Chapter 268 - 268: Program Invitation from NHK

Saturday, July fourteenth.

Snow Country officially went on sale.

Seven in the morning, Tokyo.

Outside the Shinjuku main store of Kinokuniya Books, the line of waiting customers snaked all the way down an entire street.

At the very front of the line stood a young man who looked like a college student, holding a dog-eared, well-worn copy of No Longer Human — clearly a longtime reader.

"What time did you get here?" the man beside him asked.

"Three in the morning."

The young man let out a yawn.

"I was worried I wouldn't get a first-print copy."

"Isn't that a bit much? I heard the first printing was fifty thousand copies."

"You don't get it. Books by Dassai-ya sell out their first printing on day one."

"My copy of No Longer Human — I was one day late, and I had to run to six different bookstores before I finally found one."

More and more people kept joining the line.

They'd come from all different places, different backgrounds, different ages — but right now, they were all here for one reason.

To buy Snow Country.

At eight o'clock sharp, the bookstore opened its doors.

The crowd filed in, everyone heading straight for the literature section.

"One copy of Snow Country!"

"Give me two!"

"Do you have signed copies?"

Behind the counter, the clerks scanned barcodes as fast as they could, sweat beading on their foreheads, shouting over the noise.

"No need to rush, everyone — we have plenty in stock, you'll all get one!"

In under an hour, this one store's entire stock of twelve hundred copies of Snow Country was gone.

"When's the restock?"

"Three this afternoon, but there's no guarantee you'll get one even then..."

The same scene was playing out simultaneously in bookstores across the country.

Osaka, Nagoya, Sapporo, Fukuoka, Sendai...

Every city, every bookstore, was caught up in the same kind of frenzy.

By noon, inside the editor-in-chief's office.

The sales statistics department had already delivered the day's figures to Kobayashi Tomoaki, with the utmost deference.

Kobayashi Tomoaki looked over the compiled sales data for Tokyo.

Beside him, a fax machine kept clattering away, spitting out page after page.

The pages pouring out of the fax machine were the sales statistics from bookstores across the rest of the country, outside Tokyo.

By the time he'd read through all of it once,

his face showed no expression at all.

After so many of Tsushima Kagami's launch-day sales reports, whether the book sold out in a blaze of glory as expected, or — like that strange episode with No Longer Human — sat unmoved on the shelves, none of it stirred anything in him anymore.

Yes. This was what it meant to have the composure of an editor-in-chief.

"What's wrong, Chief Editor? Bad sales?"

A colleague who often handed statistics to Kobayashi Tomoaki wandered over to take a look at the fax printouts.

"Not exactly..."

Kobayashi Tomoaki looked up, one eyebrow raised, though he couldn't quite hide the excitement in his eyes.

He turned to look at the colleague who'd come over, and slowly broke into a grin.

"First printing of fifty thousand. Sold out within half a day."

"So, about average, then."

Well, would you look at that. Being editor-in-chief really does change a person.

Was that even a human response?

The colleague standing beside him knew exactly what that number meant.

He was the one who'd been compiling and reporting the recent sales statistics himself.

He, too, had marveled at just how well Kagami's books were selling.

He'd even heard that pure literature — which by all rights should be a niche market — was somehow outselling even Kagami's doujinshi.

You could go your whole life without reading one of his novels, but you couldn't go without hearing Kagami's name and the titles of his works. And you certainly couldn't get away without having a book or two of his sitting on your bookshelf at home.

This wasn't a novel. This was a drug.

At lunchtime, Shinchosha called an emergency press conference.

Kobayashi Tomoaki stood at the microphone, smiling as he bowed to the crowd of reporters who'd rushed over on short notice.

"In light of the fact that all fifty thousand copies of the first printing of Snow Country sold out by noon today, our company has already initiated an emergency reprint."

"A second batch of thirty thousand copies will go on shelves this afternoon. A third batch of seventy thousand is currently being printed."

"To all the readers who weren't able to purchase a copy of Snow Country today, we offer our sincere apologies."

Below the podium, reporters raised their cameras, shutters clicking away nonstop.

"Chief Editor Kobayashi, does the size of this reprint mean Shinchosha has extremely high expectations for this book's market performance?"

"It's not expectation."

Kobayashi Tomoaki corrected him.

"It's already a verified fact."

"What's Mr. Tsushima's response to all this?"

"Mr. Tsushima is resting at home right now. He isn't taking interviews for the time being."

"How are overseas rights sales for Snow Country going?"

"France's Éditions Gallimard has already acquired the French rights, along with the European and American sales rights for the German and English editions."

"I can't go into the specifics, but I can say this much — the results have far exceeded our expectations."

After the press conference ended, Kobayashi Tomoaki went back to his office and dialed the number for Tsushima Kagami's home.

Yukinoshita Shizuku picked up the phone.

"Mr. Kobayashi?"

There was a note of surprise in Yukinoshita Shizuku's voice.

"Yukinoshita Shizuku-chan, is Kagami there?"

"He's sleeping. Should I wake him?"

"No, no, let him sleep."

"Just tell him for me — the fifty thousand copies sold out, and the reprint's already lined up."

"I see," Yukinoshita Shizuku said.

There was a brief silence on the line.

"Yukinoshita Shizuku-chan, don't you think that's an incredible number?"

Kobayashi Tomoaki had expected the figure to leave Yukinoshita Yukinoshita Shizuku stunned.

He hadn't expected her to sound so unbothered.

On the other end of the line, Yukinoshita Shizuku laughed too.

"If it's Kagami we're talking about, isn't that just... to be expected?"

"Honestly, I'd be far more shocked if Shinchosha agreed to print a few hundred thousand copies for the very first batch, and then it all sold out in a single day."

"Ha, though I do believe that with Kagami's kind of pull, even a few hundred thousand copies on shelves at once would sell out in a day."

"It's just a shame the company would never let me get away with that."

Kobayashi Tomoaki laughed as he replied.

"By the way — tomorrow or the day after, some people from other publishers and news outlets might come looking for him."

"Just tell him to ignore them."

Yukinoshita Shizuku couldn't help but laugh.

"All right, I'll pass that along."

After hanging up, Yukinoshita Yukinoshita Shizuku glanced toward the bedroom.

The door was shut. From inside came the steady sound of Kagami's breathing.

She crept over quietly and opened the door a crack.

Kagami was sound asleep, still in yesterday's clothes, not even a blanket pulled over him.

She stood there in the doorway for a good while, just watching. Then she gently closed the door and went back to the living room.

Nayotake had already finished preparing lunch and was setting the dishes out on the table.

"Yukinoshita Shizuku, what is it?"

Yukinoshita Shizuku turned around, her expression a strange mix of wanting to laugh and wanting to cry.

"Mr. Kobayashi called."

"He wanted to share the good news about today's sales."

"What did Mr. Kobayashi say?"

Nayotake set the last dish on the table and sat down, looking at Yukinoshita Shizuku.

Yukinoshita Shizuku sat down too, smiling as she spoke.

"Just that this morning's fifty thousand copies sold out."

"From how he sounded, I think he really wanted to brag about it."

"But I told him that was pretty normal, and I think it kind of deflated his mood a little."

Shimizu Nayotake gave a faint smile and nodded.

"Oh, right — let's eat first."

"Okay."

The two of them settled back into their usual easy rhythm, as if nothing at all had happened the night before.

Over the following days, Snow Country swept across the whole of Japan like a plague.

No — not a plague.

An avalanche was more like it.

Starting from Tokyo, it spread rapidly to Kansai, the Chubu region, Kyushu, Hokkaido.

The literature section of every bookstore was overrun by Snow Country.

Every newspaper's literary supplement was talking about Snow Country.

On the lips of every literature lover was that unfamiliar new term — the New Sensation School.

In the literary review column of The Asahi Shimbun, the famous critic Yamamoto Kenkichi wrote:

[Snow Country is a work that resists easy judgment.

It is neither a traditional 'I-novel' in the classical sense, nor a mere reproduction of Western modernist fiction.

Dassai-ya has created an entirely new narrative language — one that is intensely image-driven, grasping the objective world through subjective sensation.

The beauty of this language has no precedent in the history of Japanese literature.]

In a column for The Yomiuri Shimbun, another critic, Eto Jun, was even more direct.

[After finishing Snow Country, I was left with one overwhelming feeling.

From this point forward, Japanese literature will be divided into before Snow Country and after Snow Country.

This is not an exaggeration. This is simply a fact.]

The Mainichi Shimbun invited three literature professors for a roundtable discussion, Professor Kosaka among them.

During the program, Professor Kosaka said something that would later be quoted again and again.

[I have spent my entire life studying literature, thinking I had already seen every possibility it held.

But Snow Country has shown me — I am nowhere near having seen its limits.]

The literary magazine Gunzo even put out a special issue devoted entirely to Snow Country.

The whole issue was nothing but commentary and analysis on the book.

In the history of Gunzo's publication, this was a first.

Of course, not every voice was praise.

Conservative critics raised questions about the New Sensation School.

Some criticized Snow Country for prioritizing form over substance.

Others accused it of abandoning Japanese tradition in favor of blind imitation of the West.

Still others simply dismissed it as a flash-in-the-pan trick of language that wouldn't stand the test of time.

But those voices were quickly drowned out by a far larger wave.

Because the readers didn't see it that way.

In bookstores, Snow Country was perpetually out of stock.

On the secondhand market, first-edition copies of Snow Country were already fetching ten times their original price.

Someone posted online: 'I'd pay ten thousand yen for a copy of Snow Country, even a dog-eared one.'

Dozens of replies followed, every single one saying 'Me too.'

This wasn't something literary critics could control.

This was the market speaking. This was the readers' choice.

In late July, the phenomenon began spilling outside the boundaries of the literary world.

Iconic passages from Snow Country started turning up in the most unexpected places.

One singer said in an interview, 'I've been reading Snow Country over and over lately — the image of Komako gave me inspiration for my lyrics.'

One manga artist wrote in the afterword of a new work, 'Thanks to Dassai-ya's Snow Country, I finally understand what it means to depict the world through subjective sensation.'

There was even a hot spring inn that, simply because its name happened to also be "Snow Country," went viral overnight, with reservations booked out three months in advance.

The owner, looking completely bewildered in an interview, said:

"We've been running this inn for thirty years, and it's never been this busy."

"So many guests come in asking which room Komako stayed in. I don't even know how to answer that..."

Snow Country was no longer just a novel.

It had become a symbol, a phenomenon, a culture unto itself.

And at the very center of it all, that twenty-year-old young man seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth.

No promotional appearances. No interviews. No public events of any kind.

As if the "Tsushima fever" sweeping the country outside had nothing at all to do with him.

Everyone was curious what a teenage prodigy like him would even do with his summer vacation.

This only drove the media into a greater frenzy.

"Tsushima Kagami refuses all interview requests, whereabouts a mystery"

"The Mysterious Genius: Just What Kind of Person Is Tsushima Kagami?"

"Japan's Youngest Nobel Prize Candidate? Reporters Fail to Corner Him — Tsushima Kagami Remains Silent"

Reporters from every newspaper prowled the streets and alleys of Tokyo like detectives, hunting for any trace of Tsushima Kagami.

One day in early August.

Tokyo, the NHK Broadcasting Center.

A knock came at the door of the production bureau chief's office.

"Come in."

The man who walked through the door was in his forties, wearing black-framed glasses, a proposal document in hand.

"Chief, I have an idea for the next episode of Literary Frontline."

"Go on."

"Tsushima Kagami."

"We want to do a special feature on Tsushima Kagami."

The production bureau chief looked up and glanced at him.

"Not this again."

"At least ten people have come to me with Tsushima Kagami proposals recently."

"You know what Shinchosha and his own agency have said, don't you?"

"They're declining all media interviews. What makes you think we'd get one?"

"Chief, take a look at this first."

The man set the proposal on the desk and flipped to a certain page.

"We're not asking to interview him directly. We want to build a special feature around the cultural phenomenon of Snow Country."

"We'd interview critics, readers, bookstore clerks — even writers who've started imitating his prose style."

"We'd show the social impact of Snow Country from every possible angle."

The chief flipped through a few pages, his brow creasing slightly.

"Isn't this just chasing after everyone else's coattails?"

"The Asahi Shimbun and the Yomiuri Shimbun have already run similar features."

"That's why we're not just doing a commentary special."

The man flipped to the pages near the back.

"We're also proposing to invite Mr. Tsushima Kagami for a serious, in-depth literary conversation."

"We'd send our best cultural program host at NHK, and give him complete creative freedom. Any question he doesn't want to answer, we simply won't ask."

The chief was quiet for a moment.

"Would Mr. Tsushima actually appear on camera for this?"

"Are you confident he'll agree?"

"No."

The man was honest.

"But I'll go make the invitation myself and see."

The chief studied him for a few seconds, then smiled.

"Fine. Go give it a try. If it works out, I'll set aside a slot in this quarter's Taiga drama promotion for your program."

Two days later, at the Shinchosha editorial department.

Kobayashi Tomoaki received a phone call.

"Hello, this is the NHK production department. I'm Tanaka, a producer. Is this Chief Editor Kobayashi of Snow Country?"

Kobayashi Tomoaki raised an eyebrow and took the cigarette from his mouth.

"That's me. What is it?"

"We have a program proposal — we'd like to invite Mr. Tsushima for an interview. Could we discuss the details in person?"

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Tsushima has no intention of doing any interviews or talk shows."

Kobayashi Tomoaki was about to hang up.

On the other end, Tanaka spoke up urgently.

"Chief Editor Kobayashi, please wait a moment."

"Wasn't what I just said clear enough?"

Kobayashi Tomoaki said, frowning.

"No — please, just give me a few more minutes."

Before Kobayashi Tomoaki could respond, Tanaka pressed on.

"This isn't just a simple interview with Mr. Tsushima."

"We've also invited several heavyweight veteran authors from the literary world, as well as an official from the Agency for Cultural Affairs."

"This program will air nationwide during prime time."

"I believe the reach and influence of this program will be something none of the private broadcasters can match."

"This would absolutely be of enormous benefit to Mr. Tsushima as well."

Kobayashi Tomoaki thought it over, glancing at his calendar.

"Next Wednesday, three in the afternoon, Shinchosha's reception room. Does that work?"

"Yes, thank you so much."

After hanging up, Kobayashi Tomoaki dialed Tsushima Kagami's number.

"Kagami, NHK wants to interview you."

There was a moment of silence on the other end.

"What did you say?"

"NHK. Japan Broadcasting Corporation, the national public broadcaster. They want to do a special feature on you, and an interview."

Kobayashi Tomoaki seemed ready to keep explaining.

But the Kagami on the other end had already cut in, sounding impatient.

"Ah, I know. They came knocking on my door just yesterday to collect the license fee!"

"...? Did you pay it?"

"Of course. I do actually watch NHK programs, after all."

"So, about this program..."

"No—"

"Don't turn it down yet. Meet with them next Wednesday first, then decide."

"If you don't want to do it, you can just tell them straight to their faces when you're there."

"But I'd suggest hearing them out first."

Kagami joked from the other end of the line.

"Mr. Kobayashi, how much did NHK pay you off with?"

"Oh dear, I forgot to hint at that properly, didn't I."

Kobayashi Tomoaki said, feigning regret, then turned serious again.

"But I'm telling you, NHK really does know how to make a good cultural program."

"I think this collaboration would only do you good."

"But I don't want to..."

"Kagami."

Kobayashi Tomoaki cut him off.

"You've already turned down over twenty media outlets."

"I know you hate the hassle, and you don't want to put yourself out there. But Snow Country isn't just a book anymore — it's become a social phenomenon."

"As its author, you can't hide behind the scenes forever."

There was silence on the other end.

"Besides — NHK isn't some gossip tabloid. They won't ask about your private life."

"They just want to talk with you about Snow Country, about the New Sensation School. That shouldn't be hard for you."

"Let me think about it."

"Fine, take your time."

"Just give me an answer before next Wednesday."

Kobayashi Tomoaki hung up and lit another cigarette.

He smiled at the smoke drifting up.

This kid. He never had any idea just how much influence he really had.

The following Wednesday, three in the afternoon.

Shinchosha's Western-style reception room.

By the time Tanaka arrived, Tsushima Kagami was already seated.

He wore a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a cup of tea gone cold on the table in front of him.

He didn't look like a superstar author who'd set off a nationwide cultural craze. He looked more like a college student who'd just gotten out of class.

It wasn't until then that Tanaka remembered Tsushima Kagami was, in fact, still just a high schooler.

"Mr. Tsushima, hello. I'm Tanaka from NHK's production department."

Tanaka bowed a full ninety degrees and offered his business card with both hands.

It didn't look like a producer from a national broadcaster greeting someone — it looked more like an intern bowing to a senior.

Kagami took the card and smiled back.

"Hello. Please, sit."

Kagami gestured to the sofa across from him.

Tanaka sat down and pulled a thick proposal document from his briefcase, offering it to Kagami with both hands.

"This is our program proposal. Please take a look."

Kagami took it and opened it up.

The proposal was written in meticulous detail — the program's positioning, target audience, interview themes, the framing of topics, broadcast schedule, projected ratings, follow-up derivative content — nothing left out.

What caught Kagami's attention most was the very last page.

At the bottom of that page, in bold type, was a single line:

"This program fully respects Mr. Tsushima's wishes. All interview topics require Mr. Tsushima's prior written consent.

Mr. Tsushima retains the right to decline any question, and the right to review the final cut before broadcast."

Kagami finished reading and looked up at Tanaka.

"Did you write this yourselves?"

"Yes."

Tanaka's tone was earnest.

"We understand very well that Mr. Tsushima doesn't like being in the public eye, and doesn't like being pressed about his private life."

"Our program is only concerned with literature itself. Nothing else."

"And if all I want to talk about is Snow Country, and nothing else?"

"Then we'll talk about nothing but Snow Country."

Tanaka answered without a moment's hesitation.

"So, Mr. Tsushima? Will you consider it?"

Kagami was quiet for a moment, then closed the proposal.

"All right. I'll do it."

Tanaka's eyes lit up instantly.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Though I'll be bringing some friends along."

"Of course, that's fine."

Kagami glanced over at Kobayashi Tomoaki.

"Oh, and — Mr. Kobayashi has to be there too."

Kobayashi Tomoaki blinked, then burst out laughing.

"What, afraid you'll get whisked away by some pretty NHK host?"

"I'm afraid you'll get bored sitting alone in your office."

Kagami said, deadpan.

Tanaka quickly jotted it down in his notebook.

"Got it, no problem."

"Mr. Kobayashi is welcome to be there the whole time."

"All right then. When is it?"

"Next Friday evening, seven o'clock. NHK Broadcasting Center."

"Does that work?"

Kagami thought it over, then nodded.

"That works."

____

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