[A Journey to Send a Letter to the Future ①] Once More, That Noodle Soup — The 65-Year History of the Yanai Nichinichi Shimbun

"It's about justice. You have to help the weak."
It was a year later that I heard this.

"Huh? Are you really coming from Nagoya?"

The weekend I learned about the closure of the Yanai Nichinichi Shimbun, a local newspaper in Yamaguchi Prefecture that had lasted for 65 years.

The phone wouldn't connect, and there was no way to get in touch.

Could I be allowed to take a commemorative photo on the final day?

I sent the documents by express mail, and on Monday, I finally got through to the president.

The next day.
After finishing my morning deliveries, I headed to Yanai.

"You're really coming tomorrow, right?"
I received a call while on the road.

"Wednesday will be the final printing."

They even went out of their way to confirm if it would be okay for a cable television crew to cover the event as well.

The Last Day of the Yanai Nichinichi Shimbun

The office building, decorated with goldfish motifs, came into view amidst the white-walled streetscape.

"Welcome. It must have been a long way from Nagoya, wasn't it?"
I exchanged greetings with the president who came out to welcome me.

I was shown into the office.

"Yielding not to power or money, we wield the pen of justice."
The company motto caught my eye.

"In the past, there were newspapers that operated by buying and selling information. This newspaper was started with the intention of delivering honest news to the citizens."

The president's voice continued.

"This will be our final exchange of business cards."
A business card was offered.

After finishing the formal greetings, he asked where I was staying and expressed regret that he hadn't recommended a hotel in Yanai for me.

"My younger brother will start the printing soon, so please feel free to take photos however you like. Just let us know if you have any requests."

I entered the printing shop next door.

In the dimly lit space illuminated by fluorescent lights, there was a large rotary press on the right, and a workspace resembling a newspaper distribution center on the left.

"The newspapers printed today will go straight out for delivery."

The younger brother appeared in front of the rotary press.

After exchanging greetings, he began filling it with jet-black ink using a spatula.

The rotary press made a noise and began spitting out newspapers. The younger brother stopped the machine many times to check the print quality.

He said that newspaper paper is delicate and that there is always some waste.

He bundled the printed newspapers and ran his fingers along the edges.

I check them visually, but I also use my fingers to make sure there are no wrinkles or folds.

I picked up one of the rejected newspapers.

Wouldn't it get like this during delivery anyway? I want people to receive them in perfect condition.

The successfully printed newspapers were passed on to the hands of the mothers lined up at the workbench.

They checked the addresses, bundled them, and prepared them for shipment. On the workbench, the newspapers were folded and flowed along one after another.

Good morning. Yes, thank you for your hard work. Eventually, the elderly delivery staff arrived. They received the bundles of newspapers and scattered to their respective routes.

Would you like to see the delivery process? The president called out to me. I was able to follow a man who was delivering nearby.

He headed east through the white-walled streets, dropping newspapers into the mailboxes of the recipients. He stopped at a shop with an open entrance and went straight inside. When I returned to the office, an elderly woman had arrived.

My surname is rare. With this, I have collected almost all the people with the same surname in Japan. She said that and laughed.

"Well, shall we take it now?"

I have them line up in front of the building.

"Oh, I forgot the photo of Father!"

Someone called out, but everyone was already in line.

"Well, I suppose it's fine."

The shutter clicked amidst the sound of laughter.


After that, we decided to take a photo inside the printing shop where they had just finished printing the final issue and preparing it for shipment.

An elderly woman sitting in a chair muttered softly.

"Honestly, I just can't worry about my expression anymore."


The family lined up, holding the blue plate of the final issue and a photograph of the founder.

I clicked the shutter.

"I want you to listen to my story for a moment."

The elderly woman said.

We returned to the office.
She sat in a chair in the reception area, with her back to the entrance.

At the desk on the left, the refund process was still ongoing.

Between responding to interviews, the president spoke to each reader who came for a refund before returning to his seat.

The elderly woman sitting in front of me muttered as if to confirm whether there had been anyone to take over.

The president listened in silence.

A newspaper company that lasted three generations

Her husband, who started the Yanai Nichinichi Shimbun, was a high-ranking staff officer who had been repatriated from the former Manchukuo.

The elderly woman taught kana calligraphy, and she said that her class had just finished its 55th exhibition.

"I loved characters, you see. I told him, 'Why don't you start a newspaper?'"

That single remark was the catalyst for the newspaper's founding.

He walked around delivering the newspapers and also visited government offices, police stations, and advertisers.

“I had just started and had nothing, so I had no choice but to meet people in person.”

Because of that, all sorts of stories reached the grandmother's ears. Sometimes, they became articles.

“There were times I made the governor very angry, too.”

The grandmother laughed as if reminiscing.
The president, who was listening beside her, chimed in.

“That was just writing down my own thoughts on how things should be. I just wrote that something was wrong when I thought it was wrong.”

He says that while continuing his reporting, there are times when the atmosphere becomes, 'Please don't write this.'

But—
“I don't engage in speculation. I write articles from the citizens' perspective, for the citizens, so I must not lean toward that side.”

The grandmother stood up slowly, leaving her story unfinished.

She turned to face the president.

“What is it like to grow up in a newspaper family?”

At that moment, the mother, who was doing administrative work at the desk on the left, spoke up.

“My father was a strict person regardless of the newspaper company. He was strict even when we were just acting normally.”

The president spoke with a bashful smile about how he and his siblings were scolded together.

“But, we were doing pretty much what we wanted, anyway.”

Until he graduated from high school, he had aimed to be a professional baseball player. Since he had nothing else he wanted to do besides baseball, he decided to take over the family business.

“It's rare to have a high school graduate as a newspaper reporter these days, isn't it? I went to the newspaper company for my interview with a punch perm.”

Through his father's introduction, he joined a local paper as an apprentice and trained there for three years.

“We are super local. Because we are thoroughly committed to being local, people call us for every little thing. They want to talk to us first because they know we will definitely put it in the paper.”

When they are born. And when they pass away. In this town, everyone is featured in the newspaper twice without fail.

Although they publish three times a week, they are also members of the press club.
Even so, the COVID-19 pandemic was truly tough.

"Just saying it's been canceled won't fill the pages at all, will it?"
After much thought, I went around to local shops and businesses and created feature articles.

"I want you to keep going longer." I have received those words many times.

In a case where the media swarmed, I even received a call from the perpetrator's father saying, "I want you to listen to my story."

"If people don't buy it, we can't keep going, can we?"
I decided to close while I still had the strength to do so.

Tomorrow, I'm going to an interview right away, introduced by an acquaintance.

The president invited me to his favorite Chinese restaurant.

We sat at a table in the back and ordered the noodle soup.

It features plenty of vegetables and brown noodles.

When I told him that the news of the closure was so sudden that I was worried it might be due to illness or an accident and had hesitated to contact him, he replied that it was something he had decided long ago.

He said that falling ill was the trigger for his decision.

"How is it? It's really delicious, isn't it?"

Before I knew it, I was eating heartily.

From the afternoon, I teach baseball to the children. Alongside being a newspaper reporter, I have also served as a coach.

"You can't just teach them the rules to win."

When I asked if I could go watch the practice for a bit, he told me where the field was.

"They came all the way from Nagoya just to take pictures of us."

He introduced me like that to the parents who had come to watch.

I left the field, bought dinner at the Chinese restaurant from earlier, and returned to the hotel.

"Good morning."

The next day.
I told her that I had been walking around the white-walled streets.

I heard the mother's voice from the desk on the left.

"Please come for the Goldfish Festival in the summer. It gets really lively then."

I sat in the same chair as yesterday, facing her.

I wondered if her job hunting had gone well.

"It didn't go well. It seems like wanting to run for city council isn't a good thing."

The president had decided to run in the Yanai City Council election to be held in December.

When I told her I had taken out Chinese food last night, her expression softened as she asked, "Did you like it that much?"

I asked if there was anything she felt she had accomplished as a newspaper company.

"People moving away from print, the aging of our readership, the development of the internet—those are all just excuses. I was inexperienced; it was all my lack of ability. That is all."

She kept her mouth set in a firm line.

On this day, too, people were constantly coming in and out of the office.

Among them was a woman who said they had put out an extra edition for her wedding.

"It's embarrassing to look at now, but I've kept it as a treasure."

Once more, that noodle soup

As I was leaving, I told her I planned to stop by that Chinese restaurant again for lunch on my way home.

"Ah, that place! It's delicious, isn't it!"

I nodded in agreement with the woman who had once received an extra edition from us.

"I took them there for lunch yesterday, and they bought it again to eat for dinner, so it must be really good, right?"

The atmosphere in the office softened.

"I thought it would be more somber, but I'm glad you came and brought a brighter atmosphere."

One year after the paper ceased publication.

I was sitting across from a city council member in a suit at a Chinese restaurant.

"There's something I want to tell you after we eat this, but I think you'll be surprised."

After finishing the nostalgic noodle soup with its brown noodles, we moved to the Yanai City Hall.

It tasted the same.

When I decided to close the business, I had resolved never to return to journalism or photography.

"I received offers from many places, but I turned them all down. I kept only my best camera, but in the end, I never touched it once."

The photos I took for the final issue were my swan song with the camera.

He said he had tried to include as many children as possible in the photos so that they could look back later and say, "I was in the newspaper."



"Why don't you become a council member?"

The catalyst was a single remark from his wife.

"Youth baseball is like life itself, after all."
He was still continuing as a coach as well.

I asked once again what they had held dear.
The answer came back without hesitation.

Then, leaning forward, they said there was something they really wanted to talk about.

"Actually, right now, I'm working part-time delivering pizzas and packing bento boxes."

Their voice brightened as they said they couldn't help but enjoy working with young people.

"It's all due to my own lack of ability."
I remembered the president who said that.

I was allowed to take a photo in front of the assembly hall.


The president, reflected in the viewfinder, had their mouth set in a firm, straight line.

▼ "A Journey to Send a Letter to the Future" is entered in the Creative Awards 2026, divided into three articles.

■ [A Journey to Send a Letter to the Future ②]
"What is your fondest memory?" — The final day of a market closing its 70-year history

■ [A Journey to Send a Letter to the Future ③]
"I'm glad you could come" — A letter in the form of a commemorative photo, delivered by a delivery person

#CreativeAwards2026 #AllCategoriesDivision