His voice wasn't loud, but in the quiet private room every word was clearly audible.
Although everyone had already roughly known since last night that Tsushima Kagami was the man himself.
But hearing it stated directly from his own mouth today carried an entirely different weight.
Amid the gasps of the assembled reporters below and the flashing of cameras.
It was a long while before the hall settled into calm once more.
At this point Tsushima Kagami continued.
"If there's anything you'd like to ask, you may ask now."
A reporter from the Yomiuri Shimbun was the first to raise his hand.
He was a man in his early thirties, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, looking very refined.
"Tsushima-san, forgive my bluntness, but are you really only seventeen?"
Tsushima Kagami nodded.
"Seventeen, indeed."
The reporter was taken aback for a moment, then lowered his head and quickly scribbled something in his notebook.
"Then No Longer Human… was really written by you?"
"I wrote it."
"But…"
The reporter looked up, his eyes filled with obvious doubt.
"The insight into human nature in that book, that sense of despair, that depth of self-dissection—without decades of life experience, how could anyone possibly write it?"
Tsushima Kagami was silent for two seconds.
Then he smiled.
"Have you read The Setting Sun?"
The reporter nodded.
"The Setting Sun was written by me too."
He paused again.
"So was Hear the Wind Sing."
"And so was Cheesecake."
"Do you think there's any difference between these books?"
The reporter froze.
Tsushima Kagami went on.
"Cheesecake is warm, healing—one person making peace with the past."
"Hear the Wind Sing is a faint sorrow, the bewilderment of youth."
"The Setting Sun is the struggle within despair, an elegy for a bygone era."
"No Longer Human… is tearing away every disguise, laying out the most unbearable version of oneself for all to see."
He looked at the reporter, his tone placid.
"Do you think it would be more reasonable for these different styles to come from people of different ages?"
The reporter opened his mouth, at a loss for what to say.
"Or perhaps,"
Tsushima Kagami continued.
"You believe a writer can only write in one single style?"
The hall fell quiet once more.
A commentator from the Asahi Shimbun took up the thread.
He was a middle-aged man in his fifties, with graying hair and sharp eyes.
"Tsushima-san, I'd like to ask a rather personal question."
Tsushima Kagami nodded.
"Please go ahead."
"Your surname—Tsushima."
"It would seem to be a surname descended from the old nobility."
"May I ask whether you are of that same lineage?"
The moment this question came out, everyone pricked up their ears.
Tsushima Kagami nodded and admitted it outright.
"If I'm not mistaken, I should be the last head of the Tsushima family—a head in name only."
"Besides, the old nobility passed away long ago. I'm merely one of the many orphans whose parents took their own lives in the era when the bubble burst."
"The Setting Sun was born from that, too."
Hearing this, everyone present sighed with emotion.
Before coming, they had done their research as well: this high schooler appeared to be merely an adopted stepson living under another family's roof.
But when he himself revealed that he too had been an orphan, losing both parents at a tender age.
Everyone was reminded once again of the scene on the day the bubble burst, with people leaping into the air all over the streets.
Not one of them failed to show a look of sympathy.
At the same time, hearing him recount his own experience added a further measure of credibility to the claim that The Setting Sun was truly his own creation.
Since The Setting Sun really had been written by him, there was no need to doubt the authenticity of his other works either.
At this point, another reporter from Yomiuri TV clearly wanted to help Tsushima Kagami change the subject.
He raised his hand.
"Dassai-ya-sensei, could you tell us why you chose such a pen name back then?"
"Why I took the pen name 'Master of Dassai-ya'…"
Tsushima Kagami gave a small smile.
"'Dassai'—the otter's offering—comes from an allusion to Li Shangyin."
"It refers to piling up allusions when writing."
"I thought that if my room were likewise piled high with books, perhaps it might make me seem a little more learned."
"So I came up with Dassai-ya."
"As for 'Master of'… maybe my chūnibyō hasn't fully healed yet."
Soft laughter rippled through the private room.
As people in the news trade, they could more or less understand a young person's literary airs and chūnibyō.
The tense atmosphere eased a little.
At this point an NHK producer raised her hand.
She was a middle-aged woman in her early forties, dressed in a sharp business suit, with hair cut to ear length.
"Tsushima-san, I'd like to ask a question everyone is curious about: why did you conceal your identity?"
Tsushima Kagami thought it over.
"Because it was a hassle."
The producer was momentarily stunned.
"A hassle?"
"Yes."
"I'm someone who really hates trouble."
Tsushima Kagami nodded.
"When I first started writing, I only wanted to earn a bit of royalties to help with household expenses. I never thought about becoming famous."
He paused.
"Later, when the books sold well, I wanted to go public even less."
"Because the moment I did, endless trouble would come knocking."
Tsushima Kagami paused, then smiled and gestured at the reporters seated before him.
"Interviews, book signings, lectures, social obligations…"
"I'm just a high schooler. I still have to attend classes, take exams, and hang out with friends."
"Where would I find the time to deal with all of that?"
Hearing this, the crowd couldn't help but smile.
"Then why are you now willing to come forward?"
Tsushima Kagami continued.
"Because it could no longer be hidden."
"And there no longer seemed to be any reason to keep hiding it forever."
He looked at the producer.
"Since it can't be hidden, I might as well step forward and set the matter straight."
"Rather than letting others speculate and spread nonsense—or even risk someone impersonating me to grab the spotlight and causing unrest in society."
"It's better that I reveal my identity myself."
The TBS director was a gray-haired old man who looked to be in his sixties.
He had stayed silent the whole time, simply listening quietly.
Only when the others had asked nearly all their questions did he raise his hand and slowly speak up.
His partner reporter beside him hadn't expected that, before he could even ask his own question, this senior director would take the initiative to inquire.
Word had it that in his younger days this director had also been a frontline news reporter, often covering the darkness at the bottom rungs of society.
He had narrowly escaped death several times, and in the end the station, fearing he would stir up further catastrophe, had had no choice but to transfer him to the director's role.
The plan had originally been to let him quietly see out his years there—after all, he truly had made enormous contributions to the station back in the day.
So as a junior, even though he himself was the one conducting the interview, he dared not voice any objection to this senior figure within the station.
He merely cooperated and passed the microphone over.
"Tsushima-san, may I ask a rather… philosophical question?"
Tsushima Kagami nodded.
The old man looked into his eyes.
"These books you've written, especially No Longer Human, are filled with self-negation and despair toward life."
"But…"
He paused.
"You yourself don't look at all like the kind of person who would write such things."
He smiled.
"When you were answering questions just now, your tone was calm, your logic clear, and you even cracked the occasional joke."
"Of course, many people suffering from depression actually present as optimistic and upbeat—highly deceptive."
Having said this, he shook his head again.
"But my personal feeling is that you aren't that type of person."
"So how could a person like this write something like No Longer Human?"
The private room fell silent.
Everyone was looking at Tsushima Kagami.
This question struck at the very core.
A seventeen-year-old boy, someone who seemed so sunny and cheerful—how could he write something so utterly steeped in despair?
Tsushima Kagami was silent for a long time.
So long that some began to worry he might simply get up and leave.
Then he spoke.
"You know, there's a word—[empathy]."
He raised his head and looked at the old man.
"I have never experienced Yozo's pain."
"But I have witnessed it."
He paused.
"I've seen people take their own lives because they went bankrupt."
"I've seen people break down because they were betrayed."
"I've seen people despair over having to scrape together a few thousand yen because of illness."
"I've seen their tears, heard their weeping, read the suicide notes they left behind."
His tone remained calm, but something flickered in his eyes.
"No Longer Human is not my own story."
"It's a story I wrote on their behalf."
"A story I wrote for those struggling in the darkness."
"And besides."
"I myself am an orphan, later taken in and adopted."
"And then I watched my adoptive father take his own life, and yet another family fall apart."
"I feel that I can, to some degree, understand the pain of the people at the bottom of society struggling just to survive."
"I feel that if I had the ability, perhaps I could help them in some way."
"Even if only to give voice to a few insignificant cries on their behalf."
The hall suddenly grew so quiet you could hear people breathe.
The reporters present all knew that after the publication of his No Longer Human, the entire royalties would be donated to charitable institutions.
True, scandals of embezzlement from charitable institutions were reported endlessly these days.
But they could still help a great many people in need.
At the very least, let them ask their own consciences: each time a natural disaster strikes and society calls for donations, would these respectable news reporters be willing to give up even a single month's salary?
For most people, the answer would surely be no.
At most they'd cough up the price of one lunch at Yoshinoya.
But Tsushima Kagami was genuinely donating all his royalties.
Although the publication date in the middle of the month had not yet arrived.
The charity campaign in partnership with Shinchōsha had already, through the magazine issue Shinchōsha sold this period, genuinely donated over a million yen—and the Nikkei Shimbun had at the outset estimated that the magazine's sales this time might well bring in tens of millions of yen in social donations.
At this thought, the way everyone looked at Tsushima Kagami changed once again.
The old man gazed at him, silent for a long while.
"My apologies—I passed a one-sided, reckless judgment."
"And thank you for your attention to and devotion toward those at the bottom of society."
He stood ramrod straight and bowed deeply toward Tsushima Kagami.
This scene, too, was frantically captured by his quick-handed peers pressing their shutters.
The press conference went on for over three hours.
One question after another.
From writing habits to creative inspiration.
From daily life to future plans.
Tsushima Kagami answered them one by one, neither haughty nor humble, neither flustered nor hurried.
Sometimes he would crack a joke to lighten the mood.
Sometimes he would fall silent for a few seconds, thinking carefully before answering.
By the time it ended, everyone had a strange feeling.
This youth didn't seem like a seventeen-year-old.
He seemed to have lived for many, many years.
By the time the reporters left the hotel satisfied, the sky had already darkened.
Outside the doors, a number of reporters who hadn't qualified to enter were still keeping watch.
The moment they saw Tsushima Kagami escorting the reporters from those major TV stations to the hotel entrance, they immediately swarmed in.
"Tsushima-san! Could you say a few words?!"
"Tsushima-san! Are you confident about winning the Akutagawa Prize this time?!"
"Tsushima-san! What's your relationship with the girls in those photos?!"
"Tsushima-san! Do you prefer mature women or young wives?!"
Tsushima Kagami halted his steps and glanced at them.
Among them, besides some tabloid presses, there were the Shūkan Bunshun and other gossip-rag magazines.
At this point the two teachers stepped in front of Tsushima Kagami.
Kobayashi Tomoaki spoke up from the side.
"My apologies, the Q&A portion of today's press conference has concluded."
"Tsushima-sensei needs to rest."
"In the future, whenever there is any major news, we will still release information in the form of a press conference."
"Thank you all for your support."
With that said, Tsushima Kagami, under the escort of Kobayashi Tomoaki and the two teachers, returned to the elevator.
Only after all the reporters at the hotel had finally dispersed did Tsushima Kagami.
As a token of thanks, treat the editors from Shinchōsha, the two teachers who had stayed behind, and Professor Kosaka to a fine meal at an upscale ryōtei.
It was nearly the small hours of the night before everyone, thoroughly content, returned to the hotel.
Tsushima Kagami had arranged the best rooms for everyone.
His earlier room from the school trip had already been checked out.
Now he had switched to a twin room instead.
Only then did everyone, tipsy, chat a few more words before returning to their own rooms.
The original plan was to head back to Tokyo together the next day.
After Tsushima Kagami had spoken with each of the adults one by one, he returned to his room.
Yukinoshita Shizuku sat on the edge of the bed, a magazine in her hands, but clearly distracted.
Seeing him come in, she immediately stood up.
She helped Tsushima Kagami take off his school uniform jacket and hung it on the rack.
He walked over to her and looked at her.
"Sorry, I made you busy all day too."
Then she buried her face against his chest, her voice muffled.
"Idiot…"
Looking at Yukinoshita Shizuku like this.
Tsushima Kagami recalled how, during the press conference, he had brought up Shizuku's father.
She was probably thinking of her own father again.
Tsushima Kagami shook his head and, just as before, embraced Yukinoshita Shizuku and gently stroked her back.
It was a long while before Yukinoshita Shizuku finally pulled her head out of Tsushima Kagami's embrace.
She sniffed at him.
It was probably the scent that had clung to him while Kobayashi-san and the others drank and smoked at the ryōtei.
So she frowned and said.
"You stink."
"I'll go run a bath for you."
With that, Yukinoshita Shizuku pushed Tsushima Kagami away in distaste.
Just as she was about to head to the bathroom, Tsushima Kagami's phone rang again.
She turned to look at Tsushima Kagami.
Tsushima Kagami picked up the phone and answered the call directly.
"Good evening. Is this Tsushima Kagami-san?"
On the other end of the line was a man's voice, sounding to be in his thirties, his tone humble but not overly enthusiastic.
It carried that elegant Kyoto-dialect (kyō-kotoba) lilt unique to people of Kyoto—the final syllables turning slightly upward, every word pronounced clearly and gently.
"Hello, yes, this is he."
"Forgive me for calling you for the first time like this."
"I am Kinoshita Seiichi, of the Governor's Secretariat at the Kyoto Prefectural Government Office. My apologies for disturbing you at this hour; I beg your pardon."
____
👻🔥Seek: Walnut-chan on P a t r e o n🔥👻
🔥 New history: DanMachi: But I am a Monster — find it on The_Mikudayo
📚 40 chapters ahead at Walnut-chan — every supporter directly speeds up the translations
Let's hit these goals:
🎯 100 Powerstones = 1 extra chapter for the public!