Pathway to Japanese Literature

Entry Statement [*Shōjo*]

I joined the company this July and began working for all of you.
My heart was filled with joy.
That was because I had gained so many dear friends in you.
To the extent that even the flowers and plants in the garden seemed to be smiling, I worked enjoyably while feeling refreshed.

However, things in this world do not go so smoothly.
I particularly fear my actions as one newly fledged from the nest must be causing great dissatisfaction among you all.
I firmly believe the day must come when my efforts will crystallize and be laid bare before your eyes.

The future stretches long before us.
I am resolved to build my art solely through continuing to act before all of you from this point onward.

Entry Statement [*Shōnen*]

I have now joined the company.
This marks my first audience with all of you.
At the same time, I encountered what we call society for the first time.

I have shed my long student life for the first time.
During the leisurely days of my student years, I felt fatigue profoundly.
How pleasant it must be, I used to think, to strive with all my might and work up a sweat.
Exactly so, I am now tackling matters with an extremely refreshing feeling.

However, I was still someone with no experience. For the time being, relying on the guidance of esteemed teachers and your kind sympathy, I aimed to build a sufficient foundation to fully satisfy all of you in the near future.

The Moon Over Ginza

Reporter (I too had finally come to refer to myself in this way) was working with splendid vigor every day. I didn’t even consider such spineless things as summer retreats. The refreshing feeling I felt while working was what brought me the most joy, you know. Just the other day, because work had piled up like a mountain, the Reporter was active in the editorial department at night. The surroundings had grown quiet. Unusually, the moon was visible through the window. A gentle breeze that had blown through the city's phoenix tree leaves grazed just right against a sweat-dampened shirt... He couldn’t find words to describe his mood at that time... As he walked home alone, nodding to himself about writing such things in the next issue. The Reporter had indeed gotten quite a bit of exercise this way. He was particularly good at races and such. “How about it, dear readers—shall we have a match? Whether it’s baseball, tennis, or anything at all—bring it on! Or shall we form a team together and go on an expedition to America?”

Night and the Peacock

△ It had been exactly half a year since I became your friend.
That from the very day I shed my student life I had become Hatoboy’s esteemed reporter filled me with immeasurable joy.
Whenever I imagined dwelling forever with Hatoboy in a glorious spring garden—so long as it lay within my power and served his purpose—I vowed no effort would be too great.

△ Fortunately，kind words arrived from all of you across many quarters；each time they came，I felt anew the weight of my responsibility.
In this new year，steeping myself in fresh efforts，I resolved to strive with all my might toward satisfying every one of you.

△ As soon as I finished with New Year’s edition，I dove straight into preparing February’s. For the February issue，I was writing a piece titled *The Sorrowful Peacock*. When I sealed the room，lit a blazing fire，and sat quietly within，the electric light’s glow lingered thickly，brightly，and radiantly like the waters of a deep pool where mermaids dwell. Through the gap in the curtain，beyond a single glass door，the sleeping town stretched out. Outside lay the harsh winter，while inside the glass door，a spring-like warmth sighed quietly like peacock feathers. On nights like these，I always recalled the beautiful peacock feathers.

Musician

The New Year’s Issue pleased all of you far beyond our expectations, and we cannot tell you how delighted we are.
I found myself wondering just how large a circle would form if all of you, Hatoboy’s friends, were to gather and hold hands.

It had been decided that next month’s supplementary booklet would carry poetry and waka under Girls' Literary Arts. Since it was our plan to create an ideal anthology of short poems, please—with that intention—go ahead and send us your beautiful and splendid works without missing the deadline.

Having thought that creating girls' novels required musical knowledge, I had recently joined a certain music society and begun taking piano lessons. However, I found myself utterly stumped by my inability to read even a single sheet of music. What I’d been taught the previous day would become completely impossible by the next morning, leaving me to endure nothing but scoldings from the teacher. Do-Re-Mi-Fa—I still couldn’t get past that point.

“As for singing and such—well, don’t you dare look down on me! I’ve got plans to hold a solo recital once a hundred years have passed, so you simply must attend when the time comes.”

The Optimist's Pessimism

From the Diary: I bought the bowler hat I'd been eyeing for days, firmly planted it on my head with resolve, composed myself—thoroughly composed myself—and returned home.
“Wearing something like this is perfectly ordinary,” I told myself, putting on an utterly unconcerned face—though inwardly sensing a peculiar absurdity—and when my family glimpsed my forced composure as I announced “I’m home!”, they burst out laughing loudly.
My mother’s laughter was the most raucous of all.

“Not a single soul on the street laughed,” I retorted indignantly, pursing my lips.
At this, the others laughed all the harder.
I angrily retreated into my room.
Mother wore an expression that said she hadn’t expected me to take such offense.
With self-reproachful determination, I clenched my fist and struck the Yamataka.
The crown dented inward.
Then—realizing there was no point being angry at a hat—I punched upward from beneath the dent with my knuckles.
It popped back into shape.
By then, both my fury and my family’s laughter had utterly dissipated.

△ Oh dear—I hadn’t meant to write such digressions, yet here I’ve gone and blabbed them to you all in the most unexpected place. You mustn’t laugh, you hear! “This stays between us.” Let us sing.

△Spring is splendid—how could any youth who gazes upon the azure sky refrain from song, even if they are no poet? Our grand event now had mere days remaining—oh, how loudly we would sing our “Girl” song! Surely our “Song of Joy” would startle even the birds racing across the sky and the schools of mermaids slumbering in the sea.

△To our dear readers in the provinces—next month’s Hatoboy will shape that day’s events into both poetry and song—and shall come to adorn your desks, so please look forward to it with anticipation.

△The "Girl" Literary Arts supplement had grown ever more refined with each passing month.
This was because only a dozen or so pieces had been selected from a great many—works of girls' literature one could proudly show to anyone without shame, or so I believed.
I loved those pearl-like tanka and poems more than any work hailed as a great artistic masterpiece throughout history.

△With the Yamataka fiasco, I'd ended up completely exposing my weaknesses to all of you, hadn't I?
I was someone who often made mistakes.
There was another terribly comical private anecdote I could share...
"If you promise not to laugh," I ventured, "I'll muster the courage to tell you... Though I wonder—should I really?"
I pondered and pondered.

Spring’s Heart

△ I have received letters from all of you across various regions, but being terribly busy, I could not send replies.
Please consider this completed beautiful Hatoboy as a substitute and give it your kind attention.

△“*The Sorrowful Peacock* has grown rather lengthy, but from here on I shall truly delve into the heart of the story—please keep that in mind as you read.”
“There is a question of whether this is a true story or a fabrication, but it is of course a true story—even the parts that may seem invented are ones I am writing with the intention of resolving later.”

△When writing novels for "boys" and "girls," I do not take your hearts alone as my standard—I do not think, "If I write this, they'll be pleased," or "If I write that, they'll be sad."
I write guided by my artistic conscience to a certain extent; I want you to find what I am trying to convey from within that.
I believe that the character for "truth" will surely be discovered.

△There are many things I wish to write here, but I shall defer them to next month.

(March 20th Afternoon)

Departing Spring

I was truly delighted to have had the chance to meet all of you at the gathering.
How quickly a day has already passed.
The cherry blossoms had all scattered away... Oh, it was just like a Satsuma biwa—now a fresh wind carried its fragrance through the shadows of green leaves.

To those who have kindly sent direct letters regarding *The Sorrowful Peacock*—while I do intend to respond once I find the time, such matters may all too easily come to naught—I hereby express my deepest gratitude in advance.

Once this editing was done, I wanted to deeply savor this heart that mourned departing spring and rejoiced in approaching summer... so last night I spread out travel guides, thinking perhaps I should try taking a small trip.

*Early Summer*

This time last year, whenever my close friends and I met up to work on our graduation theses, someone would inevitably ask, “Hey, you done yet?”
“No, not yet done,” we’d fret with anxious hearts even as last evening’s joy lingered along Ginza Avenue—laughing over remarks like “Once you start, it’ll take just a single night”—only to end up staying awake till dawn reminiscing about nothing but literature.
One might say that dwelling on bygone matters is a sign of low spirits, yet I cannot help remembering friends who have grown distant over this past year—after all, nothing compares to the dearness of friends. There is no one but friends who will truly listen to my selfish—especially selfish—joys and sorrows, particularly those friends who spent long days walking the same path as I. “Lately, I find myself thinking of you constantly. I’ll be coming up to Tokyo soon,” he wrote—such simple words made me happy.
“Please come even a day sooner.
K and S are also waiting for nothing but your arrival,” he wrote.
“Let’s go meet him,” said S.
“It’s tomorrow evening.”
“There shouldn’t be any mistakes.”
“You know full well that we’re the types to bungle things right away, so it’s all right.”
“Anyway, once we find it, let’s first set up camp at my house,” I said.
The wind shimmered upon the willow.
S and K both had their eyes shining beneath their straw hats.
I put a cigarette in my mouth.
“Hey, didn’t you boast that you’d quit smoking?” S admonished.
“Forgive me, my friend.”
“I am overcome with joy,” I said.
“Quit joking around—that’s not fair!”
But that, too, was fleeting—the three of us turned our steps toward the station’s light with what speed it must have been.

Another story.

Girls' Literary Arts had been steadily progressing, so I was truly delighted.
The number of submissions had also doubled compared to before.
To the best works, I would eventually send laurel wreaths from myself, so please continue to strive greatly from now on as well.

A Troublesome Tale

Now, once this editing was done, I found myself pondering whether to go to the sea or the mountains—if I chose the sea, I’d likely end up wanting to swim (at which I’m quite skilled) and then my important novel wouldn’t get written; as someone who doesn’t usually care much for travel and is rather ignorant of geography, I was utterly stumped by this endless cycle of “Where would be best?” without any resolution in sight.

Lately, I’ve been haphazardly snapping photos left and right—click-clicking away—but it’s not progressing at all; all I get are ghostly images. If I were to take this clumsy technique up into the mountains, I might end up creating some truly chilling masterpieces that would freeze the soul—but relying on such ineptitude fills me with unease. It’s truly vexing.

But dear readers, if by some fluke I manage to capture something amusing with this bumbling technique, I’ll present it to you as a souvenir—so please do wait, though I must say it’s scarcely worth anticipating.

“I’m striving diligently without fail.”

To the Autumn Fields

It had become quite cool; until just the other day—what with sending out summer greetings—I had thought we were still in midsummer, but now even mornings and evenings made me exclaim, “My, what splendid weather this was!”
By brightly lighting the lamp on my desk, the pleasure of unrolling books and such—how profoundly did the maxims spoken by people of old now seep into my awareness!
The pleasure of going to hills and fields with friends on clear-skied days… Since that was something I could not quite manage now, would those of you who had ventured on outings somewhere kindly send me your interesting tales? Yet even in Tokyo’s outskirts remained fields and streams—beautiful, compact ones that those far away would likely never imagine—retaining vestiges of Musashino’s former appearance… Autumn days awaited our excursions into the wilds, and soon I planned to set out to the suburbs with a great many friends.
If the photos turned out well, this time for sure I would show them to you.

Now Two Years Old

△Next year will mark our second New Year’s celebration together—you and I.
Having emerged into society at last reaching two years of age,
I who knew nothing of worldly matters... well, being barely two years old now, I can hardly boast—indeed, exactly so, exactly so.

△Regarding *Aoiroki Kōen* [Pale Blue Park] from November’s issue—that was merely an introduction. Come January’s New Year edition, I plan to start afresh with a new method for fairy tales I’ve been devising. Thus, the main story shall properly commence next month; pray kindly take note of this arrangement.

In the magazine it was already year-end, yet the world remained in November—I couldn’t help finding this slightly odd—though the very notion of ‘early’ also imparted a pleasant sensation.
"I do not wish to use the commonplace phrase 'Next year will be the year,' but in all honesty, I was truly thinking 'Next year will be the year' right now."
The progression of days and months deepened our familiarity with our surroundings—even when calculated through skill and experience, the words “Next year will be the year” had to inevitably be uttered—and it was there that fresh, invigorating vigor, determination, and illumination ought to be sought—in short, to put it modestly, we spent each day repeating this cycle, striving to draw closer to our ideals.

Spring Boasts

△The New Year’s issue had been completed, and I was most pleased above all else.
I believed Mr. Oi’s sugoroku board game would surely be to your liking.
This New Year’s, I too would wield this sugoroku board game to claim glorious victory—and once I did, wouldn’t I just cover those women who always tormented me, starting with them, head to toe in pitch-black ink? My fists practically trembled with anticipation.

The two photographs I had inserted into the athletic meet article—how splendid they were!
Who dared call this a “blurry style”?
I could not help raising cries of admiration at my own splendid and exceedingly rare skill—though in truth, I had taken many more photos, but alas, with the article so packed to the brim, I could not publish them all here, which remained an endless source of regret.

△With spring approaching, my heart overflowed with joy—how might I splendidly and valiantly sing spring’s song? How might I play music as wondrous as a mist-shrouded chime? —Shall I share some recent news? Well now, I’ve thrown myself wholeheartedly into sports! I’m preparing to challenge Commander Abe himself—might I become a grand pitcher!

Piano, photography, baseball… and more besides—but keeping these secret for now, which single skill among them shall I master first?

Since I delude myself into thinking I’ll excel at all yet fail miserably, everyone—grant me one prophecy! Sharp as an arrow!

△So, since I’m working with such energy, please anticipate what great feats I’ll attempt starting this spring—though it’s all turning into mere boasts… No, no! They’re not boasts! The truth! So you mustn’t laugh.—Setting aside diversions, I’ve resolved that as long as no willful fancies arise within me, I’ll continue writing novels and poetry as they flow naturally from my heart, rooted in “truth” to the fullest extent possible.

Yet Another Tale of My Own

△I had meant to write yet another boast, but fearing this continued streak might ironically crown me king of blunders instead, I settled for my own story... This way, I’ll steer clear of trouble.

△I’ve resolved to henceforth adopt the pen name “Shichirō”—allow me to make this formal announcement.

△Though I’ve received countless gracious letters since year’s end, caught in my whirlwind of busyness, I’ve found no moment to reply—rest assured I shall write at leisure in due course, and beg your kind indulgence until then.
Ever since that careless confession about the ×× hat debacle (what a calamitous thing to commit to print—regrets upon regrets!), I’ve faced fierce scrutiny over subsequent matters too (truly a pickle)—for if left unwritten, distrust brews… or accusations of “bungling” arise… thus (troublesome as it is)—no, being branded a bungler would prove dire, so I resolved to come clean, but… Ah me! (This isn’t… going smoothly) With page space spent, though loath to stop, I must lay down my pen. Therefore—pray forgive the distrust… and “bungling.”

(Pasture)

With Dreams Aboard

The New Year's mood had completely faded, and our magazine now dwelt beneath peach-blossom shadows in early March's pale crimson evenings—flicker-flicker-flicker—amid snow lantern dreams where whelks were said to cry, yes? Thus the shells offered on doll tiers went clatter-clatter back to their mollusk homeland—that peach-hued evening deepened into violet dreams... Tracing these nostalgic visions night after night, I sent my thoughts soaring to distant skies only to circle laughably back to myself, wondering what on earth I should write...

Truly, I was spending nothing but days that were the very opposite of what one might call "laziness." The continuation that was supposed to be published today had been decided for next month. That story—like a dream yet not a dream, real yet unreal, poetic yet not quite poetry—I had been writing in such a frenzy that even then I vowed next month would surely see its continuation; though this might sound self-absorbed, I intended this apology solely for those who had kindly sent me letters concerning the matter. O those of you, I prayed you would bear me no ill will. I had to write replies to each and every one of you, but I would do so at a more leisurely pace in due course, so I asked for your kind understanding once again. The whelks of the Dolls’ Evening that did not conceal themselves were not tears—I surmised that must be them singing a song… And so, in that peach-hued evening, I would leisurely recount the tale in next month’s issue.

Spring is a joy.

The reporter—now nearing his second year with the company—stood before this storied *Shōjo*...
To welcome its hundredth issue alongside spring was such bliss that I forgot even my unworthiness.
Though my abilities as an untried novice remain paltry—shamefully inadequate to meet any expectations—I hereby resolve to devote every ounce of my strength to this task and repay you cherished readers for your boundless goodwill and ardent support.

“Spring is delightful.” — Before I knew it, I had murmured those words and now looked up at the sky from the company table—a sky vivid and blue, stretched crystal-clear above.
“Let’s go on a little trip somewhere, all by myself.” — I thought such things.
If I were to go out—you can rest assured I’ve grown tired of photography and resolved to quit—so as ever, I’ll devote myself solely to taking up my pen, compiling serial installments and writing new pieces to bring back.
Be that as it may, spring is utterly delightful…… The birds flying outside are visible from the window.
“My heart floats in vague buoyancy…” — thus.
Dear readers, I pray for your “joy of spring.”
(24th)

[Untitled]

I truly wished I could capture this strikingly grand activity on film and present it to you dear readers.
However, how refreshing it was to be active!
I myself had lately come to fully realize this and had been striving to wake up early to read books and write manuscripts, but lately found myself troubled by how I just couldn’t seem to write boys’ novels in a way that satisfied me.
This month too I started writing one piece, but ultimately found it unsatisfactory and discarded it.
Next month would be the one, I told myself.
Dear readers, I begged you to kindly understand my intentions.

Sumo

△In my boyhood days, I was quite the sumo connoisseur—Hitachiyama, Umegatani, Ōtori, Kunimiyama, Tamatsubaki..."I'm Hitachiyama! That's why they all lose to me!"
"There you go being cunning—always becoming the Yokozuna!" and other such memories remain, and I collected quite a lot of picture postcards too.
In the end, I was even scolded by mother.

△Nowadays, when even that had somehow been forgotten, I didn't even think of going to see the tournaments when they were held.
Though admittedly, if I'd had a bit more free time, that might not have been the case.
Even so,I still sometimes went outside and gazed at the tournament placards—how many times did I look at them now,I wondered.—“Ōnishiki and Tochigami are strong.”
“Tsune no Hana will likely become *yokozuna* soon.”

From Paulista’s second floor, you could get a splendid view of sumo—though only of the placards!

Seeing Off Mr. Yamaguchi

△Mr.Yamaguchi had to resign from the company due to illness.
He who spared no effort for *The Boys' Magazine*—though this must have been disappointing for you as well—I could not help but sympathize with all my heart.
It seemed you would be going to Bōshū for convalescence; I prayed ardently with dear readers for your recovery and dreamed earnestly of the day we would once again—sit side by side here.
I believed the refreshing seaside locale would surely benefit your health.

△It was already July.
The Day of the Sea you all loved had arrived.
I too loved the sea.
This year, I thought perhaps I would go to some seaside and do some serious swimming.
I hadn’t entered the sea in so long—what if I had forgotten how to swim? Such anxieties plagued me.

[Untitled]

△This time I published *"Michiko and Sunday Morning's Story."* Truth be told, I had meant to publish *The Pale Park*, but when that mood proved impossible to sustain, I considered taking a break—yet couldn't bear risking that dreadful misunderstanding of being called lazy. Thus I wrote this shorter piece instead. To *Pale Park* readers—my deepest apologies.

Mountains or Sea?

Where should I go for this year's summer vacation? I love the sea and swimming—perhaps a seaside spot not too far away? Even so, last year when I went to around Shimousa, I ended up just soaking in the sea and let every single thing I'd planned to write vanish like bubbles. Will I end up repeating the same mistake this year? If so, that would be quite troublesome—then perhaps I should choose the mountains? If I were to open a book by a deep green window where cool mountain air breathes through, my heart would suddenly wander through an unbounded fairy realm. Well then—which mountain area should I choose? ...and so since yesterday I've been frantically spreading out maps and such, indulging in mountain fantasies to my heart's content. Will I truly find myself in which mountain's shadowy valleys?—Amusing how even concerning myself, I can entertain such thoughts. I can't help but suspect that after all—I'll end up going to the sea.

Disaster.

This happened just moments ago—I took up my pen to write this editorial afterword, but being one who had yet to visit either sea or mountain, I found myself utterly perplexed about what to write. Were I to force something out, the old eyes before me would gleam terribly through their spectacles, leaving me no recourse—! While thus agonizing, I leaned sideways to retrieve manuscript paper from the document box behind me, but my hand fell short by fifteen centimeters or so. Though standing and turning rightward would have sufficed, I—ever mindful of temporal economy—simply tilted my chair back instead, propped my toes against the table's underside, grunted as I stretched backward, and in that very moment when my fingertips were about to touch the box's lid—!
The chair legs slipped; my feet kicked hard against the table’s underside—and thus I went sprawling backward toward the side wall with a thunderous crash!
And—ah, what a twist of fate!—I clung to the table, but it was dragged along by my Herculean strength, crashing down together with me... THUD!

If only someone had pulled me up by the hand…
How coldhearted everyone around me was!

"Ah... heh heh" was all they could muster in stifled laughter.
I bristled with indignation.

And yet that the inkwell had nearly slipped off yet was barely caught at the table's edge—this surely proved heaven had not abandoned me.
For there beneath that table's corner lay I, clad in pure white Western-style clothing.
Ah, truly this was the height of peril!

(July 18th, 3:00 PM, noted.)

Autumn approached.

I was put at ease by the occasional postcards from Mr. Yamaguchi that read, “Lately I’ve been feeling quite well—my health has completely revived.”
I had long known the name of Ōhara Town in Chiba Prefecture, though I had never once visited there.
It must surely be a good place.
Since they called it a beach resort, it was my turf.
I had been thinking perhaps I should go see it once, but ended up putting it off due to sheer laziness.

Dear readers, you have likely already concluded your summer break and returned to your academic pursuits. How vigorously must those arms you honed over the break be brimming with vitality now that the new term is upon us—even just imagining such a sight brings me joy. As autumn—the season for books under lamplight—draws ever nearer, and all things begin to brim with refreshingly cool clarity, I earnestly pray for your health and endeavors.

Non-Kage Benkei

△While I was glad we all went to Ikaho, I found myself in a real bind.
The others were all skilled raconteurs, holding court amusingly at two or three gatherings—but ah!
Why on earth can’t I hold a conversation?
I, who’d rarely attended such gatherings, would just giggle along mindlessly like everyone else—chuckling to myself in solitary amusement.
And so I always ended up skulking stiffly at the back.
It’s not that I lack courage, nor am I some Kage Benkei shadow warrior.
It’s mortifying, but since I can’t string two words together, there’s nothing for it.

“You could at least manage a greeting—you’re not a child anymore, hmm?”
“Come now, this is the finale—won’t you step up for once?”
Someone bursts out laughing and tries to push me forward.
“Ahem, heh heh...” I could only keep laughing nervously, thoroughly flustered as my chest pounded relentlessly.
In the end, I accomplished nothing.
At that moment, I completely folded!

The Silent Shichirō

△It is already the November issue.
The autumn coolness draws near to window edges—a time for intimate reading under lamplight—and I perceive that you, dear readers, must surely be applying yourselves diligently to your studies.
I too had been fired up this autumn—wielding my long-dulled pen with vigor—to write something worthy of your expectations; however, lately with editorial work being particularly busy, I ultimately couldn’t manage it.
(A says: 'This seems a bit suspicious!') Yet given that this issue features numerous fascinating pieces as it does, I tell myself that quietly devoting myself to editorial work is also, undeniably, an act of faithfulness to you all—indulging in such self-congratulation.
This is by no means a cowardly excuse or anything of the sort, so I beg you to kindly grasp my true intentions.
(Shichirō)

The Poems Sent to Me

△ Lately there had been quite a few people sending poems and songs directly addressed to me.
In truth I ought to have written back directly with my impressions，but since carelessly voicing my thoughts risked being misunderstood as “malicious talk，”I still hadn’t sent any replies．Yet putting myself in the senders’ shoes，they must have found it disheartening to have their painstakingly crafted works left unacknowledged．However，when shown a good poem，I would feel as delighted as if it were my own and immediately write back moved by it—though lately，nothing had stirred me much．
At the moment，I was a bit pressed for time and couldn’t verify properly，but there were submissions from Matsudaira Makiko-san，Azabu Michiko-san，Sugimoto Someko-san，Serizawa Jūshi-san，and Kawase Mitsuko-san，among others．
（As for the others…）None were interesting．
Makiko-san and Mitsuko-san’s works weren’t entirely without some interest，but…
（Others must not get angry．）Though I may have been overly harsh in my critiques，I detested giving insincere praise．
Makiko-san’s “Song of the Sea” had been just shy of becoming something rather interesting—in any case，it had been the best among these．

Thanks for Your Well-Wishes

△You were already aware of the recent fire at our headquarters, but I wished to express my deepest gratitude for the many kind well-wishes we promptly received from so many of you at that time. Fortunately, our department suffered no major disasters, and the magazine’s publication proceeding as usual was nothing short of a blessing.

△In this season of high skies, when both body and mind felt refreshed, it was a time to energetically devote oneself to both exercise and study. In contrast to the recent overcast rains, those days the sky spread clear as a shallow stream, and autumn’s coolness arrived with jewel-like purity.

△Having long wielded a dulled pen, I earnestly feel I must produce something worthy of your expectations for the New Year’s issue.

Apology Notice

△We must apologize to the winners of the October and November issues' contests.
This occurred because a portion of the winners' manuscripts was lost during the fire.
The responsibility naturally lies entirely with this reporter—no words suffice to express my apologies—but as this was an unforeseen circumstance beyond control, I humbly beg your forgiveness.
Consequently, I believe prize shipments have been delayed and winners must surely feel inconvenienced.
I apologize for this additional trouble but ask that winners from both October and November issues kindly notify the reporter by November 20th with full details including month/contest name won and complete address/name.
No notification is required for Special Grand Prize Contest entries or October regular contest entries.
However November insert picture contest winners must notify us immediately—and due to losing names for this issue’s illustration contest winners under similar circumstances please contact us urgently.

We humbly offer our deepest apologies.

Grand Maneuvers

△From the window, many airplanes could be seen.
About two black kites had come together and were dancing about in an amusing manner.
They might easily have been mistaken for airplanes.
No sooner had A’s airplane emitted smoke than it dropped glittering bombs.
The townspeople clamored noisily; I too, of course, had been gazing up at the sky since earlier.
B’s plane and C, D… were vigorously conducting pursuit.
They looked as amusing as children playing tag.
The bomb that had been dropped earlier descended as quietly as a balloon, glowing right before our eyes.
“If that were real, it’d be unbearable.”
Someone said such a thing, but no one else so much as laughed, all watching intently.
I was also watching.

November 19th, the day of the Army Grand Maneuvers - on the street.

Fairy Tale

△Once upon a time, there was a boy named Shichirō who was exceedingly brave.
He was spirited, honest, and deeply compassionate, so most people became his allies.
Now, in the town next to Shichirō's, there lived a wicked child named Fukumen Tarō, like the bandit Kumasaka Chōhan of old.
Shichirō was, as told before, a gentle lad, yet he found himself constantly quarreling with Fukumen Tarō, who stood as his very opposite.
Though Shichirō abhorred conflict, Fukumen Tarō's ceaseless provocations in myriad ways finally exhausted even his patience, prompting him to declare: "Very well! Then let us settle this fair and square with a true contest of skill!"
Fukumen Tarō started slightly at this challenge but, being past the point of withdrawal, drew his sword with a flourish and roared: "Have at thee!"

The two agreed upon a date and returned to their respective towns.
There they gathered their forces.
But however you looked at it, Shichirō was still too young in years to act as he wished.
By contrast, Fukumen Tarō held considerable advantage and swiftly rallied tens of thousands of allies.
Hearing this news, Shichirō felt somewhat daunted, but steeling himself with the thought that faltering here would disgrace a warrior’s name, he laid plans for his battle preparations—.
Now then—how will this conclude? That I may relate in our next issue.

Head-Scratching Chronicles

△I must apologize for my long silence toward you all.
In the meantime, spring had already arrived.
I too had been on leave from the company since the end of last year and remained in that state still.
It wasn’t quite an illness, but I planned to go to Shōnan for some time then and devote myself wholeheartedly to writing.
"As for boys’ novels—I hadn’t written one in quite some time—you all must have been thinking, ‘What happened?’—but it wouldn’t be wise to explain my reasons for not writing."
I resolved to stop making excuses for past matters and henceforth strove to present the fruits of my efforts to you all.

△Today, for the first time in several months, I returned to Tokyo and visited the company.
With Mr. Katō absent due to illness and us already being short-handed—I couldn’t help but feel somewhat ashamed of myself.
Praying that Mr. Katō might make a full recovery and return to work as soon as possible, I lay down my pen here.

(March 16th)

From Odawara

△Returned to Tokyo from Shōnan after several months' absence and first paid a visit to the Prime Minister.
I had intended to bring you all manner of stories, but now that I'm here, not a single flower has bloomed—and why should it? The same holds true for what I owe all of you. I, Shichirō, stand utterly disgraced.
I would spend a few days relaxing before returning once more to Shōnan.
Once back this time, I won't be lazy anymore—I mean to make full use of idle days, wield my pen with vigor, and repay you all.
My illness was such a trivial thing.
There was no helping it if I was called a shameless lazybones.
Yet precisely because of that, it became all the more abundant in sorrows for me.

△The company had Mr. Katō ill, and here I was in this state.
But thanks to Professor Fukumenkanja being energetic and working hard alongside Commander A, such a splendid magazine came together.
Speaking of Professor Fukumenkanja—he stole my celebrated fairy tale, willfully sided only with Taro, captured the valiant Shichirō and dubbed him “Hollow-rō” to attach such a nonsensical conclusion. Shichiro’s resentment pierced to the marrow, yet if I drove him too harshly, he might fall ill—and then the magazine would suffer. The Prime Minister and everyone else bore no grudge. Here, Shichirō—rich in reason and patience—resolved to bide his time and engage Fukumen Tarō in a decisive duel someday.

(March 16th)

One evening

△One evening, I received a lively postcard.
It was a contribution to the "Shōjo" section.
I was just in the middle of eating my evening meal.
Seeing that, I laughed to myself so much that I forgot about the chopsticks in my hand.
How vexing it felt!
Vexed enough to think perhaps I should go on an outing tomorrow too—I couldn’t help laughing at myself—just where do you think you’re going all alone?

△There, “Shichirō” muttered “Hmm, that’s it!” as if struck by inspiration.
And soon he began wielding his pen—should that tale reach completion by some fortune, you will surely encounter “The Brave Shichirō” in next month’s issue.

When the Wind Bears Fragrance

△The editorial department was brimming with vitality.
Mr. Katō, who had been ill, had made a full recovery and today was single-mindedly devoted to editing in just his shirtsleeves.
The early summer breeze softly caressed the window.
Into this tense room it sent a bountiful smile—ah, how delightful this early summer was!

I too had fully recovered my health.
Within my chest too, this pleasant early summer breeze sent a pleasant smile—this smile I must transform into my pen—so thinking, I looked up at the sky, deeply, deeply blue and clear——.

Return to Health

△The fact that Professor Fukumenkanja had become the Purple Hood was publicly known.
“Professor Chirito, Professor Purple Hood, and Professor A—they’re all Professor A, aren’t they? It’s been decided!”
“When you think about it, what diligence Professor A must show! And in contrast, what diligence Professor Shichirō must demonstrate with his one-man show approach!”

△I could not help being surprised; gazing at the figures of Professor A, Professor Chirito, and Professor Murasaki, I thought, "Why can't they grasp this?"
Even I—even I—it's no one-man show at all—there, there, just like this—oh, how swift this pen's movement!