Chapter 208: 187! 《late-night Diner》 Ratings! Unrivaled Level!
Tokyo City Television, top-floor meeting room.
The heavy rosewood table seemed to absorb the gloom of failure, that shade of red looking nothing but a heavy, somber color no matter how one viewed it.
Executive Deputy Station Manager Kazuo Takahashi had a face as still as water, his hands slamming heavily onto the desktop with a muffled “bang,” shocking the air into stillness.
His eyes swept over the three directors sitting opposite—Watanabe, Fujisawa, Nomura—as well as the uneasy, pale-faced idol lead actor Shunsuke Kamiki and his agent sitting beside them.
“Ten point seven percent!” Takahashi’s voice was like an icicle, each word dripping with chill as he brandished the just-received ratings report, gnashing his teeth: “Look! Open your eyes wide and look clearly! This is the premiere result of 《Minamijima Afu and His Beloved Dog》 that we prepared for months and placed high hopes on!”
Director Nomura tried to speak: “Mr. Takahashi, this is the premiere after all; the audience needs time to adapt to our style…”
“Adapt?” Takahashi interrupted sharply, almost roaring, “Then tell me, what about Tokyo Television’s 《Late-night Diner》?! Eighteen point nine percent! Eighteen point nine percent! Sub-golden slot! Higher than The First Vassal Under the Lord in prime time! Theirs is a manga adaptation! What are we? We’re an exclusive original blockbuster! How massive was the investment? How much promotion spending? How many resources did the Kirin Group pour in to promote you, Shunsuke Kamiki? Huh?!”
Shunsuke Kamiki flinched when named, looking pleadingly at his agent.
The agent hurriedly interjected: “Executive Takahashi, this… this result is really quite good for our new station and new drama, especially with the enthusiastic response among young female viewers…”
“Enthusiastic response among young females?” Takahashi sneered, looking at the agent like he was an idiot, “Do you know how high the discussion level of 《Late-night Diner》 is among young people? How many people are discussing our drama? Discussing Shunsuke Kamiki’s few expressionless faces? Enthusiastic response? And it’s only worth 10.7%? Use your toes to think about how big the gap is!”
Director Fujisawa cleared his throat, his voice somewhat weak: “Executive Takahashi, please calm down. 《Late-night Diner》… they have a manga foundation after all. The massive reader base directly converted to ratings; that’s an innate advantage.” Even as he said it, he felt his own lack of conviction.
Director Watanabe immediately latched onto it like a lifeline, nodding repeatedly in agreement: “Fujisawa is right! Mr. Takahashi, that’s the key! That 18.9%, more than half comes from the manga’s buzz! Their plot hasn’t even unfolded; viewers are just chasing the novelty!”
Nomura hurriedly added: “Yes, yes! We’re original; the plot tension needs time to build! Afterglow! Our ratings definitely have afterglow! The audience can’t be hooked forever by the gimmick of a manga adaptation!”
Script consultant Kobayashi muttered softly from the side, unable to hold back: “But… our plot… didn’t stand up from the opening…” Though quiet, Takahashi heard it.
Takahashi whipped around to him: “Kobayashi! You think there’s a problem too?” His gaze was murderous.
Kobayashi shuddered in fright, waving his hands frantically: “Ah, no! I mean… well… the opening has to set the background… the pace is a bit slow-burn, but the conflicts will definitely ramp up later! Later! That’s where it really kicks off!”
Shunsuke Kamiki mustered courage then, defending himself with a hint of grievance: “Executive Takahashi, I think my acting was quite committed! Fans say I portrayed ‘Afu”s gentleness and resilience perfectly!”
Takahashi glared at him, so angry he nearly laughed: “Committed? Resilience? You acted like a block of wood! Even a dog’s reactions were more lively than yours! Can your fans prop up the station’s ratings? Can they help Mayor Tanaka win the election?!”
Mentioning Mayor Mikami Tanaka made Takahashi’s face darken instantly, slumping back into his chair like a deflated ball.
He pressed his hand to his forehead, his voice full of fatigue and fear: “The problem now is how I explain this to Mayor Tanaka? With this shameful ratings report? Tell him our carefully prepared ace drama was crippled in sub-golden slot by their casual manga adaptation? That our promotion offensive became a joke?”
Watanabe hurriedly suggested: “We can emphasize platform foundation! We’re a new station; audience scale is in accumulation phase. We can’t just look at the premiere absolute value!”
Fujisawa jumped in: “Right! The analysis report said our reputation is good in specific demographics, didn’t it? We can focus promotion on that!”
Nomura also chimed in: “Plus, the ‘Greater Tokyo Faction’ concept is gradually seeping into our drama; that’s key to the afterglow! Unlike those fast-food manga adaptations!”
Takahashi lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over the crowd’s babbling defenses, words like “afterglow,” “specific demographics,” “platform foundation,” “concept seepage” buzzing in his ears.
He knew well these were reasons, but just reasons.
As a bureaucrat parachuted in from the publicity department, he wasn’t actually proficient in TV production or audience psychology.
At this moment, he could only pin hopes on these so-called professionals’ judgment.
He waved his hand feebly, voice utterly exhausted: “Afterglow… I hope it’s as you say. I don’t care what reasons you use; stabilize the ratings! Absolutely! Absolutely no further drop! Especially not letting 《Late-night Diner》 pull further ahead! As for reporting to the mayor… I can only explain as you say for now. Remember, that ‘afterglow’ you just promised—if it doesn’t happen…”
Takahashi left the last sentence unfinished, but the chill in his tone sent a shiver down everyone’s spine.
The meeting ended, everyone filing out, leaving Takahashi alone in the meeting room.
He stared at the two ratings reports on the table; that glaring 18.9% like a massive slap, ruthlessly striking Tokyo City Television’s face—and his own career hopes.
He hesitated irritably, unsure how to broach the inevitably disappointing report numbers and those “afterglow” words he himself might not believe to Mayor Tanaka.
But it was still time to report.
Things could be phrased euphemistically.
Blame could be shifted.
But in the eyes of those in politics, not reporting meant disloyalty, dishonesty.
Kazuo Takahashi could still weigh what mattered more.
Thus, Kazuo Takahashi set aside the dismal ratings report for 《Minamijima Afu and His Beloved Dog》, heavily picking up the telephone.
‘Beep beep beep—’
The dialing pulses came through the handset, especially clear in the oppressive meeting room.
“Hello?” The call connected.
Kazuo Takahashi’s voice tense: “Moshi moshi? It’s me, Takahashi. Very sorry to disturb you, Mayor Tanaka.”
Mikami Tanaka on the other end, his voice surprisingly calm: “Oh, Mr. Takahashi. About the 《Minamijima》 premiere results, right?”
Kazuo Takahashi froze, his prepared apology stuck in his throat: “Yes! Ratings… ten point seven percent. Tokyo TV’s 《Late-night Diner》 in sub-golden slot… reached eighteen point nine percent. Truly… truly shameful! Our work failed, letting down your expectations!”
Mikami Tanaka chuckled lightly, almost inaudibly: “Heh heh heh… Mr. Takahashi, you’re too serious. Good work.”
Kazuo Takahashi was completely baffled; no expected anger: “Mayor? You mean…?”
Mikami Tanaka said leisurely: “This is a brand-new station, brand-new channel, brand-new production team… and achieved under direct fire from Tokyo Television, that veteran powerhouse. Ten point seven? Well… not great, but as a ‘newbie’ in the starting phase facing a strong enemy, it’s passable.”
Kazuo Takahashi couldn’t believe it, nearly thinking he’d misheard: “Pass… passable? But… Tokyo TV side…”
Mikami Tanaka cut him off: “I know! 《Late-night Diner》 is hot, ratings eighteen point nine, scary number. But so what? Mr. Takahashi, look further ahead. Don’t be blinded by momentary wins or losses. What’s important now isn’t beating them by how much; it’s keeping Tokyo City Television ‘alive’! Stand firm, make our voice heard!”
Moved emotion welled up in Kazuo Takahashi, his voice trembling slightly: “Yes! Understood! We’ll learn the lessons, double our efforts, never let Tokyo TV crush us easily! We’ll produce better works to repay your trust!”
Mikami Tanaka nodded faintly: “Mm, good. Keep that fighting spirit. One-time ratings mean nothing; the key is sustained existence, sustained conveyance of our ‘Greater Tokyo Faction’ concept. I believe in your abilities. That’s it, good luck.”
Kazuo Takahashi replied excitedly: “Yes! Thank you so much for the mayor’s understanding and support! Rest assured! We certainly will…”
Mikami Tanaka’s voice flat, interrupting, tone somewhat fatigued: “Mm. Hanging up.”
Kazuo Takahashi replied respectfully at once: “Yes! Sorry for the disturbance!”
Kazuo Takahashi gently set down the handset, the gloom on his face swept clean, replaced by emotion and uplift from being understood, even with a touch of shame from prior self-reproach.
However, in the Tokyo City mayor’s office, Mikami Tanaka gripped the just-hung-up handset, his face twisting instantly from “tolerant warmth” to pre-storm clouds.
Mikami Tanaka slammed the heavy black handset back onto the desk phone with a “clang,” the force making the whole phone jump: “Baka yarou!”
He shot to his feet, his tall figure pacing irritably behind the large desk, expensive Italian leather shoes grinding heavily on the wooden floor.
Mikami Tanaka growled low at the empty office: “Ten point seven! Passable?! Passable my ass! Ratings like dog shit! That waste Takahashi! That idiot Sai Tokugawa! And those so-called famous directors! All good-for-nothings!!!”
He snatched the latest opinion poll report from the desk, roughly flipping to the support rate page, eyes locked on the red number nearing 73%, his heaving chest calming slightly, though the anger in his eyes didn’t fade.
Mikami Tanaka sneered, with smugness and forced consolation for the failure: “Hmph… good thing those fools are sensible. See? This is the foundation! Whoever brings them benefits, they support!”
He picked up the report, jabbing hard at the equally high support rate next to “land price rise satisfaction,” voice full of conviction: “Houses! Key is houses! Land prices! Housing prices! That’s Tokyo’s heart! The key to making these citizens bow their heads! Let them see their assets appreciating daily, and they’ll be happy as with honey, loyal as dogs! Culture, concepts—bullshit! The wealth sense from rising housing prices is real!!”
He seemed to have found absolute truth, emotions stabilizing somewhat, but thinking of Yoshihiro Shimazu and Tokyo TV’s moves, his face clouded with sullenness and contempt.
Mikami Tanaka spat disdainfully: “That old fox Shimazu faking illness to run? Hmph! Thinks relying on that brat Hiroshi Nohara’s little tricks, some inflammatory promotion, can turn the tables? Daydreaming!”
‘Knock knock knock—’
Just then, secretary Sai cautiously knocked and entered, holding a document for signature.
Secretary Sai had heard Mikami Tanaka’s angry cursing, so he cautiously reported: “Mayor, the latest district announced land price report; average 1.5% rise over last month. This is…”
Mikami Tanaka snatched the report, glanced, and impatiently waved to interrupt: “Enough! Got it! Rise! Must rise! Tell housing section to loosen restrictions! Heat up the market more! Shimazu’s bunch want to promote? Let them promote!”
He slapped the land price report next to the opinion poll, hands braced on the desk, eyes sharp with desire for control.
Mikami Tanaka’s tone contemptuous yet certain: “Promotion? Slogans shouted loud—can they be eaten? Spent? Make citizens’ pockets swell with paper wealth? Shimazu’s stuff is just poor scholars’ tricks to fool the masses! We just need to pull up real land and house prices, let every citizen ‘feel’ richer, and they’ll automatically side with me, Mikami Tanaka! That’s true public opinion! Shimazu doesn’t get it, never will win!”
Secretary Sai bowed his head respectfully, not daring to say more.
Mikami Tanaka’s gaze swept the two reports, settling on the towering support rate, regaining some superior’s poise: “Go, notify Publicity Department’s Kasako to blast this announced land price rise in citywide news slot, especially those hot ‘model districts’! Title loud—’Tokyo’s Fortune, People’s Wealth Base’! I want every Tokyo citizen talking at dinner about how much their house appreciated!”
Secretary Sai responded at once: “Yes! I’ll handle it right away!”
Sai briskly exited the office.
The office fell silent again.
Mikami Tanaka sank back into the leather seat, eyes closed, fingers unconsciously tapping the desktop, seeming to savor the illusory yet powerful safety from the support rate, but anger at Takahashi and 《Minamijima Afu and His Beloved Dog》’s abysmal ratings still smoldered in his eyes.
Mikami Tanaka muttered low, with a hint of ruthlessness: “Wastes… good thing this time it didn’t cause much impact; next time if screwed up again… hmph!”
……
In Nobuhiko Sakata’s office, smoke swirled, yet unable to mask the genuine smile on his face.
Sunlight through the huge floor-to-ceiling window illuminated this actual helm of Tokyo Television Station’s silver hair in shining glow; his cigar half-burned, rich aroma mingling with fine black tea’s subtle bitterness, forming a taste called power.
“《Late-night Diner》’s latest episode ratings, 18.9%.” Nobuhiko Sakata gently pushed a file to the table center, gaze mildly sweeping the three capable subordinates before him—steady as mountain Hiroshi Nohara, shrewd and capable Asumi, and now fully reined-in Toshihide Takada.
“Remarkable result, Nohara-kun. In this slot, you’ve created another miracle.”
Hiroshi Nohara slightly bowed, expression calm as if hearing something unrelated: “It’s everyone’s team effort, and the opportunity given by Director Sakata and all seniors.”
His humility bore no pretense, like stating an objective fact.
Toshihide Takada’s eyes held genuine admiration: “Indeed remarkable. Several producers under me studied your program; all said they can’t replicate it. That worldly life feel, that perfect distance between people—not something mimicked by technique.”
Asumi nodded in agreement, her voice soft yet firm: “Most crucially, it gives late-night wanderers a touch of warmth. This transcends a TV program, becoming a social phenomenon. Nohara-kun, you’ve done it.”
“Enough.” Nobuhiko Sakata smiled, waving to halt the mini commendation, extinguishing his cigar in the crystal ashtray, expression turning serious.
The office air seemed to thicken instantly.
“Congratulations end here. Next, something more important requires our Production Bureau—no, our entire Tokyo Television Station—to go all out.”
He paused, gaze sharpening, sweeping over the three one by one.
“Starting next episode, all prime time and sub-golden slot programs must build momentum for President Shimazu’s election campaign. Not just your 《Late-night Diner》, Nohara-kun, but yours too.” He looked to Takada and Asumi: “All programs under your divisions—dramas, variety, animation—must incorporate corresponding promotion content.”
Toshihide Takada straightened at once: “Naturally. President’s big matter is Tokyo TV’s top priority. But… Director, we need unified standards for promotion tone and scale.”
“Exactly.” Asumi continued: “News and current affairs are straightforward. But for dramas and variety, overly forced inserts could annoy viewers, backfiring.”
Nobuhiko Sakata nodded approvingly; he valued such professional insight into issues. His gaze finally settled on Hiroshi Nohara.
“That’s why I called you today. We’re not doing rote, slogan-style hard ads. Nohara-kun, the concept you proposed yesterday—I find it highly valuable and operable.”
Hiroshi Nohara met his gaze calmly, silent, awaiting more.
“Information cocoon.” Nobuhiko Sakata slowly enunciated, savoring the profound meaning. “What we’ll do is tailor the ‘cocoon’ each audience most wants to accept, then weave our message in like silk threads, unnoticed.”
He looked to Takada and Asumi, emphasizing: “Get your teams moving immediately. Analyze audience profiles for all our programs. Who watches 《Super Change Change Change》? Housewives, parent-child viewers. So promotional inserts should highlight President Shimazu’s approachable, family-focused, community-building image.”
Toshihide Takada got it instantly, adding: “Understood. Late-night animation fans are mostly youth, forward-thinking, full of longing and confusion for the future. Our content should spotlight President Shimazu’s bold reforms, economic revitalization, youth opportunity policies.”
Asumi followed swiftly: “For romance drama and family ethics female viewers, more emotional, focused on social safety and welfare. We can make soft promotional shorts telling how President Shimazu helps the vulnerable, boosts women’s social status. Use emotional resonance to sway them.”
“Spot on!” Nobuhiko Sakata slapped the table satisfiedly, “That’s the thinking! Make promotion content part of the programs, stories they’re interested in, part of their lives. Not a jarring ad across their eyes.”
He looked again to Hiroshi Nohara: “Nohara-kun, you proposed this theory; I hope you oversee the overall direction for execution details. You’re our station’s best at audience psychology.”
Hiroshi Nohara finally spoke, voice steady: “Director means we need a cross-department ‘election promotion content planning team,’ led by me, Deputy Director Takada, Deputy Director Asumi, integrating all programs’ promo resources, devising varied strategies and scripts?”
“As expected, you get it instantly.” Nobuhiko Sakata laughed, “I’ll personally be team leader. You three vice-leaders; immediately pull elite staff from Production Bureau, News Bureau, Programming Bureau. I want first detailed execution plan in three days.”
“Understood.”
“Understood.”
“Understood.”
The three responded in unison, expressions grave. This was no ordinary program planning; a pre-war mobilization for the station’s future and key election. In the office, a smokeless war had begun.
Brief silence, then Hiroshi Nohara raised a key question: “Director, when exactly is the election?”
Nobuhiko Sakata lifted his tea cup, blowing floating tea leaves, drawling: “Current power struggle results suggest second half of year. Voting day likely late September or early October.”
Hiroshi Nohara quickly calculated mentally; from now to September, over half a year.
“Time is ample.” So Hiroshi Nohara said: “Per our ‘information cocoon’ mode discussion, sustained over half a year, high-intensity, layered, multi-angle info coverage—enough to build a highly favorable, multidimensional President Shimazu image in most TV viewers’ minds. This subtle influence beats any last-minute push.”
Toshihide Takada agreed deeply: “Right. By election start, many voters won’t know why they support President Shimazu; just feel familiar, approachable, his words sensible. Our promotion internalized as their own cognition.”
“That’s promotion’s highest realm.” Asumi summed up, eyes gleaming with excitement.
For any media professional, leading such grand opinion-shaping was hugely challenging and fulfilling.
Nobuhiko Sakata looked gratified at these station pillars; new Tokyo Television, under Tokyo Metropolitan Area backdrop, united as one.
He set down the tea cup, shifting topic, gaze now fully on Hiroshi Nohara.
“Hiroshi, we’ll push politics together. But don’t neglect your core work. And soon, your harvest season arrives.”
Hiroshi Nohara paused slightly: “Director refers to?”
“Major awards selections.” Nobuhiko Sakata’s face showed old fox smile again, “【Japan Drama Academy Awards】, 【Mainichi Film Award】, and our TV pros’ 【Tokyo Drama Awards】; this year’s selections all underway.”
He leaned forward slightly, tone expectant and firm.
“Last year, your 《An Shizhi》, 《World of the Strange》, and 《Super Change Change Change》 were submitted; should snag plenty, giving Tokyo TV face. Pity this year, your epochal 《Seven Samurai》, 《The Tale of Hachiko》, and phenomenal 《Late-night Diner》 eligible only next year—otherwise sweep all.”
Nobuhiko Sakata’s gaze turned meaningful: “So prepare. Not just you; your ‘Nohara Independent Production Department,’ whole team—don most decent suits, ready for red carpet, to claim your honors. Not just your glory; Tokyo Television showcasing production strength to all Japan, even world.”
Toshihide Takada and Asumi looked to Hiroshi Nohara, eyes full of expectation and a hint of envy.
All present knew the weight of Sakata’s words.
This was no mere notice; a promise and endorsement. Meant station would mobilize all resources for Nohara’s works in awards lobbying.
Hiroshi Nohara listened quietly, face barely rippling, as if impending honors just a scheduled item.
He nodded, tone as calm yet convincingly powerful.
“No problem, Director. I’ll have everyone prepare.”
……
When Hiroshi Nohara pushed open Nohara Independent Production Department office door, sunlight slanted perfectly through blinds gaps, sliced by floating dust into myriad fine beams, like silent praise, gently filling the space.
Air carried faint coffee aroma and paper ink smell, mingled with scorching emotion named “hope.”
Yō Kitagawa stood at the file cabinet, tiptoeing to sort top shelf files; hearing the door, she turned, face blooming brighter smile than sunlight, hair tips tracing graceful arc.
“Minister, you’re back.” Her voice crisp and pleasing, like wind chimes.
“Mm.” Hiroshi Nohara undid his suit’s first button, casually setting briefcase on his desk, movements carrying seasoned calm: “Yō-chan, trouble you to call the four section chiefs—Hashimoto, Yamamoto, Sato, Tanaka—have them come to me now.”
“Yes, contacting now.” Yō Kitagawa asked no more, turning to the phone at once; her high heels clicked rhythmically on floor, the office’s most melodic march.
Soon, the door opened again; figures entering one after another, filling the sunlit space with liveliness.
First in was Kenji Sato, Second Section Chief famed overnight by 《Late-night Diner》, face joyful as ripe apple, ruddy nearly dripping honey.
His walk lighter than usual, brimming with irrepressible vigor.
Following was Tsuyoshi Yamamoto, Drama First Section Chief, responsible for phenomenal 《World of the Strange》.
Slightly older, steady steps; looking at Kenji Sato with faint gratification and approval, like an old brother seeing a friend shine.
Variety Section Chief Kei Tanaka and Animation Section Chief Ichiro Hashishita entered together.
Kei Tanaka naturally smiling, corners always up; his department no drama-star dazzle, but 《Super Change Change Change》 this nationwide participation variety was Production Department’s top cash cow.
Ichiro Hashishita somewhat taciturn, this 《An Shizhi》 stylist carrying mismatched artist aura, but today his usually melancholic eyes sparkled with genuine joy.
“Minister!” Kenji Sato burst on entering: “《Late-night Diner》’s 18.7% this morning—I still feel like dreaming! Head’s still dizzy!”
Kei Tanaka exaggeratedly clutched chest, laughing: “Mr. Sato, you’re stealing my rice bowl. Our Production Bureau variety depts toil a season for 15%+ to pop champagne; yours, one late-night drama premiere blasts to the sky.”
Tsuyoshi Yamamoto smiled mildly, patting Sato’s shoulder: “That’s the benefit of following Minister Nohara; get used to it—Minister Nohara’s talent is invincible!”
“Of course, following Minister Nohara made me famous big time! Many contacting me!” Kenji Sato humbly mouthed but grinned brighter: “Honestly, didn’t expect this high. Thought 12% big success. Others ask how shot; I just say Minister Nohara’s know-how!”
Ichiro Hashishita arms folded, leaning doorframe, rarely speaking: “Saw sample; that unique atmosphere rare on TV now. Success natural.”
Kei Tanaka laughed loud, “Looks like our Independent Production Department births another representative work this year!”
Kenji Sato’s smile flickered regret; he sighed: “Pity airtime too late. This year’s major drama awards deadlines passed. 《Late-night Diner》 missed.”
Tsuyoshi Yamamoto nodded agreement: “Yeah, Academy Awards deadline last month, Tokyo Drama Awards too. Otherwise with 《Late-night Diner》 quality and premiere ratings, Best New Director or work nomination guaranteed.”
“Who says not.” Kei Tanaka spread hands, “These judges always late to catch on. By next year they react, game’s cold. But good—save up, next year grab annual big awards!”
“Annual big award…” Kenji Sato murmured, eyes full of future longing.
Office filled with joyful air, sincere joy for shared victory, shared regret for slight flaw.
This pure creator happiness.
Hiroshi Nohara silent, just listening quietly, faint smile on lips.
When chatter eased, he knuckle-tapped desk twice crisply.
All eyes instantly on him.
“Called you today about awards.” Hiroshi Nohara’s voice low yet steadily reassuring.
He scanned the four handpicked section chiefs, gaze lingering each face.
“But not for 《Late-night Diner》.”
All surprised.
Hiroshi Nohara continued: “Hashimoto, Yamamoto, Sato, Tanaka—each back to your section, pick five core production staff.”
He paused for digestion, then enunciated:
“Then, bring them; attend awards ceremony with me.”
Office quiet one second.
Then, unstoppable gasps.
“Awa… awards ceremony?” Kenji Sato’s eyes bulged like bells, first reacting, voice stuttering: “Minister, wh… which awards ceremony?”
“More than one.” Hiroshi Nohara leaned chair back, hands crossed before him, posture relaxed: “Prepare your most decent suits and dresses; very busy next month.”
Kei Tanaka stepped forward excitedly, nearly on Nohara’s desk: “Minister, no more suspense—tell us!”
Hiroshi Nohara’s gaze swept four expectant excited faces, slowly: “Three days from now, 【Japan Drama Academy Awards】.”
“Five days, 【Mainichi Film Award】.”
“Then, end of month, this year’s 【Tokyo Drama Awards】.”
Renowned Japan film-TV names lightly from Hiroshi Nohara’s mouth, like heavy bombs exploding in small office.
Four chiefs’ faces: surprise to ecstasy to near-unbelievable shock.
“Academy Awards… Mainichi Film… and new this year, Tokyo TV, Tokyo City, Tokyo Metropolis, Kanto joint Tokyo Drama Awards…” Tsuyoshi Yamamoto’s voice trembled; veteran drama producer knew their weight: “Minister, you mean… we… nominated?”
“Not one nomination.” Hiroshi Nohara corrected, “Many.”
“Wow—!” Kei Tanaka couldn’t hold back, fist pumping with cheer: “Knew it! Knew 《World of the Strange》 would deliver!”
Kenji Sato flushed excitedly: “Though 《Late-night Diner》 missed, our dept has other proposals! Great! Great!”
Ichiro Hashishita’s tense face fully relaxed, lips curving uncontrollably, eyes sparkling unusually.
“Yamamoto.” Hiroshi Nohara to old subordinate: “《World of the Strange》 has plenty Academy noms; how many do you think we take?”
Tsuyoshi Yamamoto deep breath, calming excitement, pro producer cool judgment kicking in.
“Minister, 《World of the Strange》 units this year top quality. Script-wise, ‘Best Script Award’ strong contender, esp 《Grandmother》 and 《Vending Machine Man》 eps—social buzz and critic rep exploded.”
He paused, eyes sharpening: “Actor awards too. Miss Misui Nakayama’s 《Late Lover》 unit performance stunning, breaking idol image; high call for ‘Best Actress’!”
“Right!” Kei Tanaka jumped in, “Papers say her acting heartbreaking, her rep this year! That ‘Best Actress’—who else?”
“And invited Mr. Ogu Ken in 《Another Me》 textbook-level:” Tsuyoshi Yamamoto added, “Unit lead only, but his seniority and skills make ‘Best Actor’ possible! If not, ‘Best Supporting Actor’ nom steady.”
Kenji Sato hot-blooded, interjecting: “What about ‘Drama of the Year’? Section Chief Yamamoto, 《World of the Strange》 topic king this year!”
Tsuyoshi Yamamoto pondered seriously: “Toughest. Competition fierce; Fuji TV’s 《Fuji Mountain Love》 too hot, near social phenomenon. We match rep and creativity, but national popularity slight edge short. Still, ‘Special Award’ for format innovation very possible!”
Topic to Ichiro Hashishita; Hiroshi Nohara smiled: “Hashimoto, yours? 《An Shizhi》 niche, but Mainichi Film Award values artistry and vanguard.”
Ichiro Hashishita adjusted glasses, eyes behind lenses stubborn confident: “Minister, Mainichi has ‘Dai Fuji Noburo Award’ for experimental innovative animation. 《An Shizhi》’s kamishibai form and horror atmosphere unique among this year’s animation. We’re not running side; we’re taking it.”
No bluster, just factual calm—more powerful than boasts.
“Well said!” Kei Tanaka clapped hard: “That’s the spirit! Our variety? Minister, any shot at Tokyo Drama Awards?”
Hiroshi Nohara smiled: “《Super Change Change Change》 stable ratings, solid audience base; variety awards tough, but not impossible. Tokyo TV submitted you for ‘Best Planning Award’—up to judges’ taste.”
“Nom is victory!” Kei Tanaka grinned satisfied, “Taking my crew on red carpet, see the world—better than anything!”
Office atmosphere peaked hot; all envisioning glory in three, five days, month-end.
Daily toil in proposals, storyboards, editing bays seemed pre-fruited sweetest.
Not just works affirmation; biggest praise for once-marginalized “Independent Production Department” members.
Hiroshi Nohara led them carving bloom-filled path from barren neglect.
Hiroshi Nohara watched excited subordinates, faces sincerest smiles, eyes purest career love and desire.
Warmth surged in his heart.
Bubble-era Tokyo, prosperous yet cold; all machine parts racing for survival, desire. But some moments, people, make this garish city… kinda cute.
