"Man'yōgana?!"
This exclamation from one of the professors drew over the surrounding tourists and the reporters from the Yomiuri Shimbun as well.
A few of them, who happened to be professors and judges of literature and history, pressed forward, looking at the verse within Tsushima Kagami's calligraphy, their fingers tracing in the air.
Finally, the several of them looked at one another.
"That's right..."
"It's Man'yōgana!"
Professor Ogasawara's pupils contracted sharply.
Man'yōgana—the phonetic script used in the era of the Man'yōshū, which borrowed Chinese characters to record the sounds of Japanese.
What most Japanese people encounter is the modern version translated and arranged by scholars.
As for reading and researching the original Man'yōgana texts, that is entirely the work of experts in linguistics, history, and literature.
They need extensive training to master specialized knowledge such as ancient grammar and phonology before they can crack those ancient characters that read like a cipher.
Because in Man'yōgana a single Japanese syllable might correspond to dozens of different kanji, with wildly inconsistent ways of writing it.
For example, the Japanese syllable 'shi' might be written dozens of ways in Man'yōgana, using a whole range of distinct kanji that are all read as 'shi.'
And the very same kanji might serve as a phonetic symbol in one poem and as an ideographic symbol in another.
Readers have to judge for themselves based on context—extraordinarily difficult.
Take, for instance, the kanji meaning 'wave': when it denotes ocean waves it carries its native meaning (read 'nami'), but in many contexts its sound 'ha' is borrowed to serve as the Japanese topic particle 'wa' (は).
The Man'yōshū was compiled in the 8th century, and what it records is "Old Japanese."
Its grammar and vocabulary differ from modern Japanese as heaven does from earth.
And this high schooler not only could write a waka in Man'yōgana, but moreover...
Every invited professor and judge present looked at one another, dumbfounded.
Whether as experts of the calligraphy world or in their own original specialties, they had of course read the Man'yōshū.
Even any random student pulled over off the street would have studied the Man'yōshū in modern translation.
But the problem was, this waka...
"Is this waka in the Man'yōshū?"
Chairman Taniguchi asked in a low voice.
After all, with the thousands of waka in the Man'yōshū, someone outside this specialty wouldn't deliberately memorize them all.
Textbooks only pick out some of the more classic, easily understood waka as teaching material.
Beside him, Professor Murakami, the linguist, shook his head.
"No. I've studied the Man'yōshū, and I've never once seen this one."
"Then could it be... he composed it on the spot?"
These words made everyone draw a sharp breath.
If this was a waka composed on the spot by a high schooler, written in Man'yōgana, and yet blending seamlessly with the very style of the Man'yōshū.
What would that mean?
At this point, every professor and judge present turned to look at Professor Kosaka, the one who had brought this high schooler.
Professor Kosaka, too, wore a look of utter shock.
He had called Tsushima Kagami over today merely to do a surprise check on whether the boy had any attainment in calligraphy.
Beyond that, he honestly just wanted a young person to keep him company and pass the time.
Those graduate students under him at the university were each more hopeless than the last.
Tsushima Kagami, this high schooler who felt like a friend across the generations, was far more interesting.
And to think it was supposed to be just writing a few characters.
This calligraphy of yours....
Hm?
The writing actually looked rather good too—at the very least, not brushwork a high schooler ought to be able to produce.
Fine, let that pass.
But how did you go and produce a waka on top of it?
Aren't you a novelist in the pure-literature field?
Since when did you switch careers to become a poet?
And written in ancient Man'yōgana, no less.
Even I'm not all that good at that!
Meanwhile, Yukinoshita Shizuku and her group watched these professors and judges—now shocked, now gasping for breath.
They knew at once that Tsushima Kagami had pulled off another grand show-off move.
Yukinoshita Shizuku couldn't help but lift her head, proud on Tsushima Kagami's behalf.
Hiratsuka Shizuka and Ijichi Seika, however, couldn't make heads or tails of the situation.
What is the Man'yōshū?
It sounds so familiar—maybe they'd heard of it in class?
In any case, it just felt like Kagami was being amazing.
But even so, the two of them knew one piece of common knowledge.
Among Japan's literati.
A poet's standing is even higher than that of a pure-literature novelist!
And Sayuri, by now, had completely transformed into a fangirl, little stars shimmering in her eyes.
She hoped that, seeing how deeply she adored her, Tsushima Kagami would put in a few good words with Akane-senpai and Sonoko-senpai and cut her some slack on her homework.
She really couldn't finish it all—once she got home tonight she'd have to work until one or two in the morning!
Shimizu Nayotake, who had stood silently beside the group the whole time, still had eyes that were calm and utterly without a ripple.
As if, no matter what earth-shattering feat Tsushima Kagami pulled off, she would never feel the slightest surprise.
She simply felt that this boy was exactly as he ought to be.
Professor Ogasawara turned back to the calligraphy once more, continuing to write and sketch upon it, marking down annotations.
Slowly, a complete modern rendering appeared before everyone's eyes.
[Narukami no sukoshi toyomite sashikumori ame mo furan ka kimi wo todomen]
[Narukami no sukoshi toyomite furazu tomo ware wa tomaran imo shi todomeba]
[narukami no sukoshi toyomite sashikumori ame mo furanu ka kimi wo todomemu]
[narukami no sukoshi toyomite furazu tomo ware wa tomaramu imo shi todomeba]
When Professor Ogasawara finished writing out the rendering.
The professors and judges beside him began to recite it slowly under their breath.
And at this moment Professor Murakami's eyes lit up, and he said loudly.
"57577 + 57577—this is even a sedōka!"
"Marvelous!"
With that, Professor Murakami couldn't help but break into applause.
The other professors and judges caught on too and one after another joined the applause.
The curious tourists gathered around didn't really understand, but seeing so many professors and judges clapping in praise.
And from the waka recited out of their mouths, they could roughly, hazily sense the beauty of its rhythm and the beauty of its imagery within.
So they couldn't help but clap along as well.
The applause throughout the entire side hall began to rise, wave upon wave, never ceasing.
This drew even more bewildered tourists from the main hall squeezing over toward the side hall.
And the reporters—whether from the Yomiuri Shimbun's subsidiary station, Yomiuri TV, or the main station, Nippon TV, along with reporters from the head news agency, and including the local Kyoto station, KBS (Kyoto) TV—all gathered into the side hall.
Ceaselessly reporting on what had just unfolded.
Beside them, a head-office reporter was scribbling furiously with pen and paper.
He was already thinking of getting this report back to the Tokyo head-office editorial department as fast as he could.
Aiming to run the firsthand exclusive in the evening edition.
He'd even thought up the headline.
It would be called: "Waka Immortal Astonishingly Appears at the Yomiuri Calligraphy Exhibition—And His True Identity Turns Out to Be...!"
____
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