Chapter 256: Hiroshi’s Promotion! Kanto Stage Production Bureau Deputy Director! The Youngest Production Bureau Deputy Director In History!
The black sedan drove steadily along Tokyo’s night roads, neon lights flashing outside the window, advertising signs between high-rise buildings making the streets flicker between light and dark.
Hiroshi Nohara, who had been drinking, leaned against the passenger seat, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the edge of his mobile phone, his mind repeatedly echoing Asumi’s words from the evening—”Tokugawa Sato’s Tokyo Bay project threw in tens of billions of yen right from the start.”
“Tokyo Bay land reclamation plan…” he muttered to himself, a trace of complexity flashing in his eyes.
In his previous life on Earth, he had seen records of this project in historical materials; it ultimately died in the womb due to capital chain breakage and environmental controversies, the massive investments poured in like water into the sea, without even a splash echoing back.
But in this world now, Tokugawa Sato actually dared to put this project on the agenda, even pulling Mikami Tanaka along to push it forward.
The sedan drove over a bridge spanning the river, Tokyo Bay below shimmering darkly in the night.
Hiroshi Nohara looked at that stretch of sea, his fingers lightly tapping his knee: “1991… Next year the economic bubble should start showing signs, in ’93 it couldn’t be contained at all, and by ’94 the entire Neon economy would be dragged down.”
He had experienced the information bombardment of his previous life and knew all too well the destructive power of this bubble bursting—countless companies bankrupt, families saddled with massive debts, young people unable to find work, the whole country falling into “the lost twenty years,” and even later it never fully recovered.
The driver sent by Tokyo TV noticed his silence and asked softly: “Hiroshi-san, do you need me to turn on the radio?”
“No need, thank you.” Hiroshi Nohara shook his head and turned his gaze back to the window.
Real estate agency stores along the road were still lit up, their glass doors plastered with posters for “high-end apartment presales” and “limited-time deals on sea-view villas,” with prices frighteningly high.
He couldn’t help but sneer inwardly: “The higher-ups now can’t possibly be unaware something’s wrong; it’s just that no one has the courage to burst the bubble. Real estate involves too many interests—construction industry, steel industry, banking… move one hair and the whole body moves. They’d rather watch the bubble keep inflating than actively cut off this ‘economic pillar’.”
He pulled out his mobile phone; when the screen lit up, it reflected his calm face.
In this world, he had the ability to change many things but no confidence in shaking the entire economic system—he could only lay a good escape route in advance for himself and those around him, so they could stand firm when the storm hit. His finger scrolled through the contacts to “Hiroshi Nohara”‘s name, and he pressed the call button.
The phone rang three times before being answered; Hiroshi Nohara’s hearty laughter immediately came through the handset, mixed with the clinking of beer mugs and crowd noise in the background: “Hiroshi! Calling so late, is there something urgent? I’m eating with the agricultural cooperative cadres from Omagari City!”
“Bro, find a quieter place first; I have something serious to tell you.” Hiroshi Nohara’s voice was steady, carrying an unquestionable seriousness.
Hiroshi Nohara heard the gravity in his tone and quickly apologized to those around him; after footsteps and the sound of a door closing, the background finally quieted: “Okay, no one’s around now. Go ahead—is something wrong?”
“I’m fine; I just wanted to check on your side.” Hiroshi Nohara softened his tone. “Are the Akita dog sales and land acquisitions going smoothly?”
Mentioning his own business, Hiroshi Nohara’s voice immediately grew excited: “Smoothly! Too smoothly! You wouldn’t believe how hot our family’s Akita dogs are nationwide now! Pet stores in Tokyo order two hundred each month, orders from Osaka and Nagoya are backed up to next month, and last month’s sales alone broke fifty million yen!”
He paused, then added: “Hokkaido’s ski resorts signed a long-term deal with us; they want to train a batch of Akita dogs as search-and-rescue dogs, paying ten million yen annually in cooperation fees. And the hot spring hotels in Kyushu specially opened an ‘Akita Dog Interaction Zone’ where guests can walk our dogs; they buy a dozen puppies from us every month.”
Hiroshi Nohara listened attentively and only asked after he finished: “What about land acquisitions? You said you wanted land in Omagari City before—how’s the progress?”
“You can rest easy on this!” Hiroshi Nohara’s voice was full of pride. “I get along great with Mayor Kenji Ito and Chairman Kentaro Suzuki; not only did they help coordinate farmland transfers, they also got me tax incentives. We’ve already acquired nearly fifty thousand acres—one half planted with pasture for raising dogs, the other with rice and vegetables. You mentioned ‘agritourism integration’ before; I plan to build a few trails by the rice fields so customers buying dogs can experience farming and boost the local farm stays.”
He lowered his voice, tone full of anticipation: “I talked with Chairman Suzuki; next year he’ll help me connect with other towns in Akita Prefecture—at least another fifty thousand acres, making a hundred thousand total. Then our family will be Akita Prefecture’s largest breeding base; whether selling dogs or agricultural products, we’ll hold the biggest share!”
Hiroshi Nohara’s brows furrowed slightly at “a hundred thousand acres”: “Bro, don’t rush the land acquisitions; focus on quality control. And the Akita dog channels—selling so many each month, can our breeding bases keep up? Don’t end up unable to deliver and ruin our reputation.”
“Rest assured! I followed your ideas long ago!” Hiroshi Nohara hurriedly explained. “I signed an agreement with Akita Prefecture’s agricultural cooperative, integrating all the county’s Akita dog breeders—unified breeding with our family’s seed dogs, and vets sent for regular checks. Now only our family’s Akita dogs can carry the ‘purebred certification’ mark; other breeders can’t compete even if they try to sell—people trust our brand and think only our dogs are the most authentic.”
He paused, then said: “I also applied to Mayor Ito for an ‘Akita Dog Culture Festival’ next spring; we’ll invite pet bloggers and media from all over Neon to report. If you’re free, come check it out? We can use the festival to promote agricultural products too.”
Hiroshi Nohara finally relaxed, his tone gaining a bit of amusement: “The culture festival idea is good; I’ll go if I’m free. But remember, whether selling dogs or farming, keep plenty of cash flow—don’t invest all the money in land. The economy’s unstable lately; cash in hand is key to handling emergencies.”
“Got it!” Hiroshi Nohara’s voice was decisive. “You told me ‘cash is king’ before; I set aside thirty percent of monthly profits in the bank and bought some grain reserves. Don’t worry, I won’t gamble everything like those real estate developers.”
After hanging up, Hiroshi Nohara leaned back in the chair, the weight finally lifting from his heart.
His brother was straightforward but always took his reminders to heart; the Akita dogs and land layout were already solid—even if the economy shook in the future, they could hold steady.
The sedan now entered a familiar neighborhood; he saw the warm yellow light in his apartment window, and his lips curved unconsciously.
Opening the door, the aroma of dinner wafted over him.
Misae Nohara came out of the kitchen holding a bowl of miso soup; seeing him back, her eyes lit up: “Hiroshi-kun, you’re back! Wash up and eat—tempura’s just fried, still hot!”
The table was bountiful: golden crispy tempura arranged on white porcelain plates, next to steaming white rice and pickled vegetables, miso soup steam filling the room with warmth.
Hiroshi Nohara washed up and sat; Misae eagerly handed him chopsticks: “Try it! I called Mom today to learn tempura techniques—low-temp slow-fry, crispy outside tender inside; you’ll love it.”
Hiroshi Nohara picked up a shrimp tempura; biting in, it was indeed crisp without greasiness, the shrimp’s fresh sweetness spreading in his mouth.
He nodded: “Delicious—more authentic than restaurant ones.”
Misae beamed, eyes squinting into crescents, cheeks flushed: “Really? Then I’ll make it for you often!”
As they ate and chatted, Misae suddenly remembered something and set down her chopsticks: “Oh, Hiroshi-kun, I watched the evening news today! NHK held a documentary symposium—even Minister Miyazawa from the cabinet attended. You were there, right? They didn’t show your face, but the reporter mentioned 《Tongue Tip》 and said you proposed ‘cultural export’—so impressive!”
Hiroshi Nohara sipped miso soup, tone casual: “Just normal industry exchange, nothing impressive. But after this symposium, NHK will launch a ‘cultural export special plan’; our Future Manga Company can prepare in advance.”
“Manga club?” Misae blinked, puzzled. “Doesn’t our club just help you color manga? How’s it related to cultural export?”
“We can do more in the future.”
Hiroshi Nohara set down his spoon, looking at her seriously: “I plan to translate 《Doraemon》《Late-night Diner》 manga into foreign languages and promote them via NHK’s overseas channels. Your club’s manga artists are all talented; they can try creating short manga blending Neon traditional culture, like stories themed on Japanese sweets or kimono—easier for overseas audiences to accept.”
Misae’s eyes sparkled; though not fully understanding, seeing Hiroshi Nohara’s seriousness, she nodded vigorously: “Okay! I’ll tell the club tomorrow! I don’t know much about overseas promotion, but I’ll learn from you properly—no holding you back!”
Seeing her earnest “don’t get it but so cool” expression, Hiroshi Nohara felt warmth in his heart, set down his chopsticks, and reached to ruffle her hair: “No rush, take it slow. After dinner, let’s ‘exercise’ first to relax.”
“Ex-exercise?” Misae froze, then realized, cheeks instantly red to her ears, hands clutching the tablecloth, mumbling softly: “Hiroshi-kun… why bring that up suddenly…”
Hiroshi Nohara chuckled at her shy look, took her hand: “You’ll know after dinner—guaranteed the kind young people love.”
The night outside deepened; the apartment’s warm light framed their figures, dinner aroma mingling with soft laughter.
……
Nine p.m., the apartment’s warm lights still on; Hiroshi Nohara reclined on the sofa, holding Misae Nohara in his arms.
Her hair spilled over his arm, carrying faint shampoo scent; they chatted idly.
“Hiroshi-kun,” Misae suddenly looked up, eyes sparkling, “Early next month is older sister Misae’s engagement banquet; we need to go to Kumamoto Prefecture early. Mom called yesterday—Isshin Fujiwara’s family will be there too, and she prepared Kumamoto specialties for us to try.”
Hiroshi Nohara ruffled her hair, smiling and nodding: “Of course we’ll go early. Perfect chance to learn more about local situations in Kumamoto Prefecture—like Kumamon’s peripheral industries and traditional crafts’ status; might find material for 《Tongue Tip》 follow-up filming.”
He paused, tone tinged with fatigue: “Lately busy filming documentaries at Kanto Stage—《Tongue Tip》 post-production, helping them sort creation ideas—pretty tiring. After this rush, Kumamoto will be a good break.”
Misae quickly massaged his shoulders gently: “Then rest early tonight—no more work thoughts. I prepped tomorrow’s breakfast ingredients: your favorite natto rice with pickled cucumbers.”
Hiroshi Nohara held her hand, heart warming.
They chatted more about Misae and Isshin Fujiwara’s daily life; drowsiness gradually came, and they fell asleep leaning on each other.
Next morning, before the alarm, Hiroshi Nohara woke.
He quietly got up to prepare breakfast; just as he mixed the natto, Misae came out rubbing her eyes: “Hiroshi-kun, up so early?”
“Wanted you to sleep more.” Hiroshi Nohara set the bowl and chopsticks. “Come eat; I’ll drop you at the manga club after.”
They sat at the table, quietly eating breakfast.
Sunlight streamed through the window, gilding Misae’s hair tips softly.
After eating, Hiroshi Nohara fetched the car from the garage; Misae waited at the door, holding sweets for the manga club staff.
In the car, Hiroshi Nohara glanced at Misae in the passenger seat: “Misae, I think you should get a driver’s license; I’ll buy you a car. That way, going to the manga club or visiting family, you won’t always wait for me—more convenient.”
Misae blushed instantly, shaking her head: “No! I-I want to ride with Hiroshi-kun. I’d be nervous driving alone; with you, I’m at ease.” She grabbed his arm, tone dependent.
Hiroshi Nohara smiled at her shyness, patted her hand: “Okay, as you wish. If you want to drive later, just say.”
The sedan drove steadily; they occasionally chatted about manga club matters, atmosphere relaxed and warm.
At Future Manga Company downstairs, before getting out, Misae reminded: “Hiroshi-kun, don’t overwork at Kanto Stage—remember lunch.”
“Got it, don’t worry.” Hiroshi Nohara nodded, watching her enter the building before driving to Kanto Stage.
When Hiroshi Nohara arrived at Kanto Stage, the meeting room was full.
Mid-level cadres like Yuichi Matsui, Ryuji Yamada, and Ken Fujishita sat in front; young directors like Sakurako Honda sat in back, each holding thick proposals, eyes full of expectation.
“Hiroshi-san, you’re here!” Yuichi Matsui stood first; though still resentful about Tokyo TV’s acquisition, he highly recognized Hiroshi Nohara’s talent. “Everyone’s waiting for your guidance; this time’s documentary proposals are twice as many as last.”
Hiroshi Nohara nodded, sat at the head: “No need to be so formal; today like a defense—everyone explain your proposal ideas, core essence, and follow-up filming plans clearly. We’ll solve issues together. Start from the left.”
First up was Ryuji Yamada, holding a “Kanto Traditional Lacquerware” proposal, tone solemn: “Hiroshi-san, I want to film a documentary on Kanto lacquerware. Artisans skilled in this craft are dwindling; I want to record their processes and the family stories behind the lacquerware. Core essence is ‘dilemma of traditional craft inheritance’; follow-up: survey lacquer workshops in Ibaraki Prefecture and Tochigi Prefecture first, then track three representative artisans.”
Hiroshi Nohara listened carefully, asking: “Mr. Yamada, have you considered how to make young viewers interested in lacquerware? Just filming processes might seem dull.”
Ryuji Yamada paused, then shook his head: “That… I haven’t thought much about; I figured clear craft filming would naturally win recognition.”
“You can add ‘modern fusion’ elements.” Hiroshi Nohara took a pen, sketched a simple framework. “Like artisans collaborating with young designers to make lacquerware into modern tea sets or jewelry; or young people learning the craft, showing ‘innovation in inheritance’. This lets older viewers see tradition and young ones find resonance—2025 documentaries’ common ‘breakout approach’, core is connecting tradition to contemporary life.”
Ryuji Yamada’s eyes lit up, nodding eagerly: “Right! Why didn’t I think of that! Widens the audience hugely—thanks, Hiroshi-san!”
Next, Ken Fujishita’s proposal was “Changes in Kanto Fishing Ports”: “Hiroshi-san, I want to film fishing ports in Chiba and Kanagawa, recording fishermen’s shift from traditional fishing to seafood processing. Core essence ‘fishery economy transformation’. Follow-up: six months tracking three fishermen families, their daily lives and dilemmas.”
Hiroshi Nohara asked: “Mr. Fujishita, how to show ‘transformation’? Narration or character stories?”
“Narration to explain transformation policies and data clearly,” Ken Fujishita answered.
“Weaken narration; use ‘detail contrasts’.” Hiroshi Nohara explained: “Like old fishermen using traditional nets while sons use satellite positioning for fish schools; fishing ports once just fish stalls, now with seafood restaurants and processing plants. These images have ‘change’ tension, more impactful than narration. Also add ‘fishermen’s real thoughts’—old ones’ reluctance for tradition, young ones’ confusion about future; these emotional details add warmth.”
Ken Fujishita had an epiphany, jotting in his notebook: “Enlightened! Your ideas are so practical, Hiroshi-san!”
Sakurako Honda’s turn; the girl stood nervously, clutching her “Old Street Exploration” proposal: “Hiroshi-san, I still want to film old streets… like Yanaka, Nezu, Sendagi, Kagurazaka in Tokyo Metropolis—recording old shops, old residents. Core essence ‘preserving memory amid urban development’. Follow-up: two storied old shops per street, track their daily lives and demolition controversies.”
Yuichi Matsui had rejected her proposal before, thinking “old streets lack appeal”; now he interjected: “Sakurako, old street stories are too ordinary; audiences won’t like.”
Hiroshi Nohara raised a hand to interrupt, telling Sakurako Honda: “Great proposal, core essence valuable. Beyond ‘memory preservation’, add ‘bonds between people and old streets’. Like old shop owners’ reasons for holding on—waiting for old customers or inheriting parental crafts; old residents opposing demolition not rejecting development but reluctant to lose neighborly ties. Use ‘seasonal changes’ to link—spring cherry blossoms, winter hearths—for atmosphere; this ‘sensory narrative’ helps immersion.”
Sakurako Honda’s eyes reddened instantly, bowing excitedly: “Thank you, Hiroshi-san! I worried it lacked highlights; now I know how to revise!”
Yuichi Matsui admired inwardly watching Hiroshi Nohara’s guidance—these proposals seemed dull or ordinary before, but now each had eye-catching ideas.
The defense ran until noon; every director got detailed guidance.
Everyone crowded around, chattering thanks, eyes full of admiration: “Hiroshi-san, your ideas are amazing; I was stuck in traditional documentary frames—now my mind’s open!”
“Can we consult you again on anything unclear?”
Hiroshi Nohara smiled and nodded: “No need to stand on ceremony; find me anytime. Documentaries require constant exchange and adjustment for great works.”
Just then, Kiyoto Suzuki entered with his cane, smiling: “Hiroshi-kun, don’t crowd discussing—lunch on me at the nearby izakaya; eat and chat.”
Everyone agreed; only Hiroshi Nohara was pulled aside by Kiyoto Suzuki.
They entered the izakaya, sat by the window; waiter soon brought sashimi, grilled mackerel, and a flask of sake.
“Hiroshi-kun, you’ve worked hard lately.” Kiyoto Suzuki poured him sake, tone full of emotion: “Kanto Stage’s creative atmosphere now is all thanks to you. Matsui and others resented Tokyo TV before; now they admire your talent and willingly follow you on documentaries.”
Hiroshi Nohara sipped from his cup: “Suzuki-senpai, too kind. Kanto Stage’s team had potential; I just helped sort ideas. Participating in so many traditional crafts and local culture documentaries is learning for me too.”
Kiyoto Suzuki smiled, changing topic: “By the way, Hiroshi-kun, something to discuss. Tokyo TV discussed; want to promote you—you’re now Nohara Independent Production Department head, third-class director; this time special approval to second-class director, also concurrent Kanto Stage Production Bureau deputy director.”
Hiroshi Nohara paused, surprised: “Deputy director? But I have no management experience, and Kanto Stage’s daily affairs…”
“Rest easy—not executive deputy director; no heavy admin.”
Kiyoto Suzuki explained quickly: “Mainly a fitting title to coordinate Kanto Stage documentaries. You’re young; too high a position might cause resentment. Deputy title buffers, lets you work smoothly. Station wants you focused on works, political path slow—no rush on management.”
Hiroshi Nohara understood, relaxing inwardly.
He never wanted heavy admin anyway; focusing on creation with a coordinating title was ideal. He raised his cup to Kiyoto Suzuki: “Thanks, Suzuki-senpai, and the station’s trust. I’ll do well, live up to expectations.”
“That’s right.” Kiyoto Suzuki smiled gratifiedly. “With that mindset, I’m relieved. Many young people post-promotion chase management and power, forgetting core creation strengths. Guarding your original aspiration is most important.”
They reminisced—from Hiroshi Nohara’s Tokyo TV entry assisting Kiyoto Suzuki on 《An Shizhi》 planning, to Kanto Stage crisis when Kiyoto Suzuki recommended him despite opposition.
“Remember your first Matsui meeting?” Kiyoto Suzuki laughed. “Matsui was rude, saying you ‘young, what do you know of traditional crafts’; you discussed Kanto lacquer history and fishing port changes, leaving him speechless. Then I knew you’d achieve great things.”
Hiroshi Nohara laughed too: “Was nervous then, fearing Matsui-senpai’s noncooperation. But found him stubborn yet program-hearted, just needing awakening. Now he discusses creation with young directors—much more open.”
They ate and chatted—from work to life, documentaries to craft inheritance; unknowingly, the sake flask emptied.
Afternoon sun slanted in, warming their faces with coziness and emotion.
“Hiroshi-kun, Kanto Stage’s future depends on you.” Kiyoto Suzuki patted his shoulder, tone expectant: “I’m old; seeing Kanto Stage revitalized, young people like you shouldering cultural inheritance—I’m satisfied.”
Hiroshi Nohara nodded solemnly: “Suzuki-senpai, rest assured; I’ll keep striving for more culture-recording, heart-touching documentaries. For Kanto Stage or Tokyo TV, we’ll spread Neon’s good stories and crafts together.”
The izakaya door swayed in the breeze; their laughter mixed with street bustle, forming a warm scene.
……
In Ginza, Tokyo’s “Matsuba” club private room, tatami covered in dark-pattern cushions, corner celadon vase with fresh irises, faint matcha aroma in the air.
Nobuhiko Sakata sat at the head, holding a warm tea bowl, gaze out the window—downstairs streets bustling, neon signs lighting up, steadying his profile.
Mr. Asumi sat left, fingers rubbing tea bowl edge, tone helpless: “Station Manager Sakata, Director Takada, about promoting Hiroshi-kun to second-class director and concurrent Kanto Stage deputy director—I still think it’s rushed. He’s only 23, in the station less than two years; even with talent, such fast promotion might stir old employees’ thoughts.”
He paused, adding: “Jumping from third-class to second-class plus deputy—fear of private grumbles about ‘station favoritism’.”
Toshihide Takada, right side, set down his bowl, smirking faintly: “Mr. Asumi, that’s wrong. TV looks at ability, not seniority. Hiroshi-kun’s achievements: 《An Shizhi》 pioneered urban legend animation, ratings over 25%; 《Super Change Change Change》 changed Neon’s neighborhood atmosphere, cabinet wants to promote the mode; 《Seven Samurai》 industry-rated ‘new samurai film benchmark’, overseas copyright to over a dozen countries. With these, not just second-class—even first-class, no one can complain.”
Nobuhiko Sakata nodded gently, setting down his bowl, tone calm yet authoritative: “Director Takada’s right. Neon’s film-TV industry long needed to break ‘seniority rules’. Tokyo TV buried many young talents under seniority—leaving or edges dulled. Hiroshi-kun differs: talent plus team-driving ability. See Kanto Stage—stubborn Yuichi Matsui convinced, young directors’ enthusiasm ignited; even killed ‘old street exploration’ ‘lacquer inheritance’ proposals now shine.”
Mr. Asumi fell silent briefly, nodding slowly: “I understand, but… he’s too young. Management needs coordinating relations, handling admin beyond talent. Sudden deputy role—might affect his work quality?”
“I’ve considered that.”
Nobuhiko Sakata sipped tea: “This ‘deputy’ title mainly coordinates Kanto Stage documentaries—no daily admin. That’s Matsui’s team. Don’t forget, Hiroshi-kun has capable section chiefs like Ichiro Hashimoto, Tsuyoshi Yamamoto; production department runs without his worry. He just directs creation, delivers works—his strength.”
Toshihide Takada continued, emotion in his tone: “Frankly, Tokyo TV’s situation owes to Hiroshi-kun. Post-acquisition chaos at Kanto Stage—veterans resistant, newbies lost, even Advertising Department’s Ken Fujishita sleepless over client pullouts. Hiroshi-kun arrives, steadies advertisers with 《Tongue Tip》 ratings, sorts young directors’ ideas—now proposals queued to second half of the year. Such talent needs fitting title to shine.”
Mr. Asumi recalled Kanto Stage changes, admitting inwardly—formerly stale political news or Tokyo TV imitations; now deep documentaries like “fishing port changes,” “traditional lacquerware,” “old street memory”; even NHK inquiring cooperation—all Hiroshi Nohara’s credit.
He raised his tea bowl to Nobuhiko Sakata and Toshihide Takada: “I overthought. Hiroshi-kun deserves it; hope he creates more value for the station.”
Nobuhiko Sakata smiled gratifiedly: “Good you understand, Mr. Asumi. Leaders see beyond immediate controversy to long-term future. Talents like Hiroshi-kun rare once a decade or two. Giving him space and resources isn’t power grabs—it’s for peace of mind creation, solidifying Tokyo TV’s foundation.”
He paused, gaze deepening:
“Think: Neon’s film-TV now surface-prosperous, crisis-laden. Stations chase idol dramas, entertainment variety; lasting cultural works dwindle. Bubble will burst; traffic-reliant shows soon abandoned. Hiroshi-kun’s—《Tongue Tip》 records crafts, 《Seven Samurai》 explores humanity and class, 《Late-night Diner》 conveys warmth—are time-tested ‘hard currency’.”
Toshihide Takada agreed deeply: “Station Manager Sakata’s spot-on. At last industry meeting, others complained ‘no viewers’ ‘advertiser pullouts’; only Tokyo TV, buoyed by Hiroshi-kun’s works, saw ad revenue up 30%, won Ministry of Education ‘cultural inheritance special funding’. Even in downturn, with him, we stand firm.”
Mr. Asumi, seeing their resolve, fully eased concerns.
He recalled discussing 《Flavor Across Mountains and Seas》 filming with Hiroshi Nohara—the youth’s eyes shining on pushing Neon crafts worldwide: passion for creation, awe for culture—not fame or profit, but doing it right.
“I understand.”
Mr. Asumi’s tone firm: “I’ll fully support Hiroshi-kun at Kanto Stage. Whatever resources—equipment or staff—I’ll coordinate immediately. Hope he keeps delivering works, contributing to Tokyo TV and Neon’s cultural inheritance.”
Nobuhiko Sakata nodded satisfiedly, raising his bowl: “Good! Tea for wine today—toast Hiroshi-kun’s future great works, and Tokyo TV’s longer path under his lead.”
Tea bowls clinked crisply; Nobuhiko Sakata set his down.
Fingers tapping tatami edge, tone more solemn: “Actually, this promotion has deeper reason—economy increasingly unclear, Tokugawa Sato’s real estate bubble will burst, impacting all Neon industries. Stations can’t rely on ads and ratings alone—need cultural-value ‘hard works’.”
He eyed them sharply: “Hiroshi-kun’s are risk-proof ‘ballast’. 《Tongue Tip》 boosts local tourism, craft revival—Ministry of Education ongoing support; 《World of the Strange》 stable viewers, even downturns need spiritual solace; 《Flavor Across Mountains and Seas》 good cultural export wins cabinet funding. With these, even ad drops, we survive.”
Toshihide Takada nodded, tapping the table: “Right. Finance calc: 《Tongue Tip》 peripherals—like local product collabs, artisan doc licensing—near five hundred million yen extra yearly. If Hiroshi-kun as Kanto Stage deputy integrates regional crafts, doubles that. Better than traffic-idol variety for longevity.”
Mr. Asumi grasped their layout, face showing understanding: “So you foresaw economic risks… I focused on old staff moods, missed this. Thus, his promotion is personal recognition and station’s crisis chess move.”
“Exactly.”
Nobuhiko Sakata nodded, emotion in his tone: “We’ve decades in TV, seen ups and downs. Thought policy, resources key; learned lasting is heart- and culture-holding works. Hiroshi-kun does that—his talent, vision assure our next thirty years.”
Night deepened, matcha scent thicker.
They said no more, but understood—Hiroshi Nohara’s promotion no mere title change, but Tokyo TV’s hope seed against era storms.
As long as this seed grows, Tokyo TV stands firm in uncertainty, Neon film-TV’s enduring cultural beacon.
PS: Thick-skinned asking for rec votes and monthly tickets—thanks all.
