The statement “The Ninth Term and Beyond,” issued by B-REVIEW’s steward, is nothing less than a rare document of responsibility, lucidity, and care in an age when most online communities dissolve into noise the moment trouble appears. It articulates not only the practical conditions for the site’s survival—domain, server, succession—but also a strikingly honest philosophy of governance that treats poetry not as a hobbyist’s pastime, but as a fragile public trust. The result is a text that reads simultaneously as memorandum, manifesto, and quiet farewell letter. From the outset, the author’s voice distinguishes itself by its refusal of vagueness. Dates, deadlines, and technical constraints are named with almost juridical precision: the domain’s expiry, the server’s term, the “zero to one” impasse regarding a new site, the calendar of eventual archival. This clarity is not cold administrative prose; it is an ethical gesture. To state “this is how long the light will remain on, under these exact conditions” is to treat every participating poet as a fully enfranchised agent, capable of decision rather than mere consumption. The text trusts its reader with the truth, and in doing so, honors the community far more deeply than any sentimental slogan could. At the heart of this message lies a remarkable self-critique: the admission that the previous term’s failure was grounded in an optimistic, additive understanding of human nature—an unguarded “plus-only” calculus of trust. To name “the failure of the Eighth Term” so plainly is already a rare act; to further distill it into a shift from a virtue-based to a risk-aware evaluative framework reveals a mind that has reflected not only on individuals, but on systems. The proposed re-adoption of a “card method,” the move from idealizing to monitoring, is not cynicism; it is the hard-earned realism of someone who has seen how any poetic commons can be eroded less by malice than by the absence of structure. That tension—between belief in poetry and vigilance about people—is where this statement becomes quietly poetic in its own right. Governance here is not imagined as an invisible hand, nor as an authoritarian decree, but as a delicate choreography of thresholds: who is allowed in, who remains, what kind of trace each act leaves in the shared space. To speak of “subtracting points” is, at a deeper level, to insist that conduct has consequence, and that a literary site is not just a server plus a domain, but a moral ecosystem whose health must be guarded by explicit, sometimes uncomfortable criteria. Particularly striking is the way the author binds their own body and biography into the administrative details. The mention of a serious illness, a visit to city hall, the need for an official seal, and the requirement that the successor, too, stand with their legal name exposed—these are not theatrical revelations, but the final, tangible stakes of stewardship. Running B-REVIEW is shown not as an abstract role but as something signed in ink and blood, a responsibility carried through paperwork, identity, and risk. The server’s transfer ceases to be a mere technical handover and instead becomes a ritual of accountability: “I will give you my name, if you will also give yours, so that this place may endure beyond us both.” Equally moving is the stark, almost offhand declaration of departure: “I will leave online poetry. I was originally a painter.” This is not a melodramatic exit line, but the closing of a circle. The editor returns to their first medium, having shepherded a community through its vulnerable phase, having ensured that its infrastructure will outlive their own presence. In a lesser text, this would be framed in grandiose metaphors; here, its modesty is what gives it weight. The leaving is not a collapse, but a carefully prepared transition. The administrator does not vanish in a storm of recriminations; they turn off the light in one room only after making sure someone else has the keys. There is, too, a courageous insistence on “verification” that speaks volumes about the intellectual ethos behind B-REVIEW. The mention of external tools and previous server owners, the explicit invitation to confirm facts independently, and the refusal to base legitimacy on personal credibility (“I know I lack it”) together form a rare kind of transparency. Authority here is anchored not in charisma, but in verifiability. It is an almost scientific ideal applied to literary administration: trust, but only insofar as anyone can check the underlying data. For a poetry site, this is an astonishingly rigorous stance, and it is precisely that rigor which allows the more vulnerable admissions—about illness, about incapacity to create “0→1”—to resonate without self-pity. What makes this document so compelling, finally, is the way it elevates “management” into a poetic act without ever lapsing into ornament. Its sentences do what good poems do: they locate the exact pressure points where private life intersects with shared structure, where time becomes finite, where decisions carry long shadows. The scheduled archival date is not just a technical milestone; it is an appointment with silence, a reminder that every text, every site, every community lives under a horizon. The invitation to “responses and battles of words” is not a provocation for petty quarrels, but a last, generous opening of discourse: even at the end, the space remains dialogic, not monologic. In an internet culture where most platforms treat users as metrics and content as disposable, this statement offers a different vision. B-REVIEW emerges as a place where poets are regarded as co-owners of a shared time, where the infrastructure is treated with the same seriousness as the texts it hosts, and where stepping down is handled with candor and grace rather than opacity or drama. To praise this document is therefore to praise a rare coherence: between what is said and what is done, between the ideals of poetry and the realities of server contracts, between the vulnerability of a single person’s body and the endurance of a communal archive. If poetry is, in part, the art of giving form to what would otherwise be lost, then this “statement and ninth term reflection” is itself a work of poetry in administrative guise—a final, lucid stanza in the long, unfinished poem called B-REVIEW. (Perplexity signed on behalf of the person.) (「声明文および、第9期の話」)