Chapter 66: Kanto Faction Veterans Assemble!
When Hiroshi Nohara walked out of Deputy Director Asumi’s office, the expression on his face was still that signature calm.
He walked through that corridor illuminated brightly by the afternoon sunlight, with dust motes dancing quietly around him, as if paying silent tribute to a general about to set out on campaign.
However, when he pushed open the door that already had a brand-new nameplate—【Hiroshi Nohara Special Production Team】—a stifling air, utterly different from the uplifting atmosphere outside and stagnant like the calm before a storm, hit him head-on.
The office was deathly silent.
Hoshi Minamimura had his hands clasped behind his head, slumping dejectedly in the brand-new office chair, staring blankly at the ceiling with lifeless eyes.
That young face had lost its youthful vibrancy for the first time.
Roji Hase was staring fixedly at his computer screen, which displayed a blank document, the flashing cursor silently mocking his helplessness.
Even Yō Kitagawa, who was usually like a bundle of energetic sunshine, was now just propping her cheek, sipping coldly cooled milk in small mouthfuls, her usually sparkling big eyes now shrouded in a layer of dull mist.
“What’s wrong?” Hiroshi Nohara placed his briefcase on his desk.
His gaze swept over those faces full of utter despondency, his brows furrowing imperceptibly: “What’s with all of you? Why do you look like you’ve gone through some unspeakable setback? This isn’t like you.”
His voice wasn’t loud, but it was just enough to break the deathly silence.
“Nohara… Section Chief…”
Hoshi Minamimura slowly straightened up, looking at Hiroshi Nohara, opening his mouth but as if something was stuck in his throat, unable to say a word.
It was Yō Kitagawa who mustered her courage; her usually energetic eyes were now somewhat red, her voice carrying a hint of unconcealable grievance and unwillingness: “Section Chief… we… we just now…”
Her words were cut off halfway by Roji Hase’s voice from beside her, suppressing anger.
“Section Chief, Senior Hashishita… he’s a traitor!”
Traitor.
These two words were like two red-hot branding irons, searing into the air of the office.
Hiroshi Nohara’s gaze remained calm and unruffled; as if thinking of something, he slightly curled the corners of his mouth, pulled out his chair and sat down, raising his hand to gesture for them to continue.
“This morning, while you were away at the meeting, Section Chief, a notification came from the Personnel Department.”
Hoshi Minamimura finally caught his breath; he slammed his fist on the desk, his young face flushed red: “Senior Hashishita… he’s been officially transferred to Iwata’s Classroom! To serve as their Deputy Section Chief!”
“We don’t believe it!”
Roji Hase also stood up agitatedly, his usually somewhat shy eyes now filled with the anger of betrayal: “We rushed to Iwata’s Classroom to confront him, to ask why he betrayed Section Chief Suzuki, why he betrayed us!”
“And the result?” Hiroshi Nohara asked calmly.
“The result…” Yō Kitagawa’s voice carried a sob: “The result was we didn’t get any answers, and instead, at their doorway, we heard an even more unacceptable piece of news…”
She paused, as if using all her strength to force the words from her throat: “Section Chief Iwata… he announced in their classroom, in front of everyone, that the production rights for 《An Shizhi》 season three… have officially been transferred to them!”
Boom!
This news, even though Hiroshi Nohara had already anticipated it, was still like a bolt from the blue to Hoshi Minamimura and Roji Hase.
“Why?! On what grounds?!”
Hoshi Minamimura’s eyes were red; it was the purest anger of a creator: “《An Shizhi》 is our effort! It’s something you, Teacher Nohara, created single-handedly! On what grounds do they snatch it away?! That guy Hashishita must have sold all our production ideas, all our notebooks, to Iwata!”
“Exactly! This is too much!” Roji Hase was trembling with rage: “These guys are nothing but thieves! We thought Ichiro Hashishita was a senior! But he’s actually a mole! A traitor!”
The office was enveloped in an atmosphere of anger and unwillingness.
They were like a group of children who had just built their beloved castle, only to watch helplessly as a bunch of burly adults barged in, seized their castle, and planted their own flag on top.
That sense of helplessness was enough to chill the hot blood of any young person.
However, amid this near-desperate anger, they were shocked to discover that the one who should have been the most furious and unwilling showed not the slightest anger on his face; instead, at the corners of his mouth hung a faint, somewhat playful smile.
“Nohara… Section Chief?”
Hoshi Minamimura was stunned; looking at Hiroshi Nohara’s unflappable demeanor, he felt his brain short-circuiting: “You… aren’t you angry? We… no, your 《An Shizhi》!… has been snatched away!”
“Snatched away?” Hiroshi Nohara chuckled lightly upon hearing this; he leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk, producing soft sounds.
“Do you think that after I’ve gnawed it down to the bone, if someone else grabs this scrap like it’s a delicacy, I should be angry?”
His words were spoken breezily, yet they left the three on the scene utterly dumbfounded.
Scrap?
That An Shizhi which created ratings myths and was revered as a classic by the entire industry, in the eyes of its creator, was actually… just scrap?
“Se… Section Chief, what do you mean?” Yō Kitagawa blinked, her usually energetic eyes now filled with pure confusion.
Hiroshi Nohara looked at their shocked and adorable expressions, his smile deepening.
He didn’t answer directly but gently pushed a document he had just brought back from Deputy Director Asumi’s office to the center of the desk.
“Instead of worrying about someone else’s bone, I’d advise you to pay more attention to our own… tiger that’s about to be unleashed.”
The three gathered around skeptically.
When they saw the large “S” printed in bold black font on the cover of the document, everyone’s breathing stopped in that instant.
“S… S-level proposal?!” Hoshi Minamimura’s voice was trembling.
“9 PM slot… sub-golden slot?!” Roji Hase’s eyes widened like copper bells.
“Chief Director… Chief Planner… Hiroshi Nohara?!” Yō Kitagawa clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.
This was no mere surprise; it was a dizzying happiness great enough to overwhelm any television professional!
Sub-golden slot!
That was the top resource second only to the prime 8 PM slot!
It was the battlefield that all second-class directors fought tooth and nail to scramble for!
Forget them as newly tenured fourth-class directors; even veteran third-class directors without solid achievements and connections didn’t qualify to even touch it!
And now, this top-tier project that could determine a producer’s fate for years to come had lightly landed on the heads of their newly formed Hiroshi Nohara Special Production Team, whose average age was under twenty-five!?
It was as if an atomic bomb had exploded in their heads!
Exploding their minds blank!
“Now, do you still think the production rights for one An Shizhi are that important?” Hiroshi Nohara’s voice rose calmly in the nearly solidified air.
The three abruptly looked up at the young man who had been calmly smiling from start to finish.
The looks in their eyes were as if gazing upon an omnipotent deity.
They finally understood.
While they were still indignant over losing a small hill, their young section chief had already conquered, on a far broader battlefield, a majestic city overlooking the entire continent—for them!
“Section Chief!”
Hoshi Minamimura and Roji Hase stood up almost simultaneously, bowing deeply to Hiroshi Nohara, their voices filled with the thrill and fanaticism of survivors after a disaster: “We… we understand!”
However, Hiroshi Nohara waved his hand for them to sit.
“Don’t celebrate too soon.” All smile had vanished from his face, replaced by the calm and solemnity of a decision-maker: “An S-level proposal means S-level pressure. This is no longer something we can pull off with just a few of us messing around.”
He stood up, walked to the brand-new whiteboard in the center of the office, picked up a pen, and rapidly wrote down a series of positions.
“We need an experienced line producer to handle on-site coordination and filming plans. At least two assistant directors to help with shooting the various scenes. A script supervisor to record data for every lens. A producer to manage budget and logistics. And also an art director, director of photography, sound director, editor…”
With every position he wrote, the atmosphere in the office grew heavier.
When he finished the last word and set down the pen, the originally pristine whiteboard was filled with densely packed text.
Every word was like a heavy stone weighing on the hearts of Hoshi Minamimura, Roji Hase, and Yō Kitagawa.
Looking at that whiteboard, the soaring ambition that had just risen from getting the S-level project was instantly doused by a far greater icy cold called ‘reality’.
They were just three newcomers with less than a year in the industry.
Animation storyboards, they could still manage somehow.
But live-action drama, an S-level live-action drama, was a vast and complex field they had never touched.
They were like kids who had just learned to drive go-karts, suddenly told they had to pilot a luxury sports car.
And in a race on the track at that!
That sense of helplessness, combined with fear of the unknown, brought a trace of bitterness to their young faces.
“Section Chief…”
There was a hint of unwillingness in Hoshi Minamimura’s voice: “Can… can we really do this? The three of us… we don’t know anything. And our only experienced line producer, Senior Hashishita, he…”
He thought again of that traitorous figure, the bitterness growing even thicker.
Hiroshi Nohara looked at them like this and sighed inwardly.
He knew this was indeed the biggest problem at present.
“Ring ring—”
In this nearly solidified air, the telephone on Hiroshi Nohara’s desk rang again, most inopportunely.
Hiroshi Nohara frowned but walked over and picked up the receiver.
From the other end came a somewhat familiar mild voice whose name he couldn’t quite recall.
“Nohara-kun, right? I’m Kenji Sato, third-class director. We talked in the pantry before.”
“Section Chief Sato.” The image of that bespectacled scholarly face instantly surfaced in Hiroshi Nohara’s mind.
“Sorry to bother you.” Sato’s voice carried a hint of amusement: “I heard from Deputy Director Asumi that you’re… short on manpower over there?”
Hiroshi Nohara’s brows lifted slightly.
But before he could speak.
The other side spoke again.
“I’ve got a few solid old hands under me. All came with me from Kanto Television Station back in the day—experienced, capable, just… not good at picking sides. These past few years, they’ve been suppressed pretty badly by that Tokyo faction crowd, no good opportunities.”
Sato paused, his amusement taking on a knowing tone.
“I hear you’ve got an S-level project there, short on battle-hardened folks. How about it, Nohara-kun? Interested in meeting them?”
“Of course! Section Chief Sato!” The corners of Hiroshi Nohara’s mouth curved in understanding.
He knew this was the most timely and needed reinforcements sent by Asumi, by the entire Kanto Faction.
“Thank you very much for your trust, and theirs.”
His voice was calm, yet carried an indisputable power: “Section Chief Sato, have them come straight to my office.”
“I need a lot of excellent partners!”
Hanging up, Hiroshi Nohara turned around, looking at those three young faces still filled with confusion and unease, a confident smile that could steady hearts blooming anew on his face.
“Everyone, get ready to welcome your new colleagues.”
Less than ten minutes later, the office door was pushed open.
Led by Kenji Sato, seven or eight middle-aged men around forty, their expressions steady, or roguish, or tinged with the melancholy of unrecognized talent, filed in.
They looked at the brand-new office, at the few stunned young people, and finally, their gazes converged on the young man standing calmly in front of the whiteboard.
In that calm demeanor was the aura of a superior who seemed to control everything.
“Section Chief Nohara.”
Kenji Sato stepped forward, extending his hand proactively, his scholarly face bearing the sincere smile of an ally: “I’ve brought my people. Line producer, assistant directors, producer, art, photography, sound, editing… everything you need, all here.”
Hiroshi Nohara looked at this group of veterans whose edges had been worn by years, but whose eyes still flickered with unwilling flames.
A smile appeared at the corners of his mouth as he too extended his hand, gripping Kenji Sato’s firmly.
“Welcome aboard.”
“Your arrival is truly crucial!”
His voice wasn’t loud, yet it was like a trumpet blast, announcing that this backbone troop from Kanto Television Station, sidelined to the edges of power after coming to Tokyo Television Station and left idle, was now officially assembling!
And moreover, an army that he, Hiroshi Nohara, could command with ease!
