Shinjuku Ward, Shinchosha Editorial Department.
"Eh? Editor-in-Chief Kobayashi, you haven't gone back yet? It's so late."
"I'll leave after reading a few more manuscripts."
"Do you want to go grab a drink together?"
The employee asking the question mimed taking a drink.
"Sorry. I was just hospitalized for alcoholic liver disease recently. The doctor told me it's best not to drink for a while. Next time. Next time, it's on me."
"Then please take care of your health. I'll be heading out first."
After the employee left, the man called Editor-in-Chief Kobayashi finally took off his glasses, rubbed the space between his eyebrows, and couldn't help but sigh.
Kobayashi Tomoaki, 48 years old. A senior Editor-in-Chief at Shinchosha. Under the seniority-based system that young people nowadays speak of as an urban legend, he was a genuine veteran.
Just like most middle-aged men, because of increasing conflicts with his wife recently, the company and his work had inevitably become his final safe haven.
She was such a gentle, cute, and understanding young girl back then. Why had she now become such an unreasonable old hag?
Kobayashi Tomoaki didn't delve deeper into this problem destined to have no solution. He took a sip of hot jasmine tea, put on his glasses, and continued reading the remaining submissions.
He picked up an article, and just after reading the title, his brows furrowed.
Damn it. This is Shinchosha, the hall of Pure Literature. Even if the rise of the internet and ACG has caused both the publishing industry and Pure Literature to start going downhill, this isn't a place where second-rate Light Novels can be submitted casually!
Do you take us for a toilet?!
Kobayashi Tomoaki tossed the manuscript aside directly, then picked up the next one to continue scanning.
When he saw "My Poverty in the Shape of a Cheesecake," the brows that had been tightly knitted in anger just a moment ago relaxed slightly.
At least the title looked like a normal work.
[We all called that place the "Triangle Zone"...]
[First, please imagine a normal-sized, round cheesecake. Then, use a kitchen knife to cut it evenly into twelve slices, just like a clock face with twelve divisions...]
[To this day, whenever I hear the word "poverty," I think of that slender wedge of land. Who on earth lives in that house now, I wonder?]
A short story of about 2,000 words. Even shifting from scanning to close reading, it didn't take Kobayashi Tomoaki long to finish reading it all.
Kobayashi Tomoaki put down the manuscript paper, then took another sip of jasmine tea from his thermos. This was a habit he'd had since his youth. After getting married, his wife would brew a large pot for him every day before he left for work, packing it into his briefcase along with a carefully prepared bento.
Kobayashi Tomoaki let out a comfortable breath, then leaned back in his chair. While closing his eyes to rest, he savored the jasmine scent in the tea and the aftertaste of the "Cheesecake" he had just read.
It really is an article that makes one feel comfortable all over after reading. I have eyes precisely to read things like this.
It was clearly a past event that should be slightly bitter to recall, yet it was written with such free-spirited warmth. It gave the reader a feeling that wasn't heart-wrenching, but rather made one smile.
Although it didn't have the mature brushwork of those long-established authors, a unique atmosphere had already faintly formed within the lines. As long as there were continuous works in the future, given time, this would surely be an outstanding writer.
Isn't this stronger than those inferior goods forcibly pushed up by commercial operations in recent years?
Kobayashi Tomoaki opened his eyes, sat up straight, picked up the article, and began to savor it again.
"My Poverty in the Shape of a Cheesecake." Looking at this title again now, it felt incomparably fitting and apt.
Especially: [In April, the railway went on strike for a few days. Whenever there was a strike, we were truly jubilant. Not a single train passed all day. She and I held the cat and sunbathed on the tracks. It was so quiet it was simply like sitting at the bottom of a lake. We were young, newlywed, and sunlight was free.]
It made him involuntarily sink into memories of the past.
At that time, he was still a student in the Faculty of Letters at the University of Tokyo. He had met his wife while following his seniors and teachers during the Zenkyoto struggles.
She was gentle and lovely.
He was high-spirited.
The two were like-minded, sharing the same interests, the same ideals, and the same topics.
Until later, after graduation. Facing rejections everywhere while looking for a job due to various reasons, he fell into the valley of life and self-doubt.
Right at that time, his wife—who was still his girlfriend, Ai-chan, back then—stayed by his side, cheering him on.
Later, he did indeed pull himself together and started working odd jobs at convenience stores and factories, but he felt this was not a long-term plan.
Until one day, he told Ai-chan that he wanted to try writing novels.
Ai-chan not only expressed her support but also agreed with his idea to quit the convenience store job.
During that time, it was Ai-chan who worked two jobs to support him, this useless piece of trash.
Until later, using his university experiences and his current frustrations, he finally stayed home and squeezed out an article he felt was presentable. He submitted it to Shinchosha with great excitement.
After multiple communications with the editor-in-chief of that time (now the Editor-General), what awaited him was not the opportunity to be published in Shincho and debut as a new author, but an employment contract as a new editor for Shinchosha.
He still remembered Ai-chan's cute smiling face that day, cheering for him when she learned he had become a formal employee of Shinchosha.
That night, in that shabby seven-tsubo room, she held a small celebratory banquet for him.
And the meal for the banquet was just a single portion of chocolate tiramisu from a high-end western confectionery shop.
It was his favorite food.
It was her meager savings.
Kobayashi Tomoaki snapped out of his reverie and checked the submitter's name and contact information.
[Yukinoshita Kagami]. It seems to be a blank-slate writer without even a pen name.
Kobayashi Tomoaki looked at the time on his watch and decided to contact this author tomorrow.
He didn't have the mind to continue reading the subsequent manuscripts, so he stood up, grabbed his trench coat, turned off the lights, and left the editorial department.
Kobayashi Tomoaki walked out of Shinchosha's main gate. Just as he was preparing to catch the last train home, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, turned around, and walked about 500 meters in the opposite direction.
Sure enough, it hasn't closed yet.
Looking at the wagashi shop in front of him, he walked directly in.
I haven't been to this wagashi shop in a long time. I didn't expect the decor to have changed.
I can smell roses from that window in the corner. Thinking about it, I still have some impression of that.
"Hello, please give me a box of matcha and strawberry flavored wagashi."
When Kobayashi Tomoaki came out carrying the wagashi, he looked back at the shop again.
The owners were no longer that old couple from back then.
He still remembered that when he was young, he would bring a box of wagashi from this shop back home every night after getting off work from the editorial department.
Because his wife, who waited for him to come home every night, liked them.
From when did I stop bringing them after work?
And from when did I start going back later and later every night?
Perhaps it's not just my wife who has changed, but I myself changed even earlier.
He lifted the wagashi in his hand to look at them again. Even these no longer have the flavor of the past.
But after reading "Cheesecake" today, that emotion of the bits and pieces between a husband and wife surging from the bottom of my heart... perhaps it was just hidden, but never changed.
____
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