Bunkyo Ward. Kodansha Headquarters.
In the sa building as the editorial departnt of Weekly Shonen Magazine — second only to Shueisha's Weekly Shonen Jump — but on a different floor, sat the editorial offices of Gunzo.
Today was the first day of Gunzo's new issue hitting shelves. The office was thick with the mingled sll of coffee, tea, and cigarettes. Phones rang at intervals, and editors' voices rose and fell as they took the calls.
Editor Sato sat at his desk, working through a stack of sales reports and figures.
Just then, a colleague from the statistics departnt next door walked straight over to him, a printout in hand.
"Sato-san, the first-day sales numbers for this issue are in."
Sato took the thin sheet of paper and glanced down at it.
The numbers were even worse than he'd expected.
Down again from last month.
Editor Sato let out a helpless sigh, then looked at his colleague, whose expression was equally grave.
"Thank you. Sorry to trouble everyone in the statistics departnt."
"Not at all — I'll head back then."
After the colleague left, Sato stared at those figures in silence for a long ti.
It wasn't a problem unique to Gunzo, of course.
The entire pure literature publishing industry was in decline — squeezed out by the internet, light novels, PC gas, and console gas, all of them more entertaining, more imdiate, and far less demanding on the brain.
Who wanted to sit on a train and grind through a several-hundred-page literary magazine, one word at a ti?
But Shincho was different.
Ever since Tsushima Kagami's Shayo had been published, Shincho's sales had shot up like a rocket, climbing all the way back to the peak levels of over a decade ago.
Half a million copies in two weeks — that figure would have been remarkable even back then. In the current market, it was nothing short of a miracle.
Editor Sato set the printout aside and rubbed the bridge of his nose in resignation.
At that mont, the internal phone line rang.
Editor Sato made his way to the door of the editor-in-chief's office.
The door was slightly ajar. Sato instinctively straightened his tie, then knocked three tis on the half-open door with due deference. He waited until he heard "Co in" before pushing it open and stepping inside.
The editor-in-chief was seated behind his desk, reading through a docunt.
Without looking up when Sato entered, he said simply:
"Sit."
Sato sat down in the chair across from him, back perfectly straight.
A long mont passed before the editor-in-chief finally set down the docunt and looked up.
"The manuscript from Master of Dassai-ya — have you obtained it?"
"Yes, sir."
"I collected it myself this morning."
"We've confird it for publication in next month's issue."
The editor-in-chief nodded but did not speak imdiately. He tapped the desk slowly with his fingertips, his expression heavy with thought.
Silence stretched between the two n.
After another long pause, the editor-in-chief finally spoke.
"Too slow."
Editor Sato startled slightly, then imdiately stood and bowed.
"I apologize — that is my failing."
"This has nothing to do with you."
"I'm not blaming you."
The editor-in-chief waved a hand, gesturing for Sato to sit back down.
Once Sato had sat down again, tense and apprehensive, the editor-in-chief continued.
"What I an is — now that we have Master of Dassai-ya's manuscript in hand, there's no reason to wait until next month."
Before he could finish, Editor Sato blurted out in surprise:
"You an…?"
Seeing that Sato had already understood, the editor-in-chief gave a nod.
"That's right. A special supplentary issue."
"But—"
"No buts."
The editor-in-chief looked at Editor Sato.
"We've already witnessed the miracle that Master of Dassai-ya can produce, haven't we?"
"It's precisely because of that I called in a personal favour — I went to Shincho's editor-in-chief himself to secure this commissioned piece from Master of Dassai-ya."
"Three days."
"I'm giving you three days. Three days from now, I want to see Master of Dassai-ya's new work on the page."
There was sothing in the editor-in-chief's eyes that Sato had never seen there before. Not severity, and not anticipation — but the razor-sharp look of an old-school editor who was, at his core, a gambler.
"Yes, sir!"
Editor Sato imdiately rose to his feet again and stood before the editor-in-chief, hands at his sides, bowing slightly.
"Go."
The editor-in-chief leaned back in his chair.
"Get the layout started at once, and have the printers running through the night."
"I'll handle the publicity side."
Three days later.
The bookshop district had not yet fully woken in the early morning light, but Gunzo's special supplentary issue had already been stacked in neat, prominent piles at the most visible spots in bookshops across Tokyo.
To be precise, it had been treated as the flagship product — displayed in its own dedicated mountain of copies.
Beside it hung a striking poster:
[Master of Dassai-ya's Latest Work — "Hear the Wind Sing"]
"The author of Shayo returns after months away — back for another strike!"
A man dressed like an office worker walked past and cast a habitual glance over the magazine section.
Then he stopped. He stepped back two paces and stared at the stack of supplentary issues for several seconds.
Gunzo… a special supplent?
He picked up a copy, turned to the table of contents, and when he saw the five characters reading "Master of Dassai-ya," his eyes lit up.
So it really is a new work from Master of Dassai-ya?
He tucked the supplent under his arm and walked toward the cashier.
Similar scenes were playing out simultaneously in bookshops all across the streets of Tokyo.
"A Gunzo special supplent? Really?"
"Wasn't Master of Dassai-ya supposed to be a debut author exclusive to Shincho?"
"Why has he turned up in Gunzo?"
"Probably had a falling-out — that kind of thing happens all the ti~"
"You think so? I just bought the paperback edition of Shayo."
All kinds of speculation passed through the queues of custors.
Nobody knew the truth, but that didn't stop anyone from reaching for their wallets.
After all, with Shayo to his na, readers held a certain trust and expectation for this mysterious Master of Dassai-ya, who had never once shown his face in public.
Everyone was curious to see what this new work from a writer who had suddenly defected to Gunzo — and then had a supplent rushed out only three days after the regular issue — would turn out to be.
In the end, between all the deliberate and incidental buzz of the promotional campaign, within a single day the supplentary issue of "Hear the Wind Sing" had swept bookshop stocks bare across the city, with sales surpassing Gunzo's all-ti regular issue record.
The Gunzo editorial staff could only curse the fact that they'd only had three days to prepare — they hadn't been able to print enough.
The result, however, was a sell-out on the very first day — just like Shincho had achieved — and everyone's confidence soared. They imdiately followed the bold move Shinchosha had once made with the Shayo paperback: just keep printing. Print like there's no tomorrow.
Second day — reprint.
Third day — reprint again.
The printing presses ran for seventy-two hours straight. The rollers ran so hot you could have fried an egg on them.
What surprised the editorial departnt most of all, though, was the way this explosion of popularity had taken hold.
The rise of Shayo had owed a great deal to the Ministry of Education's school promotion program.
But the spread of "Hear the Wind Sing" had started with the readers themselves.
A female university student, interviewed by NHK, said the following:
"I don't know how to describe my ntal state right now, and I don't know how I'm supposed to face the future after graduation. Then soone told that this book already has the answer for ."
"After reading 'Hear the Wind Sing,' I felt like Master of Dassai-ya understands better than I understand myself."
"Or maybe — he just really, truly understands what young people today are actually craving inside."
"Because feeling lost — that doesn't change, no matter how many years go by."
The NHK report aired as part of a news segnt and, within just a few days, trended on Yahoo Japan.
A critic wrote in a newspaper:
"'Hear the Wind Sing' stands apart from traditional Japanese literature — it is an entirely different kind of new prose. More refined, more witty, filled with musicality and a sense of the alien."
"This is part of why it has found such favour among the broad youth demographic."
The critic went on to call it "the collective awakening of a new generation."
This ti, it was young people who had chosen the book for themselves.
Not because a teacher had recomnded it. Not because a parent had bought it. They had walked into the bookshop themselves, pulled it from the shelf, flipped through a few pages, and decided to take it ho.
A bookshop clerk, laughing during an interview with TV Asahi, said:
"Lately, eight out of every ten custors who co in to buy 'Hear the Wind Sing' are middle school or university students."
The reporter asked: "Why do you think this book resonates with young people?"
The clerk thought for a mont, then said:
"Perhaps it's the loneliness, the distance, and the sense of emptiness in youth."
"After all, those are the eternal thes of young people."
"And very few pure literature writers have ever been willing to focus on — and dissect — the inner needs of contemporary young people."
____
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