Chapter 253: Information Cocoon Deployed! Hiroshi Nohara Helps Yoshihiro Shimazu Run For Tokyo Mayor!
In mid-November Tokyo, whether at the end credits of Super Change Change Change, during advertising slots in the midday news, or on TV screens in subway cars, Yoshihiro Shimazu’s campaign commercials were everywhere.
From TV stations and radio channels under Tokyo Broadcasting System Holdings to outdoor advertising screens, and even local channels in Chiba and Gunma, these heartwarming scenes covering everyday life were ubiquitous.
In a promotional segment targeting office workers, the camera first focused on Ken Momokawa kneading soba noodles in a noodle shop, a scene reminiscent of “A Bite of China.”
Flour cascaded through his palms. The scene then shifted to Yoshihiro Shimazu, dressed in casual clothes, standing by the shop, holding a steaming bowl of soba noodles. He spoke gently to the camera: “It is a blessing for Japan that young people are willing to return to their hometowns to pass on traditional crafts. If elected, I will provide a three-year tax exemption for those returning to start businesses, so everyone can do what they love without worrying about making a living.”
The background sounds subtly included the “gurgling” of soba noodles being cooked from “A Bite of China,” familiar and comforting.
The segment for housewives was even warmer.
The scene transitioned from a humorous scene in “Super Change Change Change” where a family of three cooperates in a “Japanese confectionery costume change” to a community park. Yoshihiro Shimazu was squatting on the ground, adjusting a child’s kite string, while several housewives chatted on a nearby bench.
He walked over and sat down, smiling, “In the future, each community will have a ‘Parent-Child Culture Center’ where Japanese confectionery masters and bakers will teach sweets making. There will also be free picture book readings on weekends, so mothers can have fun with their children without traveling far.”
The camera panned across the smiles on the housewives’ faces, finally focusing on a poster at the park entrance advertising the “Community Culture Festival.” A small Kumamon illustration was printed at the bottom – it was a design Sakurako had specifically created, adding a touch of cuteness to the scene.
For the segment targeting traditional craftspeople, Sumie Yamada’s “Chiwado” became a key location.
Yoshihiro Shimazu sat at a wooden table in the shop, holding a freshly made sakuramochi. He listened as Sumie Yamada said, “These days, young people come every day asking if they can learn to make Japanese confections, but my small shop can’t accommodate so many people.”
He immediately responded, “I plan to establish ‘Traditional Craft Workshops’ in each district, providing free space and equipment. We will also invite master craftsmen like Mr. Yamada to teach, ensuring that these skills can be passed down and that master craftsmen can earn extra income.”
The camera finally focused on the workshop’s design blueprint, with a sticky note attached. On it were small handwritten words by Hiroshi Nohara: “Prioritize craftsmen from shops operating for over thirty years.” The details showed meticulous care.
“The density of information cocoons is already high enough,” said Asumi, standing in front of the production department’s monitoring screen, looking at the broadcast data coming in from various regions, to Toshihide Takada next to him. “Yesterday’s opinion poll shows that Senior Shimazu’s support rate has increased by another 3 percentage points, reaching 49%. He is only 2 percentage points behind Mikami Tanaka.”
Toshihide Takada, holding a list of advertising placements, couldn’t help but smile. “This is all thanks to Hiroshi-kun. If we had used the old methods, making a scattershot of slogan-shouting videos, we would never have achieved such good results. Now, each segment caters to specific groups, showing content they care about, so naturally, they are willing to support him.”
As they were speaking, Hiroshi Nohara entered, carrying a stack of scripts, followed by Ichiro Hashishita, who was holding a sample of the recently edited short animated film “Doraemon” for flu prevention.
“Mr. Asumi, Director Takada, please take a look at this,” Hiroshi Nohara placed the scripts on the desk. “These are the scripts for the ‘Winter Flu Prevention’ student version to be released next week, along with the animated sample edited by Section Chief Hashishita. If there are no issues, we can submit them for review.”
Ichiro Hashishita quickly inserted the sample into the player. Nobita and Doraemon immediately appeared on the screen. Doraemon pulled out a “hand-washing reminder bracelet” from his fourth-dimensional pocket. After Nobita put it on, every time he forgot to wash his hands, the bracelet would emit a “ding-ling” sound and play a short animation of hand-washing steps. At the end, Nobita and his classmates raised their bracelets and said in unison, “Wash hands frequently, wear a mask, and keep the flu away from me!”
“Well done,” Asumi nodded with satisfaction after watching. “The pacing of the animation is just right; children can follow along and remember the key points. Hiroshi-kun, the ‘bracelet reminder’ detail you added to the script is much more effective than simple lecturing.”
Hiroshi Nohara smiled, “It’s mainly thanks to Section Chief Hashishita’s animation team. They did a great job portraying Nobita’s mischievousness and Doraemon’s thoughtfulness. Oh, and the promotional short video for ‘flu prevention’ by Xiang Shuishang is also ready. It will be sent over this afternoon, and we can show it to Governor Koike for review then.”
…
At two in the afternoon, the small meeting room in the Tokyo TV production department was packed.
Over twenty young directors were squeezed into chairs, with several people standing by the door. Each person held a notebook and pen, their eyes fixed on Hiroshi Nohara, who sat in the main seat. In front of him was a cup of freshly brewed green tea, its faint steam softening his calm profile.
“Don’t be nervous, just ask any questions you have,” Hiroshi Nohara took a sip of his tea, his tone peaceful. “Today isn’t a formal meeting; I just want to chat with you all about how to find creative inspiration in everyday life and how to pinpoint what the audience likes.”
As soon as he finished speaking, Sakurako Honda, a young director from Kanto TV sitting in the front row, raised her hand, her face showing a mixture of nervousness and anticipation. “Mr. Nohara, I’d like to ask you how you decided on the direction of ‘traditional crafts’ when filming ‘A Bite of China’? I was thinking of doing a ‘old street exploration’ program, but I was always worried the audience would find it boring. I don’t know how to find the ‘sparkling points’.”
Hiroshi Nohara looked at her, his eyes encouraging. “Sakurako-chan, first, you need to understand that it’s not the ‘old street’ that’s boring, but an ‘old street without a story’ that’s boring. The reason we decided on the ‘traditional crafts’ direction was because I realized many old crafts were disappearing, but the stories behind the artisans were very moving – like Mr. Sato giving up his job in Tokyo to preserve his father’s soba noodle shop; or Ms. Yamada making sakuramochi every year waiting for her daughter to return. These stories contain persistence and connection, which the audience can empathize with.”
He paused and continued, “When you do an ‘old street exploration,’ you don’t need to cover too much. Focus on one artisan and one small story each time. For example, when filming Grandma Zhang’s sugar painting stall, don’t film her entire day’s work. Just film her giving the unsold sugar paintings to the children at the nearby kindergarten when she packs up in the evening. Then ask her, ‘Why do you always make a few extra portions?’ She might say, ‘My granddaughter used to like eating them too.’ One detail can bring an old street to life.”
Sakurako Honda scribbled furiously in her notebook, her pen tip almost tearing through the paper. “I understand! Thank you, Mr. Nohara! I was focused on filming the buildings and history of the old street, but I forgot that people are the most moving element.”
A young director wearing glasses next to her then asked, “Mr. Nohara, I’m in variety shows. I’m planning a ‘workplace experience’ program, but I don’t know how to make the audience feel involved. We previously filmed ‘celebrities experiencing being delivery drivers,’ and the audience said, ‘Celebrities don’t understand the hardships of delivery drivers; they’re just pretending.’ What do you think the problem was?”
“The problem is ‘distance’.”
Hiroshi Nohara stated frankly, “When the audience watches a ‘workplace experience,’ they don’t want to see how celebrities ‘suffer’; they want to see ‘the little-known details of ordinary people’s work lives.’ For example, with delivery drivers, you can film how they sort packages at five in the morning and remember each customer’s special requests – Mr. Zhang’s package should be left at the door’s mailbox, and Mr. Li’s requires a phone call to confirm the time. Film them heating their lunch boxes at convenience stores. Film them falling asleep on the bus after delivering the last package in the evening. These details are more powerful than the celebrities’ ‘pretending’.”
He picked up a pen and drew a simple storyboard on the paper. “You can have celebrities act as ‘observers,’ not ‘participants.’ For instance, have a celebrity follow a delivery driver for a day, not interfering with their work, but only asking questions – ‘How many kilometers do you walk each day?’ ‘What do you do when you encounter a customer complaint?’ Let the delivery driver tell their own stories. The audience will see the reality of the workplace and naturally feel involved.”
The young director suddenly understood and nodded vigorously. “So that’s how it is! I was always thinking of having celebrities take the lead, and in doing so, I overlooked the ordinary people in the workplace. Thank you, Mr. Nohara, I’ll revise the plan when I get back!”
Another director, responsible for animation, asked, “Mr. Nohara, the urban legends in ‘An Shizhi’ are very scary, but the audience says, ‘They’re frightening, but I can’t stop watching.’ How do you balance ‘terror’ and ‘resonance’? The horror animations I make, audiences always say, ‘They’re just scary, not meaningful’.”
“Because the core of ‘An Shizhi’ isn’t ‘terror,’ it’s ‘humanity’,” Hiroshi Nohara’s tone became a bit more serious. “For example, in the ‘Scarecrow’ episode, the terror isn’t the scarecrow itself, but the story of the protagonist burning his neighbor’s field for money and then being ‘punished’ by the scarecrow. The audience fears the sense of destiny of ‘retribution for evil,’ and resonates with the principle of ‘not losing one’s conscience for profit’.”
He looked at the young director. “When you create horror animation, first think about ‘what you want to convey.’ Do you want to tell ‘don’t be greedy,’ or ‘cherish your family’? Hide the moral within the scary exterior. After watching, besides being scared, what else will the audience remember? That’s how you achieve success.”
Questions filled the meeting room one after another, ranging from the camera techniques in documentaries to the pacing of variety shows, and the plot design of animations. Hiroshi Nohara answered each one.
He didn’t use complex theories but instead used actual examples from “A Bite of China,” “An Shizhi,” and “Doraemon” to make abstract creative ideas concrete and tangible.
Every young director’s notebook was filled with key points supported by case studies, and the confusion in their eyes gradually transformed into clear insight.
“Ding dong ding”
“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt everyone.”
As Hiroshi Nohara was patiently answering questions, a soft knock sounded at the meeting room door.
Oda, a young employee from the production department, hurried in and whispered in Hiroshi Nohara’s ear, “Mr. Nohara, Director Sakata is waiting for you in his office. He said it’s something important.”
Hiroshi Nohara nodded and gave a apologetic smile to the young directors in the room. “It seems today’s discussion ends here. If you have any more questions, feel free to come to my office or send me a pager message. Remember, the core of creation is ‘sincerity.’ As long as you genuinely want to tell a good story, the audience will surely feel it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Nohara!” The young directors rose one after another, bowing deeply to him, their voices filled with gratitude.
Hiroshi Nohara, holding his tea cup and scripts, walked out of the meeting room with Oda. As soon as they left, the meeting room erupted.
“Mr. Nohara is amazing! Just one example solved a problem that had been bothering me for a long time!” Sakurako Honda held her notebook, her voice full of admiration.
“More than amazing! Look at him, he’s only 23, and he can go directly to Director Sakata’s office to discuss matters. We newcomers rarely even get to enter a section chief’s office,” a young director from Tokyo TV next to her said enviously. “I’ve been working here for almost a year, and I’ve only seen Director Sakata once at the all-hands meeting. Mr. Nohara can directly coordinate work with the director; the difference is too huge.”
“That’s because Mr. Nohara has real talent!” another director retorted. “‘An Shizhi,’ ‘Seven Samurai,’ ‘A Bite of China’ – every one was a hit. Even Governor Koike personally sought him out to discuss ‘information cocoons.’ For anyone else, they wouldn’t get this kind of treatment.”
They spoke one after another, their admiration for Hiroshi Nohara clearly visible.
Some took out their notebooks and began organizing the key points Hiroshi Nohara had mentioned; others took out their pagers and carefully saved Hiroshi Nohara’s pager number, fearing they might not be able to reach him if they had questions later.
Outside the meeting room, in the corridor, several middle-aged directors were leaning against the wall. They had also heard most of what Hiroshi Nohara had said.
One of them was Masao Iwata, responsible for historical dramas. He held a cigarette but didn’t light it, his tone filled with emotion. “I used to think this kid was young and lucky, but now I know he truly understands creation. The ‘workplace experience’ program idea he just mentioned, I found it inspiring.”
Kouta Asano next to him smiled and patted his shoulder. “You’re only admitting it now? I’ve been saying for a long time that Hiroshi-kun is the ‘Ghost of Tokyo TV.’ That nickname isn’t just for show. Look at how he filmed ‘Seven Samurai,’ weaving ‘class’ and ‘humanity’ into a samurai story, even Mr. Eiji Kurosawa admired it. When he filmed ‘A Bite of China,’ he didn’t shout slogans but depicted the lives of ordinary people, yet it boosted the tourism industry. We old timers have been making films for twenty or thirty years and haven’t achieved that.”
“Exactly,” Soji Ashikaga chimed in, his tone less arrogant than before, with more respect. “I used to think historical dramas only needed elaborate costumes and props. After watching ‘Seven Samurai,’ I realized that without a good story, even the most exquisite visuals are useless. Last time I discussed scripts with Hiroshi-kun, he said, ‘People in historical dramas also need to eat, sleep, and worry about making a living.’ That sentence was an eye-opener for me. Now, in my new drama, I’ve added many details of characters cooking and sewing clothes, and the reception has been much better than before.”
The middle-aged directors spoke one after another, their words full of recognition for Hiroshi Nohara.
In their youth, they too had been ambitious, believing they understood creation and the audience. But in Hiroshi Nohara, they saw something rarer – a keen observation of life, genuine respect for the audience, and a foresight unbound by age.
“Let’s go, don’t just stand here,” Kouta Asano turned first. “Hiroshi-kun is going to see Director Sakata, so we should get back to work. Don’t just envy others; learn from his ideas and make your own films better.”
The others nodded and headed back to their respective offices.
Sunlight streamed through the windows in the corridor, falling behind them and on the notebooks of the young directors at the meeting room entrance, as if heralding that the creative future of Tokyo TV was moving in a brighter direction.
…
As Hiroshi Nohara reached the door of Nobuhiko Sakata’s office, the door was ajar, and familiar voices could be heard from inside.
He knocked lightly and, hearing Nobuhiko Sakata say “Come in,” pushed the door open.
There were more people in the office than he had expected.
Nobuhiko Sakata sat behind his desk. On the sofa beside him were Toshihide Takada and Asumi, while in the chairs on the other side sat three men in suits – they exuded a clear “campaign team” aura, holding folders, their faces serious.
“Hiroshi-kun, you’re here,” Nobuhiko Sakata put down the document he was holding and gestured to the empty seat next to him. “Please sit. Let me introduce you. These gentlemen are core members of Senior Shimazu’s campaign team, responsible for promotion strategy and public opinion research.”
Hiroshi Nohara shook hands with the three men in turn and exchanged business cards.
The man in the lead, Tetsuya Watanabe, was the head of promotion for Shimazu’s campaign team. He clasped Hiroshi Nohara’s hand and said with a sense of urgency, “Mr. Nohara, I’ve heard great things about you! We’ve asked you here today to discuss how to adjust our upcoming campaign promotion – with only a month left until the election, we want to leverage the effect of ‘information cocoons’ and give it another push to surpass Mikami Tanaka.”
Hiroshi Nohara sat down and took the opinion poll report handed to him by Tetsuya Watanabe, quickly flipping through it.
The report showed that Yoshihiro Shimazu currently led in support rates among young people and traditional craftspeople, but still trailed Mikami Tanaka by 5 percentage points among the middle-aged and elderly.
“The middle-aged and elderly groups are more concerned about ‘stability’ and ‘welfare’,” Hiroshi Nohara said calmly, putting down the report. “In our previous promotions, there was too little content targeting them, with only ‘community culture festivals’ as a focal point, which isn’t specific enough. We can film a series of segments on ‘elderly welfare,’ using scenes that are closer to their lives.”
He looked at Tetsuya Watanabe and continued, “For example, we can film a ‘nursing home visit’ segment where Senior Shimazu chats with the elderly residents, listening to them say things like ‘it’s inconvenient to see a doctor’ or ‘I want to see my children more often.’ Then, he can propose specific policies – such as increasing elderly outpatient services at community hospitals, launching a ‘family visit shuttle service,’ and delivering free health check-ups to elderly individuals living alone once a month. These policies need to be specific and make the elderly feel like they can ‘tangibly benefit’.”
Tetsuya Watanabe’s eyes lit up, and he immediately started taking notes. “This is a great idea! We’ve been shouting slogans like ‘improve elderly care’ but haven’t said specifically how to do it, so the elderly are naturally not reassured. Mr. Nohara, where do you think we should choose for filming locations?”
“We can choose nursing homes in the suburbs of Tokyo,” Hiroshi Nohara suggested. “Most of the elderly there moved from the city and are familiar with Tokyo’s situation. Their words will resonate more easily with other middle-aged and elderly viewers. When filming, include more details – like the reading glasses in the elderly residents’ hands, or the small vegetable garden in the nursing home courtyard. These details can make the visuals more realistic and warmer.”
Toshihide Takada spoke up at this point, “Hiroshi-kun, there’s another issue. Mikami Tanaka has recently been attacking Senior Shimazu in his campaign, saying he ‘only relies on TV hype and has no actual achievements.’ Should we respond?”
“No need to respond directly,” Hiroshi Nohara shook his head. “Direct refutation will make us seem guilty. We can use ‘achievement showcases’ instead of ‘refutations.’ For example, we can film a short video on ‘Senior Shimazu’s past work experience.’ Don’t show him in meetings or giving speeches. Instead, show scenes of him as a local assemblyman in Gunma helping local farmers with rice sales, and old photos of him promoting fishery port renovations in Chiba, along with interviews from locals – ‘Mr. Shimazu used to come to the fields to chat with us often,’ ‘After the fishery port renovation, our fish sold for a good price.’ Speaking with facts is more powerful than refuting.”
Asumi added, “I think we can also combine this content with ‘cultural tourism cooperation’ promotions for better results.”
As soon as Hiroshi Nohara finished speaking, Asumi immediately chimed in, his tone showing agreement. “Hiroshi-kun’s idea is feasible. Combining Senior Shimazu’s achievements with ‘cultural tourism cooperation’ can not only showcase his practical abilities but also leverage the popularity of ‘A Bite of China’ to let more people know he is genuinely working for the public. For example, when he visits Chiba Fishery Port, Mr. Masayasu Nomizu can appear and say, ‘Mr. Shimazu helped us build a new pier back then, and now our tuna can be transported to Tokyo faster, and customers get the freshest fish.’ Such words are more convincing than hollow descriptions of achievements.”
Tetsuya Watanabe nodded repeatedly, quickly jotting notes in his notebook. “Great! Let’s proceed with this plan! Mr. Nohara, Ms. Asumi, when do you think these short films can be produced? We want to release them as soon as possible while the ‘information cocoon’ effect is still strong.”
“We can have sample films within a week,” Hiroshi Nohara gave a clear timeline. “Tomorrow, I will coordinate with Mr. Nomizu and the nursing home representatives to determine the filming schedule. Filming will start the day after tomorrow, editing will be done the day after that, and it can be submitted for review next week. If approved, it can be broadcast on TV next Wednesday.”
Toshihide Takada spoke up, his tone cautious. “Filming and broadcast are fine, but we need to control the budget. The ‘winter flu prevention’ and ‘cultural tourism cooperation’ promotions have already used some of the budget. This additional funding for campaign promotion will require further communication with the Metropolitan Government.”
“Leave the budget matters to me,” Nobuhiko Sakata put down his teacup, his tone firm. “I will contact Minister Tadashi Hattori tomorrow and explain the situation. Since His Excellency Governor Koike supports Senior Shimazu, he will surely agree to the additional funding. Moreover, this promotion is not only for Senior Shimazu’s election but also for practicing the application of ‘information cocoons’ in political propaganda, which will benefit our station’s future development.”
Tetsuya Watanabe breathed a sigh of relief, a smile appearing on his face. “With Director Sakata’s word, we are at ease. Mr. Nohara, we will rely on you to oversee the upcoming filming and editing – after all, you have the most experience in designing content for ‘information cocoons’.”
“Don’t worry,” Hiroshi Nohara nodded. “I will follow through the entire process, ensuring the content adheres to the principles of ‘close to people’s lives and realistically specific,’ and will not let you down.”
For the next hour, everyone further discussed filming details – from the selection of the nursing home to the filming time at the fishery port, from the choice of interviewees to the wording of the copy, every aspect was discussed in detail.
The ideas proposed by Hiroshi Nohara, such as “focus on details, reduce slogans” and “explain policies in ordinary people’s language,” were approved by everyone.
When the discussion ended, the sky outside had gradually darkened. Everyone’s face showed a sense of confidence – they knew that this campaign promotion would achieve the desired results.
The next morning, Hiroshi Nohara led the filming team to “Sunshine Nursing Home” in the suburbs of Tokyo.
The nursing home’s director was an elderly woman with gray hair named Yuki Sato. Upon hearing that they were filming Yoshihiro Shimazu’s campaign promotion and that it could help the nursing home secure more benefits, she immediately cooperated enthusiastically.
At the filming site, Hiroshi Nohara did not ask Yoshihiro Shimazu to pose deliberately but had him interact with the elderly residents as usual, chatting, playing chess, and basking in the sun.
In the footage, Yoshihiro Shimazu sat on a bench under a tree, chatting with an old woman named Haru Suzuki. The old woman held his hand and sighed, “My son works in Osaka and only comes back once every six months. Whenever I miss him, I can only call his landline, but my hearing isn’t good, and I can never hear him clearly.”
Yoshihiro Shimazu held the old woman’s hand and said gently, “Suzuki-san, please don’t worry. If I am elected, I will set up ‘video visitation rooms’ in every community, providing free computers and internet access. If you miss your son, you can video chat with him anytime, and there will be staff to help you operate it, so you don’t have to worry.”
The old woman’s eyes instantly lit up, and she tightly grasped Yoshihiro Shimazu’s hand. “Really? That would be wonderful! If I can see my son often, I won’t have to worry about him every day.”
The camera quietly captured this scene – the wrinkles around the old woman’s eyes were full of smiles, Yoshihiro Shimazu’s gaze was full of sincerity, and the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a warm and moving picture.
Hiroshi Nohara stood beside the camera and softly said to Shigeru Saito, who was responsible for the filming, “Shoot this scene multiple times. Focus on capturing the changes in the old woman’s expression, and the strength with which Senior Shimazu held her hand. These details are the most moving.”
In the afternoon, the filming team rushed to Chiba Fishery Port.
Masayasu Nomizu was already waiting at the wharf. He wore fishing trousers stained with seawater and held a freshly caught tuna. Seeing Yoshihiro Shimazu, he immediately smiled and walked up to him, “Shimazu-san, you’re finally here! The pier you helped us build back then is very useful now. It used to take two hours to unload the fish, but now it only takes half an hour, and we get a good price for our fish!”
Yoshihiro Shimazu walked to the edge of the pier and looked at the busy fishermen, his tone filled with emotion. “Seeing how hard you worked unloading fish back then, I knew I had to help you build a better pier. I’m happy to see you all living better lives now.”
Hiroshi Nohara had the camera follow their footsteps, from the pier to the fishing boats, filming the fishermen unloading fish and the tuna auction.
In the shots, the smiles on the fishermen’s faces, the luster of the tuna, and the neat fishing boats along the pier all served as the best “proof of achievement.”
When Masayasu Nomizu said to the camera, “Mr. Shimazu truly cares about us fishermen; we all support him,” the fishermen beside him nodded in agreement, their voices full of sincerity.
Over the next few days, the filming team worked tirelessly to complete the editing and voice-over.
Hiroshi Nohara personally controlled the rhythm of every shot and the wording of every piece of copy – for instance, in the elderly welfare segments, the copy did not use official language like “perfecting the elderly care system” but used straightforward expressions like “allowing every elderly person to see their children anytime and not have to travel far for medical treatment.” In the fishery port segments, the copy did not mention “promoting fishery development” but used relatable phrases like “allowing fishermen to sell their fish faster and earn more money.”
A week later, when these two promotional short films were presented to Nobuhiko Sakata and Yoshihiro Shimazu, they couldn’t help but praise them.
Nobuhiko Sakata looked at the images on the screen and smiled, “Hiroshi-kun, you’ve created another miracle! These short films have no empty slogans, yet they clearly convey Senior Shimazu’s achievements and policies. They are more effective than any campaign speech.”
Yoshihiro Shimazu was even more moved, patting Hiroshi Nohara on the shoulder. “Hiroshi-kun, thank you! These short films were shot so realistically. Seeing Grandma Suzuki’s smile and the support from Mr. Nomizu and the others gives me even more confidence to win this election!”
That afternoon, these two promotional short films began to be broadcast on Tokyo TV’s various channels, subway advertising screens, and radio stations.
The density of information cocoons increased again. From morning news to evening variety shows, from the commute of office workers to the housework time of housewives, almost every Tokyo citizen could see these warm and realistic scenes.
“Did you see Mr. Shimazu’s new promotional short films? The one about the nursing home, it was so moving!”
At the entrance of a convenience store in Shinjuku, Tokyo, a housewife named Ryoko Tanaka, wearing an apron, was chatting with her neighbor, holding a carton of milk she had just bought. “That Grandma Suzuki said she misses her son, and Mr. Shimazu said he would open video visitation rooms and provide computers for free. How thoughtful! Unlike Mikami Tanaka, who only says ‘we need to improve elderly care’ without specifying how.”
The neighbor, Miho Yamamoto, nodded repeatedly. “I saw it too! And the one from Chiba Fishery Port. Mr. Nomizu said Mr. Shimazu helped them build a pier back then, and now unloading fish is much faster, and the fishermen all support him. Do you think if Mr. Shimazu is elected, our lives will get better?”
“Definitely!” Ryoko Tanaka put down the milk, her voice full of expectation. “Look at the ‘subsidy for returning to hometown to start a business’ and ‘traditional craft workshops’ he proposed earlier; they are all genuinely good things. My son works as a programmer in Tokyo and always says he’s under a lot of pressure. He wants to go back home and open a small convenience store. If there’s a subsidy, maybe he really can go back!”
Just then, an office worker named Ken Momokawa, wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase, hurried past. Hearing their conversation, he stopped and joined in. “I also think Mr. Shimazu is good. I saw his promotional short film on the subway yesterday, saying he wants to increase elderly outpatient services at community hospitals. My mother is getting old, and she always has to wait half a day to go to a large hospital. If there were elderly outpatient services at community hospitals, it would be much more convenient.”
Another passerby, an old woman named Haru Suzuki, the same grandmother from the promotional short film, leaned on her cane and smiled. “Let me tell you, Mr. Shimazu is a very good person! The other day he visited the nursing home, held my hand, and listened to me. He had no airs whatsoever. If the video visitation rooms he mentioned are really built, I’ll be able to see my son often. Just thinking about it makes me happy!”
More people gathered around, chatting enthusiastically, almost all praising Yoshihiro Shimazu’s policies. Some said they supported his subsidy for returning to hometown to start a business, others looked forward to his elderly welfare benefits, and some even said they would tell their families to vote for Yoshihiro Shimazu.
“But, have you guys noticed that housing prices have been a bit strange lately?”
Suddenly, a middle-aged man named Ichiro Takahashi frowned. “I went to see a 60-square-meter apartment last week, and it cost 100 million yen! That’s 20 million more than last year! My monthly salary is only 500,000 yen. Even if I didn’t eat or sleep, it would take twenty years to afford it. This is too outrageous!”
As soon as he said this, the surrounding chatter immediately shifted direction.
Ryoko Tanaka sighed. “You’re telling me! My daughter is getting married next year and wants to buy a house in Tokyo, but after looking at several, they’re all terrifyingly expensive. My husband and I discussed whether they should buy in the suburbs, but even houses in the suburbs are 80 million yen, still unaffordable.”
Miho Yamamoto also frowned. “My husband told me that many real estate companies have been frantically acquiring land and building mansions lately, but ordinary people can’t afford them at all. If housing prices keep rising, we ordinary office workers will never be able to buy a house in Tokyo in our lifetime.”
“I also heard that the economy is going to have problems!” Ken Momokawa lowered his voice, a hint of worry in his tone. “My colleague’s brother works at a bank, and he said many people are frantically taking out loans to buy houses, and the bank’s non-performing loan ratio is getting higher and higher. If the bubble bursts, will our savings be affected?”
“Really?” Grandma Haru Suzuki’s face instantly changed. “I’ve saved all my life’s savings in the bank. What if something goes wrong?”
Ichiro Takahashi sighed. “I don’t know if it’s true or not, but housing prices rising like this is definitely not normal. I hope Mr. Shimazu will manage real estate matters after he’s elected and prevent the bubble from bursting, otherwise, our lives will be miserable.”
“Yes! Didn’t Mr. Shimazu say before that he would control the real estate bubble?” Ryoko Tanaka immediately picked up the conversation. “I saw in his promotional short film that he plans to increase affordable housing and restrict property speculators. If he can really do that, maybe housing prices will come down.”
Everyone nodded, their eyes full of expectation.
Although the worry about the real estate bubble cast a shadow over everyone, the policies proposed by Yoshihiro Shimazu gave them renewed hope.
In other parts of Tokyo – whether at the foot of office buildings in Ginza, or in the old streets of Asakusa, whether in subway cars or on park benches – similar discussions were taking place.
People were praising Yoshihiro Shimazu’s livelihood policies while also worrying about the persistently high housing prices and the potential collapse of the bubble economy.
These discussions gradually transformed into support for Yoshihiro Shimazu – everyone hoped that this candidate, who paid attention to the lives of ordinary people, could solve these problems after being elected.
Three days later, the opinion poll report from Yoshihiro Shimazu’s campaign team was released – his overall support rate had reached 53%, a 6 percentage point lead over Mikami Tanaka!
Among these, the support rate among the middle-aged and elderly group grew the fastest, from 40% to 55%, while support rates among young people and traditional craftspeople remained above 60%.
“That’s great! Hiroshi-kun, thank you so much!” Tetsuya Watanabe rushed into Hiroshi Nohara’s office, holding the survey report excitedly. “Now all Tokyo citizens are discussing Senior Shimazu’s policies, and many people [Truncated: Max tokens]
Hiroshi Nohara looked at the investigation report and smiled calmly. “This isn’t just my achievement; it’s the result of everyone’s hard work. Besides, the citizens support Senior Shimazu not because of good promotion, but because his policies are close to the people’s lives and can solve their practical problems.”
At this moment, Asumi also walked in, holding a newspaper, and said with a smile, “Hiroshi-kun, look! 《Asahi Shimbun》’s front page today reported on Senior Shimazu’s election campaign, mentioning the ‘information cocoon’ strategy and calling it ‘the election campaign that best understands ordinary people’. Also, 《Yomiuri Shimbun》 interviewed Grandma Suzuki from the nursing home and fishermen from Chiba, and they were all praising Senior Shimazu!”
Hiroshi Nohara took the newspaper and quickly scanned it.
The newspaper reports were full of approval for Yoshihiro Shimazu’s policies, and affirmation of the “information cocoon” strategy.
One of the reviews wrote: “Yoshihiro Shimazu’s campaign promotion lacks flowery language and empty slogans, focusing instead on the lives of ordinary people and their real needs. This kind of promotion that is close to people’s livelihoods gives voters hope and also makes everyone have more expectations for the future of Tokyo.”
“Oh, by the way, Hiroshi-kun, Director Sakata wants you to go to his office. He said he has something important to discuss with you,” Asumi suddenly remembered and said, “It seems to be about ‘real estate bubble control’ promotion. Governor Koike has new instructions.”
Hiroshi Nohara nodded and stood up. “Okay, I’ll go over there now.”
Stepping out of the office, he encountered many colleagues in the corridor. When they saw Hiroshi Nohara, they greeted him enthusiastically, their eyes full of admiration.
Some said thank you for his contributions to Yoshihiro Shimazu’s campaign, others expressed anticipation for his upcoming “real estate bubble control” promotion, and some said they wanted to learn from his creative ideas.
Hiroshi Nohara smiled and responded to everyone, but in his heart he knew clearly – whether it was Yoshihiro Shimazu’s election campaign, or the earlier 《Tongue Tip《 《Doraemon《, everything he did was to make the world a better place.
Although the shadow of the real estate bubble loomed over Tokyo, he believed that by continuing to convey policies with content close to people’s lives and connecting with people’s hearts through true stories, he could help more people overcome their difficulties and welcome a better future.
When Hiroshi Nohara reached the doorway of Nobuhiko Sakata’s office, he took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
The new challenge has begun, and he is ready.
