Oimura glanced at Yuuki before continuing.
“You know, this morning’s edition just wasn’t right. All the national and international news pages were jammed full of crash articles. And not only that—how did the crash end up spilling over onto even the regional news pages? Explain yourself, Yuuki.”
His opponent had made the first move. But now he knew why Oimura was so irritated. He was telling him not to saturate every page with articles about the JAL crash. To gather together a wider assortment of news stories in less depth. To be fair, this was good practical advice for putting together a newspaper.
But Yuuki wasn’t about to give in. Or rather, this was the one point he was absolutely not willing to back down on. He was not going to change a thing about his current editing policy. The North Kanto Times’s coverage of the crash, which had started out all at sea, was now being very well received. And it was the words of that one bereaved widow that had given him the impetus to get it to that point. He wasn’t going to chicken out that easily, just because Oimura was attempting to intimidate him with his trademark scowl.
“We’re the local paper. We can’t fall behind the other press when it comes to information on this crash. I used all the space I possibly could. And that’s what I plan to keep on doing from now on.”
“Such arrogance.” Oimura locked on to Yuuki. “You can’t just do whatever you feel like. Who do you think you are? Make no mistake about it, being JAL crash desk chief means you have authority only over the crash coverage. You’re not desk chief for the entire NKT. We have a whole variety of articles that need to be published on a variety of pages. You can’t just start dropping them at will!”
Yuuki lost his temper.
“I’m not leaving out any important news; only the page-filler stuff.”
“What a narrow-minded perspective! There are people who want to read those ‘filler’ stories. If there isn’t any variety in the news we offer, the whole format of the paper will collapse.”
“But—”
“I don’t think it’s a problem. For once, we should stop worrying about the format.”
It was copy chief Kamejima who had jumped in.
“What do you mean by that?”
Oimura had lowered his voice a good octave. He may have held the higher position in the company, but Kamejima was his senior both in age and in years of service.
“I mean that we should try to include all that we possibly can about the crash. We need to do everything we can not to lose out to the national papers or the Jomo. Once the crash disappears from their pages, I want us to have the conscientiousness and the sheer guts to keep leading with it for another week.”
Kamejima wasn’t jumping in just to help Yuuki out—it was clear that he passionately believed what he said.
“I know that our status is a bit vague. We’re a Gunma local newspaper, but we tried widening our base into Ibaraki and Saitama Prefectures. That was the big thing three years ago, wasn’t it? But that was a total failure. We tried putting out an evening edition with not much substance to it, and it fizzled out after six months. This time, let’s really go for it. We will never again have the opportunity, in any of our lifetimes, to write about anything on this scale. All the copy team are completely on board. If we keep at it like this, we can outdo the other newspaper companies, and it might not be too outrageous to hope to be in the running for the Newspaper Association Prize.”
Oimura was silent. The Firecracker had failed to ignite properly.
“Well, Kamejima certainly makes an interesting point there,” said Kasuya vaguely.
The general feeling in the room seemed to be that Kamejima had won the battle but, just because of that, it would be very dangerous to offer any words of support. There was the danger of setting off a much more violent explosion. That was definitely the way Yuuki was thinking about it, in any case.
Today, besides the regular articles, was the day Yuuki had planned the JAL crash special feature on the Heartfelt readers’ page. But he knew it was a difficult topic to pitch. As chief culprit in the angering of Oimura, he knew that if he mentioned it now, it would throw the whole meeting into an uproar. If he didn’t broach it sensitively, there was a chance the entire approach of detailed, informative coverage would be nixed.
Todoroki was acting strangely, too. He was just sitting there with his arms folded, downcast, staring at the floor. He hadn’t spoken a word and seemed completely indifferent, but if Yuuki and Oimura were to clash a second time Yuuki knew that Todoroki would end up on Oimura’s side.
Kishi and Nozawa were silent as well. Who knew what side they would take? All in all, the odds were firmly against him.
Yuuki switched modes. He had another idea to bring up besides the issue of in-depth coverage.
“Right, is that everything?”
Just as Kasuya made a move to end the meeting, Yuuki jumped in.
“One more thing.”
“What is it?”
Just don’t say anything rash. He could read the message in the Conciliator’s eyes. He nodded imperceptibly and continued.
“I’d like to distribute the North Kanto Times to the bereaved families while they wait for news of their relatives.”
“While they’re waiting? You mean up in Fujioka City?”
“Yes. At the East Municipal Middle School gym and the other centers. There are around two or three thousand bereaved family members waiting for the autopsy reports. How about giving them copies of our newspaper?”
“Are they going to pay for it?”
“Certainly not. It would be free of charge.”
“How many copies?”
“Say a thousand? No, actually, I think five hundred should be enough.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“I’m told that the families are all packed in there like sardines, with no proper access to information. I think they’d be delighted to have a newspaper to read. They’ll get the most detailed and informative stories here. That’s what all the bereaved relatives believe.”
He spoke fervently, but Kasuya wasn’t quite convinced.
“Well, I’m sure that’s true, but…”
“We ought to do it.”
This unexpected support came from none other than Todoroki. And his voice was swiftly followed by Kamejima’s.
“It’s a great idea. Let’s do it. The families will certainly appreciate it. Not to mention it’s a great way to broaden the appeal of the paper beyond the prefecture.”
Oimura was quiet, but there wasn’t any sign that he was going to object. That seemed to be the decider for Kasuya.
“So, if we go ahead with this, when should we start?”
“The earlier the better. How about tomorrow?” said Kamejima.
Kasuya was taken aback, but Yuuki was ready to back Kamejima’s suggestion.
“The JAL crash and the articles about it are essentially temporary. If we delay getting this off the ground, the number of family members up at the center will dwindle, and there’ll be no point in distributing the papers at all.”
“I understand your point, but the Editorial Department can’t decide this alone. Delivery is going to be a problem. We need the cooperation of Circulation. Oh, and Accounting. If we start distributing copies for free, you can guarantee they’ll all start complaining.”
After grumbling a while longer, Kasuya called an end to the meeting.
Yuuki made a point of trying to catch Todoroki’s eye as he got up to leave, and nodded his thanks. But Todoroki left without acknowledging him in any way. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed. But one thing was clear to Yuuki: he owed Todoroki one.
“Huh? Is there something else?”
Seating himself back behind his desk, Kasuya noticed that Yuuki hadn’t moved from the sofa. They were the only two people left in the editor in chief’s office.
Yuuki got up and approached the desk. Within the department, there was no one who would be able to give as much information about a “n
ight on the town” as Kasuya. Another name for the Conciliator might be the Considerate One. His gentle manners had once made the young reporter very popular at the city’s hostess bars. Now older and rounder, he still made what he referred to as his thrice-weekly “patrol” of his favorite bars in the entertainment district.
“Sir, there’s something I need to ask you.”
“What? I hope it’s not something that’s going to cause trouble.”
“I think it might be the name of a bar or something. Have you ever heard of a place with the initials LH?”
“LH?”
Kasuya stared into space for a moment, but it didn’t take long for him to come up with an answer.
“It has to be Lonely Hearts. That’s the only LH that comes to mind. Yes, it’s a little bar around the back of the Joden Plaza.”
So, one of the places Anzai took clients after all.
“Don’t recommend going there, though. Not that place,” Kasuya added.
“Why’s that?”
“Mina Kuroda works there.”
Yuuki couldn’t immediately put a face to the name.
“You don’t know her? The woman who used to push the boss’s wheelchair until about three months ago.”
Oh, yes. The young woman who used to be Chairman Shirakawa’s PA before Manami Takagi joined the company.
“She left because she said that the chairman used to touch her inappropriately. No one working for the chairman is welcome at that bar now.”
Yuuki snorted. If you put it another way, anyone working for managing director Iikura was probably welcomed with open arms … But now it was all beginning to make sense. Anzai had been visiting Lonely Hearts to make contact with Mina Kuroda. She was probably a cog in the scheme to oust Chairman Shirakawa. She could expose him. He’d touched her inappropriately. This was bound to be part of the managing director’s plan to oust him.
“Is that all you need? I’ve got to call on Circulation. Ever since we’ve had the deadline almost permanently extended for the JAL crash, that Ito keeps bugging me about the delays in delivery. And when I break it to him that we’re going to need to deliver free copies to the relatives of the crash victims, I can’t imagine how unpleasant he’s going to get.”
There was a stabbing pain in Yuuki’s gut at the sound of Ito’s name.
“I’ll go and talk to Circulation.”
Kasuya’s face was a mixture of astonishment and delight.
“You’ll do it?”
“Well, I was the one to suggest it. I’ll sort it out.”
“That would be a great help. Then I’ll deal with Accounting,” said Kasuya, adjusting his tie.
Yuuki left the editor in chief’s office. The newsroom was alive. He returned to his desk and sorted through the latest stack of wires and drafts.
His heart felt heavy. He thought of Anzai’s twinkling eyes, which held not one ounce of malice. And his other persona—advance guard for managing director Iikura’s army, on reconnaissance missions around the entertainment district.
It was impossible to survive at a company without becoming embroiled in its shadier side. The thought caused Yuuki to experience a whole medley of emotions. He decided to give them full rein for now.
30
It was around five o’clock when Yuuki headed down to the ground-floor Circulation office.
He stopped by at General Affairs on the way and got ahold of his colleague Gunji. Yuuki was after information about the relationship between Chairman Shirakawa and his former assistant Mina Kuroda. He really wanted to know what she’d suffered at his hands. They had talked in a tiny room tucked away in a far corner of the floor, but Gunji was a great advocate of neutrality in the workplace and refused to give anything away.
“I don’t know anything. Truthfully. The chairman locks his office door from the inside, so no one knows what goes on in there.”
Yuuki felt this told him a lot of what he wanted to know. Chairman Shirakawa and Mina Kuroda had been alone together in a locked room …
The door to the Circulation Department was wide open.
As Yuuki walked in, a head bobbed up at the desk in the far corner. It was Ito. Apart from him, there wasn’t another soul in the office. The room was cramped and dark, and it lived up perfectly to its nickname the Black Box. It housed the Circulation Department exclusively; the shipping department had its own, much larger room elsewhere.
“Well, well…”
Ito took his time getting up. He gestured toward a sofa, one that looked jarringly plush in these surroundings. Ito was the first to speak.
“Wow. Excellent front page this morning. They tell me it was your idea. Good job, good job. Pretty slick of you to keep the balance between Fukuda and Nakasone with a single photo. Managing director Iikura was full of admiration. ‘Really scored one there,’ he said.”
That irritating voice had lost not one drop of its oiliness. Yuuki expected excess saliva to start dripping from the edges of the Circulation chief’s mouth at any moment.
“So what brings you all the way down here today? Have you been thinking over what we talked about yesterday?”
“What was it we talked about again?” Yuuki responded coldly.
“You remember. How we need to get rid of our pervert of a chairman.”
In other words, about becoming a member of the managing director faction.
“Wouldn’t you consider taking over from Anzai for a while? And I’m sure there must be other people up in the Editorial Department who you could bring along with you? After all, it’s not like you and I don’t go way back.”
Yuuki decided to postpone discussion of the Editorial Department’s business for now.
“Ito-san, I’m going to tell you right now, your threats don’t work on me.”
“What? There’s no need to be like that. Surely you don’t think you’re the only one who’s had it tough?”
He wasn’t sure what Ito meant, but he certainly wasn’t prepared to get on to the topic of his mother.
“Seems Anzai was worked pretty hard.”
“Now, that is just slanderous. Nobody made him do anything. He was just the most genuinely hardworking employee I had.”
“All those secret meetings with the external board members were a result of your direct orders, I’m sure.”
Ito looked unperturbed. There were traces of amusement around his eyes and mouth.
“Is that what his wife told you?”
So this was what Ito had been trying to get out of Yuuki in that uncomfortable conversation two days ago. He was concerned that Anzai had passed on the truth to Yuuki, via Sayuri, about all his underhanded political maneuvering.
“Not at all. I read it in Anzai’s diary.”
The smile vanished from Ito’s face.
“Really? Do you think it’s appropriate for you to mishandle his personal property?”
“I have his wife’s permission.”
“I see … And? Are you intending to show that diary to the bosses?”
It was clear Ito was worried. Yuuki was tempted to tell him that he’d already shown it to them.
“I’m asking you about Anzai. He used to call you his lifesaver. I heard it was you who headhunted him from the newsdealer’s where he was working and brought him to work at the newspaper.”
Yuuki had heard this from Suetsugu during their chat at the library. For a while after the accident on Tsuitate, Anzai had been kind of “out of it,” to use the older man’s words. As is apparently quite common in the climbing community, Anzai didn’t have a regular full-time job back then but scraped by doing part-time work. Lived in a tiny rabbit-hutch apartment with Sayuri. Sayuri had run away from home and moved in with Anzai, and the couple did not marry until she became pregnant with Rintaro. This love of Anzai’s life was the daughter of a traditional Japanese sweet maker and had fallen in love with him when he used to visit their shop to buy daifuku, sweet bean-filled rice cakes. Or that might have just been Sayuri’s version of the story
, Yuuki supposed …
But without a doubt, it was thanks to Sayuri that Anzai got back on his feet after Endo’s death.
“It was a shock. I just happened to be looking out of the window at the time.”
Anzai had told Suetsugu the following story. Sayuri had been in the last month of pregnancy and had fallen in the street on her way home to their tiny apartment. Anzai had watched from the window as she got shakily to her feet, all the while gently stroking her belly as if to protect and comfort the child inside. There was blood pouring from the palms of her hands and from her knees.
“Sayuri didn’t even notice she was injured. Even when the blood started dripping all over the place.”
The incident had shocked Anzai out of his depression and made him realize that he needed to step up and provide for his wife and the baby that was due so soon.
Shortly after that, he responded to an ad for a live-in employee at a newsdealer’s called Yoshikawa. He started out delivering newspapers, graduated to door-to-door fee collecting, and kept on moving up until he’d made enough to rent a bigger apartment for him and his new family. It was his superhuman work ethic at that time that had caught the eye of Ito at the North Kanto Times, and he brought Anzai in to work for him. The not-so-young couple with their brand-new baby were absolutely thrilled that Anzai had been given the opportunity to work for one of the top companies in the prefecture. It was absolutely true that Anzai had looked up to Ito as his lifesaver and benefactor.
Ito had made maximum use of Anzai’s feelings of indebtedness. In fact, Ito had probably lured Anzai to the company in the first place for the express purpose of having him eventually do his dirty work. For his part, Anzai was in no position to refuse any job that he felt uncomfortable doing. It was his benefactor who was asking, so he must have just gritted his teeth and gotten on with it. He was hardly able to complain, having no academic qualifications, and having been recruited mid-career. If he were to refuse an order, he’d be out of the company. That was the fear he’d been living with.
Seventeen Page 23