"Well done."

Kitahara Iwao said with the same joy in his voice.

Upon hearing Kitahara Iwa's reply, the water on the other end of the phone suddenly fell silent.

A few seconds later, Izumi Sakai's voice changed.

He switched from that almost childlike excitement to a solemn tone with a heavy nasal accent.

"Teacher Kitahara."

"Um."

"I've always wanted to find an opportunity to say these things to you in person. But every time I see you, I get so nervous that I forget my words, or... I'm too embarrassed to speak."

Izumi Sakai took a deep breath, her voice trembling uncontrollably, and said, "If it weren't for your help back then, a nobody like me with no connections would never have had the chance to sign with Being..."

"It would be even more impossible to meet Mr. Nagato and Mr. Oda, and it would be impossible to stand in the recording studio as a real record artist like I am now."

"It all started with what you said to me at your barbecue restaurant that day."

Izumi Sakai spoke in a low voice, but enunciated each word with exceptional clarity: "Taihara-sensei, thank you so much, so very much."

As the words fell, a faint sniffling sound came through the receiver.

Kitahara Iwa was silent for a moment, then let out a gentle chuckle.

"spring."

"Um……"

"Don't put all the credit on me."

Kitahara Iwao said calmly, "All I can do is open a door for you. But the path behind that door is one you have to grit your teeth and walk step by step yourself."

"The hardships of practicing your voice day and night, the nights when your voice became hoarse, the moments when you broke down after recording again and again in the recording studio... I can't do any of that for you."

"It is your own talent and hard work that make you worthy of this stage."

After Kitahara Iwa finished speaking, there was another long silence on the other end of the phone.

Only her slightly rapid breathing betrayed the fact that the girl was desperately trying to hold back her tears.

"Anyway... thank you so much."

His nasal tone became more pronounced, but it carried a hint of stubbornness.

"Alright, stop crying. You'll ruin your voice and won't be able to sing well live. Go and get busy with your debut preparations."

"Um!"

After hanging up the phone, Kitahara Iwa put the receiver back on the landline. Recalling Sakai Izumi's desperate attempt to hold back her sobs on the other end of the line, he couldn't help but smile helplessly and shake his head.

Kitahara Iwao believed in Izumi Sakai's talent even more than Izumi Sakai herself!

Then Kitahara Iwao picked up "The Remains of the Day" which was lying face down on the sofa again, and, accompanied by the kitten's steady breathing, turned his gaze to the words on the page.

The long afternoon passed quietly with the soft rustling of turning pages.

The gloomy sky outside the window gradually dimmed, and the long-accumulated rain clouds finally turned into a drizzling summer rain, tapping against the large French windows and completely shutting out the hustle and bustle of Tokyo.

As the hands of the clock on the wall slowly pointed to nine o'clock.

Kitahara Iwa closed his book, gently moved the still-sleeping cat onto the sofa cushions, and got up to walk into the living room.

This time coincides with the prime-time broadcast period for Fuji TV dramas.

Kitahara Iwao turned on the television and tuned it to Fuji TV.

The screen lit up just as the ending theme song of "The World's Favorite You" began.

In the scene, the female protagonist, played by Atsuko Asano, stands under the Tokyo Tower shrouded in night, tears welling in her eyes, gazing back at the male protagonist's receding figure.

Immediately afterwards, the end credits began to roll.

At the same time, a clean and crisp guitar intro flowed from the television's rather thin speakers.

A few seconds later, human voices came in.

It was the voice of Izumi Sakai.

Even after the television signal was compressed, Izumi Sakai's voice still displayed amazing penetrating power.

It doesn't win by shouting at the top of its lungs, but rather by a natural clarity and power that seems to penetrate steel and concrete and reach deep into the listener's chest.

When the chorus melody rises up, the stubbornness and tenderness of "never bowing down even in farewell" perfectly complements the tearful smile of Atsuko Asano on screen.

Kitahara Iwa leaned back on the sofa, quietly watching the screen, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Two weeks ago, in the recording studio of Being Records.

Wearing large monitoring headphones, Izumi Sakai stood alone in front of the towering condenser microphone, her hands slightly gripping the edge of the music stand.

In the control room, producer Daisuke Nagato and composer Tetsuro Oda were watching her with serious expressions through double-pane glass.

"Spring water, come on to the chorus."

A static-filled command came through the earpiece from Daiki Nagato: "Your technique is fine, but you're missing something in terms of emotion. Don't just focus on the notes; pour your heart into it."

Upon hearing this, Izumi Sakai took a deep breath and nodded vigorously to the two people behind the glass.

Then she closed her eyes.

The accompanying guitar strumming echoed clearly in the headphones.

As the melody of "Good-bye My Loneliness" gradually rises, just as the accumulated power is about to break through the critical point of the chorus, countless past scenes flash through her mind like a revolving lantern.

She remembered the evenings when she was so tired on the crowded tram that she fell asleep against the window; she remembered the times she was treated perfunctorily and ruthlessly rejected by other agencies, and how she forced back her tears as she walked through the cold winter streets; she remembered the long, lonely nights in her cramped rented room when, even with a dry and sore throat, she gritted her teeth and kept correcting her pronunciation in front of the mirror.

She longed to be heard more than anyone else, and feared more than anyone else the silent decay that plagued this vast city.

Then, these bleak images abruptly shifted, freezing on that afternoon that changed the course of her life.

The image is frozen at the moment when Kitahara Iwao tells Nagato Daisuke, "Let's sign her."

That literary giant, who had drifted further and further away from him and was almost in a different world, used just one sentence to forcefully smash open a door that shone with dazzling light on him on the high wall called "reality".

Moreover, Kitahara Iwa didn't need my thanks, nor did he need my trepidation; he simply told me gently:

Go sing, go prove yourself.

Thinking of this, Sakai Izumi's eyes welled up with an uncontrollable burning heat.

At the precise beat of the chorus, Izumi Sakai suddenly opened her eyes.

She poured all her loneliness, pent-up resentment, and gratitude towards Kitahara Iwa into her chest, letting it burst forth from her slightly hoarse voice, which had become husky from repeated practice.

"Good-bye My Loneliness..."

"In your arms, quietly, gently..."

Clear, stubborn, and possessing a do-or-die vitality.

In the control room, Tetsuro Oda, who had been looking down at his pen revising chords, suddenly looked up.

Daiki Nagato's hand, which was touching his chin, froze in mid-air, and a hint of undisguised amazement and shock flashed in his eyes.

What they heard in this song was no longer a common commercial love song.

Rather, it was a soul that had been lying dormant in a dark abyss for a long time, finally touching the first ray of sunlight, letting out its most unreserved roar towards the person who pulled it out of the abyss.

At this moment, the control room fell into a deathly silence that lasted for more than ten seconds.

Nagato Daisuke and Oda Tetsuro watched Sakai Izumi, who was still panting heavily, through the glass, and neither of them said a word.

Only after the last note of the accompaniment completely disappeared from his headphones did Daiki Nagato slowly exhale a breath of stale air and press the intercom button on the control panel.

"That's a wrap. We'll use this version."

Daiko Nagato released the button, his eyes becoming unusually resolute.

He was still weighing whether it was too risky to directly allocate Fuji TV's prime-time resources to a complete newcomer.

But after hearing this soul-stirring aria, the shrewd businessman completely put aside his concerns.

He was convinced that he had made the right bet this time.

half a month later.

"Good-bye My Loneliness" has been officially released, riding on the dazzling spotlight of being the ending theme song for the Fuji TV primetime drama "The World's Favorite You".

But for Izumi Sakai, the real trial has only just begun.

Daiko Nagato is a shrewd and experienced producer. The fact that he was willing to use all of Being's public relations resources to secure the ending theme song for "The World's Favorite You" is already a top-notch stepping stone he gave this newcomer, out of respect for Kitahara Iwao.

But the "special treatment" from capital ends here.

The record industry operates on the coldest, most realistic logic: a company will never blindly and endlessly throw money at a newcomer who hasn't yet been tested in the offline market.

Does Izumi Sakai want ubiquitous TV commercials? Large billboards throughout Shibuya? Prime-time variety show exposure?

can.

They need to exchange it for real record sales and market feedback.

Now that she has the key to get started, she must forge her own path from here on out.

To prove to the company's top management that she deserved this hit song, and to not let down the person who helped her open the door, Izumi Sakai's schedule was packed full.

Without a huge follow-up promotion budget to back her up, as a newcomer with no fan base, all she could do was the dumbest thing: go to record stores and sing at each venue.

The listening area on the first floor of Shibuya Tower Records, the temporary steps outside a record store in Shinjuku, and the narrow cash register of a CD specialty store in Ikebukuro.

Izumi Sakai wore the most ordinary T-shirt and jeans, carrying heavy promotional materials, and traveled to several places every day.

At each location, the staff would simply set up a makeshift microphone stand and a portable speaker in a corner.

There were no spotlights, no professional mixing consoles, and not even a decent promotional backdrop.

On the wall, there was only a poster printed on A4 paper that was hastily pasted with transparent tape: "ZARD - Izumi Sakai's first single listening session".

The audience for the first few shows was so small that it would not be an exaggeration to say that they were practically deserted.

At the first show in Shibuya, there were only seventeen people standing in the audience, at least four or five of whom were passersby who had been half-pulled or half-dragged in by the staff.

But when Izumi Sakai stood in front of that simple microphone, there was no fear in her eyes.

She gently closed her eyes, just like she was in that smoky barbecue restaurant private room.

Then, she spoke.

At first, her voice sounded somewhat thin amidst the noisy background music and customers' laughter in the record store.

But when the chorus arrives, and that suddenly soaring melody line bursts forth from her chest with her unyielding stubbornness, the entire space seems to be paused.

Several customers who were looking for CDs stopped what they were doing.

A high school girl, who was joking around with her best friend, suddenly opened her mouth slightly and looked over her friend's shoulder, locking her gaze directly onto the girl in the corner who was singing with her eyes closed.

In the listening area, a middle-aged man wearing noise-canceling headphones frowned, took off one earcup, and looked around in surprise. He couldn't even tell whether the clear, high-pitched sound that had hit his heart was a recording by a famous artist in his headphones or a live performance.

Once he identified the source of the sound, he quietly removed the other earphone.

The song ended.

The seventeen people in the audience had unknowingly grown to more than thirty.

Most of them are just passersby who are pinned to the spot by a single note in a particular moment.

No one could explain why they stopped, but in those three or four minutes, no one moved an inch.

With each street audition, these strangers, captivated by the songs, became the first sparks of spontaneous dissemination.

"There's a newcomer in a corner of Shibuya Tower Records, and his voice is frighteningly clean."

"There's a girl singing in front of a shop in Shinjuku. Once you hear her sing, her voice is all you can hear in your head."

The most basic oral traditions began to spread underground in a slow but remarkably solid way.

This bottom-up, genuine market feedback quickly caught the attention of Daiko Nagato.

As a president who is well-versed in business principles, he keenly sensed the enormous potential behind this niche trend.

Now that the newcomer has proven himself in the most brutal offline test, he will naturally not hesitate to add more chips to his hand.

Soon, Being's marketing department began to get involved in a substantial way.

The venue for Izumi Sakai's roadshow gradually moved from the narrow space next to the cashier to a slightly more spacious mall atrium. The old portable speaker was also replaced with a professional-grade amplification device that was tuned by a specialist from the company.

At the same time, the public relations department began to take the initiative, using the company's resource network to secure more print media exposure for her.

Thanks to the appropriate allocation of company resources, Izumi Sakai finally received her first batch of formal media invitations.

Although it doesn't qualify as a glamorous cover interview yet, it's just some newcomer introductions tucked into the corner of music magazine pages, only the size of a tofu block.

But she still treated every question with the same meticulousness as she had when there were only a dozen or so people in the audience at the audition.

In a short interview with Ori Style, the reporter asked, "Ms. Sakai, many people who have heard you perform live have commented that your voice possesses a loneliness and gentleness that transcends your age. Where does this quality come from?"

Izumi Sakai pondered for a few seconds.

Then, she answered with utmost candor: "Because I was fortunate enough to see a ray of light. It could gently shelter all the complexities and loneliness of the world under its own roof."

The reporter paused, then asked curiously, "Could you elaborate?"

Izumi Sakai smiled and shook her head, saying, "It's still a secret for now. But if you understand that light, you'll understand what I'm really singing about."

This interview was eventually squeezed into the bottom right corner of page 47 of the magazine, taking up only one-sixth of the page.

It's insignificant in the entire thick weekly magazine.

at the same time.

Shinchosha, Editor-in-Chief's Office.

This senior editor, who has witnessed firsthand how Kitahara Iwao used his absolute talent to completely overturn the entire Japanese literary world over the past few months, is now sitting upright on the sofa opposite.

He clasped his hands together in front of him, unconsciously lowering his posture, and said with utmost sincerity, "Teacher Kitahara, I have a bold suggestion I would like to discuss with you."

Kitahara Iwa leaned back on the sofa, holding a freshly brewed cup of pour-over coffee. He nodded and asked, "What's wrong?"

"You see, the fervor surrounding you has reached an unprecedented peak. The combined effect of 'White Night' and 'The Doctor' has long since broken down the barriers of the literary circle, evolving into a national-level cultural tsunami."

Editor-in-Chief Sato spoke rapidly, seemingly afraid that Kitahara Iwa would refuse before he could finish listening, and quickly said, "Therefore, I propose that Shinchosha take the lead in holding a large-scale book signing event for you at Kinokuniya Bookstore Shinjuku Main Store."

Seeing Kitahara Iwa remain silent, Sato quickly added, "There's no need for you to give a long speech!"

"It's just a simple meeting with readers, signing autographs, and taking a few photos."

"Moreover, think about it, Mr. Yasutaka Tsutsui held one, Mr. Haruki Murakami held one after the huge success of 'Norwegian Wood,' and Ms. Banana Yoshimoto also held one."

"This is the most standard procedure for giving back to readers in the publishing industry."

Upon hearing this, Kitahara Iwa, He stared at the warm coffee cup, saying nothing.

Given his reclusive nature and dislike of public social interaction, he would never even consider such a public performance.

At this moment, the word "refusal" had already slipped onto his lips.

But in that instant, an image suddenly flashed through Kitahara Iwa's mind.

Just two days ago, Izumi Sakai called herself.

On the phone, the girl's tone was full of joy, but her voice, which she tried to hide, still revealed a hint of fatigue. It was clear that she had been working hard for several days and had been singing loudly in noisy street corners.

At this time, Izumi Sakai was in the most arduous initial stage before breaking out of her cocoon.

For her, who currently has no established foundation, every additional person who hears her voice means she will avoid a muddy and winding path on her way to the real stage.

Thinking of this, Kitahara Iwa's hand, holding the coffee, hovered in mid-air.

If I were to actually hold this autograph session, given my current immense influence, it would undoubtedly ignite the flashbulbs of the entire Japanese media and make me the focus of everyone's attention.

This means that if you mention a song or a person "casually" at a signing event, this seemingly insignificant remark will be amplified a million times by the terrifying media leverage and instantly pushed to the ears of the entire Japanese nation.

With this in mind, Kitahara Iwa looked at Sato Kenichi, who was nervously swallowing, and said softly, "Okay, let's do it then."

Upon hearing Kitahara Iwao's answer, Sato Kenichi was stunned for a moment, then exclaimed in surprise, "Kitahara-sensei—you...you said you agreed?"

At this moment, Editor-in-Chief Sato's tone was filled with disbelief, as if he were wondering, "Am I hallucinating?"

"Um."

"But—didn't you always refuse these kinds of public appearances...?"

"I've changed my mind."

Kitahara Iwa shook his head and said, "You decide the date and venue. I'll just go and sign books for a few hours."

Upon hearing this affirmative answer, Kenichi Sato's body stiffened abruptly.

Then he pinched his palm, swallowing back the overwhelming joy that welled up in his throat, and forced himself to maintain the composure befitting a senior editor.

"Okay! Leave it to me! I'll definitely arrange the best for you!"

The autograph session was scheduled for the last Saturday of July.

Location: Kinokuniya Bookstore Shinjuku Main Store.

Fall in love with reading, starting now.

On the morning of the day the news was published, the exclusive reservation hotline announced by Shinchosha was immediately overwhelmed and paralyzed.

Location: Kinokuniya Bookstore Shinjuku Main Store.

On the morning of the day the news was published, the exclusive reservation hotline announced by Shinchosha was immediately overwhelmed and paralyzed.

Shinchosha originally planned to offer 2,000 admission slots at once, in accordance with the highest standards for "literary giants".

However, in less than half an hour, all the license plates were snatched up by eager readers.

With the urgent announcement that "slots are sold out," the real storm has only just begun.

Tens of thousands of readers who failed to get tickets were outraged, and a flood of protest calls instantly overwhelmed the switchboard room of Shincho Publishing.

From the front desk to the internal lines of various editorial departments, all the landlines were ringing frantically, with anxious and even angry inquiries such as "Can we add an extra show?" and "I don't even need an autograph, just a standing ticket will do."

This near-out-of-control frenzy directly terrified the venue.

That afternoon, the manager of Kinokuniya Bookstore's Shinjuku main store personally dialed Kenichi Sato's hotline.

The veteran shop manager, who was used to seeing the grand signings of famous artists, spoke with a tense tone as if facing a formidable enemy: "Mr. Sato, I strongly suggest that on the day of the signing event, we must request additional riot police from the local police station to assist with security."

"Based on the inquiries we've received so far, we anticipate that the actual number of people arriving that day may exceed our capacity by ten times, or even dozens of times!"

As it turns out, the store manager's concerns were not unfounded.

On the day of the book signing event.

At 7 a.m., there were still three hours before Kinokuniya Bookstore officially opened for business.

But on the sidewalk outside the bookstore, a terrifyingly long, winding dragon had already sprung up, stretching to the horizon.

The line started from the main entrance of the bookstore, stretched eastward along Shinjuku-dori, turned one intersection, then another, and crossed three blocks, yet the end of the line was still nowhere in sight.

The composition of the queue not only recreated the magical "mixed-up" lineup on the release day of "White Night", but was even more exaggerated!

A sharp-fitting office worker took half a day off, a college student with a backpack clutched a well-worn copy of "White Night," and a housewife held a parasol under the scorching sun.

There were even a few elderly people with white hair who simply sat down in the queue with folding stools, waiting patiently and without any urgency.

Everyone was sweating profusely in the sweltering heat of over 30 degrees Celsius, all for one purpose: to witness firsthand the man who, with 800 pages of absolute darkness and 20,000 words of ultimate light, had single-handedly defined the entire Japanese literary scene in 1990.

In stark contrast to the boiling fervor outside under the scorching sun, the interior of the bookstore, separated by just a wall, exuded an intense, breathtaking tension, like the calm before a storm.

It was 10 a.m.

There are only 30 minutes left before the autograph session officially begins.

The core signing area on the first floor of Kinokuniya Bookstore has been completely cleared out. The central air conditioning is turned up to the maximum, but it still can't blow away the fine sweat on the foreheads of the staff.

In the very center was a long table, on which were neatly stacked piles of copies of "White Night" and "New Tide" magazines.

Behind the long table, the backdrop had no fancy slogans, only six simple characters: "Kitahara Iwa Autograph Session".

Outside the cordon, the area was already completely surrounded by a dense crowd of media reporters and their cameras, and the air was thick with a sense of tension, as if they were about to charge at any moment.

As is customary in the industry, a brief group interview session with the media is reserved before the official start of the book signing event.

Today, Kitahara Iwa was wearing a finely crafted dark blue linen shirt, with the sleeves casually rolled up to his forearms, paired with well-tailored khaki trousers.

There were no elaborate suits and ties, nor any elaborate security entourage.

He exuded a relaxed vibe, like someone going out for a coffee on the weekend, completely unlike the literary giant who could shake up the entire publishing industry.

But the moment Kitahara Iwa stepped from the back of the bookstore into the front, all the cameras in the room instantly locked onto him.

Then the shutter clicked loudly, as densely as a sudden downpour.

The group interview session then began.

Reporters frantically shoved microphones bearing their respective station logos forward, bombarding them with questions: "Mr. Kitahara! Could you share your thoughts on the Kohei Murota controversy?"

Was "The Doctor's Love Equation" a response to Kohei Murota's provocation?

"Could you please give readers a update on the progress of the film and television adaptation of 'White Night'?"

"Teacher Kitahara, many readers say they found the strength to move forward in the darkness in 'Journey Under the Midnight Sun' and 'The Doctor.' What are your thoughts on this?"

Kitahara Iwa stood amidst the dazzling flashes of light, patiently waiting for the questions in the room to gradually subside.

"As for the film and television adaptation, New Trend Society has a professional team to follow up, so there is no need for you to rush it."

Kitahara Iwa's clean and concise answer effortlessly deflected all the explosive controversies and gossip.

As for Kohei Murota's matter, ignoring it is the best response.

The reporters held their breath, their pens flying across their sketchbooks, afraid of missing a single word from Kitahara Iwa.

"but--"

At this moment, Kitahara Iwao's tone shifted slightly, his gaze sweeping over the cameras in the front row. He said, "A reporter just mentioned that in my writing, whether it's 'Journey Under the Midnight Sun' or 'The Doctor,' it seems everyone is searching for a kind of strength that can sustain them through the darkness."

Kitahara Iwa paused slightly, then continued, "While words can certainly convey this power, in reality, literature isn't the only medium in this city that can dispel loneliness and offer refuge."

Kitahara Iwatsu spoke with the ease of sharing his daily life with an old friend: "Recently, I happened to hear a song."

"It's the ending theme song of the Fuji TV drama 'The World's Favorite You,' called 'Good-bye My Loneliness.'"

Kitahara Iwao's tone was devoid of any deliberate sales pitch, only a sincere appreciation after discovering something good: "The singer is Izumi Sakai, a complete newcomer who has just debuted."

The flashbulbs were still going off, but the reporters' eyes had gone from astonishment to extreme excitement. Kitahara Iwa publicly recommended a new singer!

This will definitely be tomorrow's headline!

"There's something in her voice that I really admire."

Kitahara Iwa continued, "There is a power that does not yield to the darkness, a power that lives on in the face of death."

"In this era where everyone desperately needs healing, this voice deserves to be heard by more people. I recommend it to everyone. If you have time, you might want to give it a listen."

After finishing his sentence, Kitahara Iwa turned around and walked straight to the autograph table.

He sat down, casually unscrewed the cap of his pen, and nodded slightly to the first reader in line, indicating that they could begin.

Behind him, in the media isolation zone, after a full three seconds of deathly astonishment, chaos erupted instantly.

Northern original rock.

He is undoubtedly a master of Japanese literature.

A renowned figure who, since his debut, has never publicly recommended any book, movie, or even any book by his peers.

Today, at his first and most likely only autograph session in his career, he surprisingly recommended a pop song, a departure from his usual practice.

A debut song by a completely new singer!

The news value of this event alone instantly made it the headline of the entire entertainment and culture section.

The book signing had barely begun when over a dozen astute reporters rushed out of the bookstore, scrambling for public phones on the street, and roaring at the editorial department for their exclusive scoop: "Front page reserved for me! Kitahara Iwao's first ever public endorsement! And the person he's recommending is... some newcomer from who-knows-which company, Sakai Izumi!"

Meanwhile, the autograph session officially began at the long table.

The male college student at the front of the line, his hands trembling, respectfully handed over a copy of "Journey Under the Midnight Sun," its edges slightly curled from repeated readings.

His eyes were filled with a fanatical reverence, as if facing a faith, and even his voice trembled as he said, "Teacher Kitahara! I've read your book five times! May I ask... when will your next new book be published?"

Kitahara Iwatsu took the book, and the nib of his fountain pen smoothly drew a vigorous signature on the title page.

Then he replied, "I've already started writing."

Although Kitahara Iwao doesn't have any plans for a new book yet, that doesn't stop him from telling readers, "It's a completely new story, unlike anything I've done before. Please be patient and wait a little longer."

The college student was so excited that his face turned red, and he bowed repeatedly.

As Kitahara Iwa closed the book and prepared to hand it back to him, the boy couldn't suppress his curiosity and boldly asked, "Teacher, that new song you specifically mentioned in the interview... is it really that good?"

Kitahara Iwa paused for half a second as he handed the book over, then raised his head, looked directly at his loyal reader, and said, "It's really good."

Kitahara Iwao's answer was completely unambiguous, with the most certain tone adding, "Go listen to it; it won't disappoint you."

This undisguised endorsement, like an electric current, traveled rapidly backwards along the winding queue.

Over the next few hours, almost every reader who reached the table received not only an autograph but also a similarly gentle yet firm recommendation from Kitahara Iwao.

After the book signing ended, readers clutched the still-wet physical book to their chests, overflowing from Kinokuniya with a profound sense of satisfaction, as if a pilgrimage had been completed.

But the first thing they did after stepping onto the streets of Shinjuku was not to rush home to show off to their friends.

Instead, as if they had received some irresistible command, they all changed direction and rushed towards the nearby record stores.

"Excuse me, do you have Izumi Sakai's 'Good-bye My Loneliness'?"

"Yes, on the shelf in the newcomer introduction area..." "Give me one."

"I want one too."

"Give me two!"

On the afternoon of the book signing event, all the music and video stores within three blocks of Kinokuniya Bookstore were swept away like locusts.

Izumi Sakai's debut single sold out completely within half a day.

The morning after the book signing ended.

Newsstands and convenience stores across Japan were bombarded with front-page headlines from major newspapers.

To everyone's astonishment, none of these mainstream newspapers discussed Kitahara Iwao's book signing event on their front pages, nor did anyone analyze the recently concluded literary scandal.

All the bolded text uniformly pointed to one name.

Yomiuri Shimbun: "Literary giant makes its first foray into a new genre! Kitahara Iwao's sole recommendation at his book signing event—who exactly is new singer Sakai Izumi?"

Asahi Shimbun: "Ignoring the chaos in the literary world, yet stopping to admire a song! The 'unyielding power' that captivated Kitahara Iwa!"

Weekly Bunshun: "Exclusive Exclusive! A Complete Analysis of ZARD Lead Vocalist Izumi Sakai's Debut Experience!"

Countless people on crowded trams or in corner cafes, flipping through newspapers, were deeply shocked and curious as they looked at the photos of Kitahara Iwao and Sakai Izumi on the front page.

Who is Izumi Sakai?

"I've never heard of this singer before."

"Why would Kitahara Iwa recommend her? Could she be his girlfriend?"

"It's possible! He's usually so low-key, but this time he actually broke all his principles for a newcomer."

The discussion spread like ripples.

This overwhelming desire to explore ultimately converged on the same question:

"What exactly did that girl named Izumi Sakai sing?"

This question became the sole focus of discussion throughout the streets and alleys of Japan.

Meanwhile, in the private dressing room of Dongbao Studio.

Yasuko Sawaguchi was dressed in a classic and elegant kimono, letting the makeup artist meticulously style her hair.

Her agent, clutching a newly purchased morning newspaper, hurried in and spread it on the dressing table.

Upon seeing the headline on the front page, the actress, hailed as "the last beauty of the Showa era," frowned slightly, a hint of undisguised doubt flashing in her eyes.

"Who is Izumi Sakai...?"

She murmured the completely unfamiliar name, a sudden, indescribable sense of crisis spreading through her heart.

No one understood Kitahara Iwa's aloof and unapproachable demeanor better than she did.

During this time, in order to become the woman by that man's side, she put aside her status as a superstar and tried her best to please and get closer to him, but all she got in return was his lukewarm polite distance.

Kitahara Iwa's heart was like a block of ice that could never be warmed.

But now, why would this unknown newcomer make Kitahara Iwa, who dislikes socializing, make an exception and protect her in front of hundreds of cameras and microphones?

Looking at her stunning reflection in the mirror, Yasuko Sawaguchi unconsciously clenched the cuffs of her kimono.

She picked up the warm water on the table, took a sip as if to cover up her true feelings, and coldly ordered her manager behind her, "After work, go buy me a copy of her record. I want to hear what makes her so special."

Meanwhile, in a luxury apartment in the port area.

Akina Nakamori, wrapped in an oversized cardigan, curled up on the sofa in the living room.

The morning sunlight streamed through the blinds, falling on her slightly pale yet still exquisitely beautiful face.

She was also holding a copy of today's morning paper in her hand.

Looking at the bolded and enlarged comment in the newspaper—"A force that does not yield to the darkness, a force that lives towards death"—Akana Nakamori's eyes welled up with an unfathomable envy.

Unlike Yasuko Sawaguchi, she knew of Izumi Sakai's existence.

That's why, when Nakamori Akina saw Kitahara Iwa stepping forward with an absolutely dominant attitude and using himself to stabilize Sakai Izumi, she felt an overwhelming pang of bitterness.

To be honest, she was incredibly envious of Kitahara Iwao for actually making such a public statement in the newspapers about Sakai Izumi.

Akina Nakamori stared at the words on the newspaper for a long time, then put down the paper, got up, walked to the French windows, and dialed her assistant's number.

"Go buy me a copy of 'Good-bye My Loneliness'."

Akina Nakamori's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a hidden longing: "I want to hear... what kind of powerful voice she sang under Kitahara-sensei's protection."

With the stable exposure of "The World's Favorite You" as a foundation, coupled with the nationwide frenzy triggered by Kitahara Iwao's "god-level endorsement," the sales curve of "Good-bye My Loneliness" experienced a magical vertical surge in the following week.

When the Beh distribution team received the newly faxed daily shipment report, their first reaction was that there was a mistake in the manual statistics. They immediately instructed the staff to check the numbers three times with an abacus and calculator before they dared to believe that the numbers on the paper were real.

Daiki Nagato sat in the boss's chair, staring intently at the soaring curve.

About ten seconds later, he grabbed the phone on his desk and dialed the propaganda minister directly.

"Contact TV Asahi immediately."

At this moment, Nagato Daiko's tone was resolute, revealing an undeniable ambition.

"I want a spot on Music Station's music show. I'll book the most recent episode."

Music Station.

It is an absolute national-level music hall of fame in Japan.

It is broadcast live every Friday night at 8 pm during prime time, and its viewership rating has consistently remained above 15% for many years.

Those who can step onto this stage are either already established superstars or the favored children of top agencies who have been given astronomical resources.

For a newcomer who has been in the industry for less than a month, this is nothing short of a pipe dream.

But at this moment, Izumi Sakai was being propelled into the air by two irresistible hurricanes.

One is Being's public relations strategy, which involves risking everything.

The other force is the invincible label of "Kitahara Iwa's only official designation," which is equivalent to a get-out-of-jail-free card in contemporary Japanese society.

After receiving the invitation, TV Asahi's production team skipped the usual meeting and made a decision within half a day: "Reserve the third performance slot for next Friday."

It's Friday, 8 PM.

The Music Station studio was brightly lit and packed to capacity.

This episode boasts a lineup that's nothing short of phenomenal: it features a currently popular super idol boy band, a seasoned singer who has dominated the charts for weeks, and a veteran diva who has just made a comeback.

Every artist who takes the stage is armed to the teeth—glamorous makeup, elaborate hairstyles, expensive stage outfits; every detail is packaged to the extreme of the visual industry.

Until the host, Tamo, announced in his signature flat tone: "Next, please welcome today's third group—ZARD, Izumi Sakai."

When the girl quietly walked out from the side of the stage, the atmosphere in the entire studio felt strongly jarring.

She was almost always bare-faced.

She only applied a thin layer of foundation and a little bit of inconspicuous lip gloss.

There were no fancy stage outfits; he was only wearing a men's oversized white shirt with the cuffs casually rolled up at his wrists.

Her hair was not styled at all; it simply cascaded smoothly over her shoulders.

Among those celebrities who are meticulously packaged so that every strand of their hair sparkles, she looks like an ordinary girl who has just walked out of the university library and accidentally wandered into the high-class world of fame and fortune.

Inevitably, some whispers arose from the audience: "Who is that? Why is she on stage without even having her makeup done?"

"This is Izumi Sakai! The songstress praised by Kitahara-sensei!"

"So it was her! Since it was Kitahara-sensei who praised her, I'd better listen carefully!"

Not only ordinary viewers, but also the celebrities in the front row were attracted by this unusual "plain" look, and even stopped touching up their makeup.

A member of a popular girl group stared at Izumi Sakai on stage, her expression full of doubt: "Recommended by Kitahara-sensei...?"

Her voice was very soft, but it was still heard by the people around her.

That renowned author, who was rumored to rarely grant interviews, actually publicly recommended a complete newcomer at a book signing event...

This made them feel an unprecedented sense of crisis.

Just then, the prelude began.

The clean and crisp guitar arpeggios flowed out from the top-notch sound system of the studio.

Izumi Sakai stood alone in front of a tall microphone in the center of the stage.

The spotlight shone on her, outlining her slender yet upright figure.

She didn't look at the high-definition cameras pointed directly at her.

As usual, she lowered her head slightly and closed her eyes.

Just like being in that smoky private room of a barbecue restaurant.

Like being in a cramped recording studio.

Just like countless times in the past when she stood on deserted street corners, gritting her teeth and refusing to bow to reality.

Then, she spoke.

"I feel like you're spying on the depths of my heart..."

The moment the first line of lyrics was sung, all the scornful whispers in the studio seemed to be silenced by an invisible hand.

Her voice, amplified by a professional-grade live sound system, possessed a penetration power ten times greater than that found on recordings.

The unpretentious clarity is like a beam of sunlight breaking through thick clouds, directly cleaving through the somewhat stuffy air in the studio.

Then, as the chorus rises, her voice bursts forth from the deepest part of her chest.

It's not the brute force screaming for the sake of showing off skills, but the most unreserved shout from a soul that has been dormant in the dark for a long time, when it finally stands on its own stage and faces its insignificant past self.

This force lacks hysterical aggression, but possesses an indestructible resilience and stubbornness.

The song ended.

The final note slowly dissipated into the air.

Izumi Sakai opened her eyes and bowed deeply to the audience.

A deathly silence fell over the studio for two or three seconds.

Immediately afterwards, a thunderous applause erupted.

In the past, applause on television programs was mostly polite encouragement prompted by the on-site director holding up a "clap" sign.

At that moment, what rang out from below the stage was the spontaneous applause of hundreds of audience members who had been struck in the heart by a pure life force without any warning, a genuine applause filled with shock and astonishment.