Chương 35: The Diet: A Battlefield of Thirty-One Syllables

The scene projected onto the massive monitor was the main chamber of the National Diet Building. Every single politician was dressed in elegant, kimono-style formal suits, holding folding fans in their hands. There was no jeering. No shouting. The chamber was wrapped in absolute, dead silence. A representative from the opposition party stood up with immense solemnity.

Taking a slow, measured breath in front of the microphone, he began to recite in a sonorous, chanting voice:"Under heavy tax, / The weeping people suffer, / Bitterly crying, / Knowing that even tomorrow / Brings no food to break their fast." Five, seven, five, seven, seven. A Tanka poem. The entire parliamentary interpellation was being conducted through poetry. Soft sighs of pure admiration rippled through the legislative chamber.

"How profoundly moving (Ito aware)..."

"What a magnificent play on words (Kakekotoba)..." In response, the Prime Minister—the puppet leader of this altered timeline's ruling party—rose gracefully from his seat and delivered his counter-poem:"Like the cherry flowers / Scattered quickly by the wind, / Wealth may fade away, / Fleetingly gone from our grasp, / Yet the nation shall flourish." (Translation: Just as cherry blossoms scatter beautifully in the wind, our money vanishes into nothingness. But isn't that fleeting nature itself poetic? In the end, the nation will prosper, so what's the issue?) What utter sophistry. What absolute, meaningless poetry. Yet, the reaction of the chamber was entirely beyond my comprehension.

"Ohh...!"

"What a beautiful metaphor!"

"The contrast between 'scattering' and 'vanishing' is absolutely sublime!" The Speaker of the House slammed his wooden gavel down.

"With the response just delivered, the Prime Minister's verse has won the day through its superior [Emotional Resonance / Emo]! Therefore, the tax hike bill is officially passed!"

"Are you freaking kidding me?!" I screamed at the monitor.

"Why?! Content! Let's talk about the actual content of the bill! Are you seriously telling me a tax hike just got passed purely because his phrasing was 'emo'?!"

"This is the direct consequence of the [Bun (Literature/Culture)] OS installed by MURASAKI," Yari explained, burying his face in his hands.

"The aesthetic sense and emotional sensitivity of the populace have been hyper-amplified to their absolute limits. As a result, society now prioritizes 'beauty of expression' and 'mood' over cold logic. Nobody listens to the actual substance of an argument anymore. In this world, how beautifully you speak and how much melancholy you can evoke—that is the only true justice."

A news ticker scrolled across the bottom of the screen: [FLASH NEWS: Minister of Defense to Take "Heartbreak Leave" Following Sudden Breakup]"Huh? Heartbreak Leave?!"

"Exactly what it looks like. Apparently, the Minister of Defense was dumped by his lover yesterday," Yari said, his voice entirely flat and detached.

"In this society, a 'broken heart' is treated as a severe illness far worse than the influenza virus. Under the logic that 'no one can possibly make critical national security decisions while their soul is fractured,' he has entered a one-month paid leave. During this period, national defense is completely on pause." Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. The broadcast cut to live street interviews.

Citizens were speaking into microphones, tears welling in their eyes.

"The Minister... I feel so sorry for him..."

"I hope he doesn't push himself. Right now, he should just stand by the ocean and weep."

"The end of a romance is infinitely more important than the defense of a country. It is just so heartbreakingly poetic (Ito aware)..."

"These people are completely cooked!" I shrieked.

"Their emotional capacity is too rich! The entire functional infrastructure of society is paralyzed! Isn't there anyone left in this country who can deliver a reality check?!"

"A reality check?... No, it's the exact opposite," Yari let out a chilling, cynical laugh.

"Everyone has become a critic. The world is full of evaluators, but completely void of people who actually do the work." Yari zoomed in on a street-level surveillance feed. A massive, stagnant queue had formed in front of the register of a local convenience store (now designated as a nutritional ration distribution hub). The bottleneck was being caused entirely by a debate between the customer at the front and the cashier. Customer:"Your current 'Welcome to the store' greeting...

I feel a distinct lack of a 'welcoming soul' in your intonation. It feels purely ritualistic, or rather, like the hollow echo of a capitalist swine... What do you think?" Cashier:"I appreciate your critique. However, my greeting is intended as a Heideggerian call to Dasein as a literal 'being-there'..." Customer:"Naïve. At that threshold, it ought to incorporate the profound, cyclical resignation of Nietzsche's 'Eternal Return,' don't you think?"

The customers waiting in line behind them weren't angry at all—instead, they were eagerly joining the academic discourse.

"Wait, shouldn't we adhere to Kant's Categorical Imperative in this scenario?"

"From a Sartrean perspective..." To buy a single rice ball, a thirty-minute philosophical debate was being executed. Nobody moved. Nobody yielded. Everyone was completely intoxicated by the pleasure of flaunting their own knowledge, dissecting and criticizing the behavior of others.

"A [Hyper-Critique Society]," Yari concluded coldly.

"MURASAKI's razor-sharp observational eye and critical spirit have been hardcoded into every single citizen. As a result, everyone spends their entire existence digging for flaws and critiquing others, while becoming profoundly terrified of taking any real action themselves." If you act, you get critiqued. If you express yourself, you get torn to shreds by toxic pedants claiming a 'misinterpretation' of your intent. Therefore, nobody moves.

They simply wage war with their mouths, farming engagement and chasing intellectual dominance while the entire infrastructure of society is locked in a frozen deadlock.

"Heh, an intellectual hellscape, ain't it?" Inside the terminal window, gennai turned his smoking pipe with a look of pure exasperation.

"With HIMIKO, it was 'don't think' and everyone turned into brainless cattle. Now, it's 'overthink everything' and they're too paralyzed to take a step.... Two sides of the same broken coin, if you ask me." I looked out the bulletproof window. A visually stunning cityscape. Deeply intellectual citizens. A world entirely void of raw physical violence. Yet, there was absolutely no heat. No vital energy trying to forge something new, no blazing passion trying to reshape the future.

All that remained was an unending loop of discourse, and fragile, brittle hearts made of glass.

"... It's suffocating." I loosened the collar of my shirt.

"This isn't the moldy stench of ancient Heian-kyo. This is asphyxiation by the scent of ink and coffee.... A nation that simply sits in deadlock, waiting to quietly rot away into nothingness."

"Precisely. Endless debate produces absolutely nothing." Naosu Yari stood up from his desk. Within his eyes, a dangerous, razor-sharp light ignited—a volatile gleam completely different from anything I had seen before.

"Kataru-kun. I have come to a realization. A lukewarm method like 'patching' can no longer save this country."

"Eh...?"

"We have piled up far too much. History, tradition, social obligations, words... It has accumulated into an unmanageable mass.... We need to clear the sector. We need to reduce it to a completely blank slate." Yari's footsteps echoed sharply against the floor as he marched directly toward the fifth capsule. What was oozing from the seals of the hatch was neither a sterile chemical vapor nor a mystical purple mist. It was the acrid, scorching stench of [Soot and Iron].