Chapter 31: Good News
The next day, Tokyo Television Production Bureau Headquarters Building.
On Thursday morning, sunlight passed through the massive glass curtain wall, illuminating the corridor brightly, like a silent carpet laid for a belated coronation ceremony.
The air no longer held the iron-like stagnation of the previous days, but flowed with a strange undercurrent mixed with curiosity and awe.
In Suzuki’s Classroom, the door that was always tightly closed was open for the first time today.
Inside, there was no longer the usual silence, nor the clamor of yesterday, but a deeper heat and calm, like that emitted after a volcanic eruption when the lava was still cooling.
When Ichiro Hashishita walked in holding the report, his steps were floating.
He felt like he wasn’t walking on the icy cold floor, but stepping on a cloud named “happiness.”
He didn’t speak, just gently placed that thin sheet of paper, which seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, in the center of the table, as if laying down a rare treasure.
“Late-night Animation《An Shizhi》, fifth episode ratings: 3.51%.”
“Ratings level—extremely excellent!”
3.51%.
Another new record.
The office went quiet for a moment, then the ecstasy that had been suppressed in everyone’s chest and fermented overnight finally found an outlet.
This time, there were no hugs, no hot tears.
Hoshi Minamimura simply picked up a half-drunk, flat can of cola from the table, gulped it down, and let out a long sigh of utmost satisfaction.
Roji Hase walked to the window, looking at the tiny ant-like pedestrians below, feeling for the first time that he too was a being worthy of admiration in this massive city.
Yō Kitagawa at her seat used the word processor to type the number 3.51% countless times, then deleted it all, just smiling dazedly.
The taste of victory is spirits at first sip, ecstasy. At the second taste, it becomes aged wine, intoxication.
The classroom door wasn’t closed, so the aroma of that aged wine inevitably drifted out, attracting countless seekers who came “following the scent.”
“Section Chief Suzuki, congratulations! 3.51%! You’re about to make history!” A director from the next classroom, a middle-aged man usually arrogant, now had his face piled with enthusiastic smiles, holding two cups of hot coffee just bought from the vending machine.
“No, no, it’s all the young people fooling around.” Kiyoto Suzuki was modest with his words, but the wrinkles blooming on his old face were brighter than chrysanthemums in full bloom.
“Suzuki-senpai, that’s not fair!” Another director with less seniority crowded over, half-joking and half-serious: “We all watched it last night, that《paper》 was simply the nightmare of all office staff! The female assistant in our classroom came in this morning and said she’d never dare use the copier alone again! You have to give us some compensation for mental distress!”
“Hahaha, sure, sure!”
In an instant, the small Suzuki’s Classroom became the liveliest place on the entire floor.
Congratulations, seekers of wisdom, and those just there for the spectacle came one after another endlessly.
They surrounded Hoshi Minamimura and Roji Hase, probing for details of the creation, their words filled with amazement and curiosity about the creative techniques of this “An Shizhi type.”
“Actually… actually we didn’t do much.” Hoshi Minamimura, surrounded by a group of seniors, was a bit flattered, his face flushed red, but he still straightened his back and said proudly: “All the creativity, all the storyboards, all the core concepts were done by Teacher Nohara alone! We just moved the things in his brain onto paper.”
“Teacher Nohara?” The crowd was stunned.
“The genius manga artist who drew《Yu Yu Hakusho》!” Roji Hase added proudly.
One stone stirred a thousand waves.
The crowd’s gazes toward that corner became even more complex.
There, Hiroshi Nohara sat quietly, seemingly oblivious to the surrounding noise.
In front of him were no manuscripts, no materials, just a cup of green tea with steam rising, blurring his face and making him seem even more profound.
He didn’t exchange pleasantries with anyone, just nodded to Kiyoto Suzuki in a gap in the noise, then got up and walked into the adjacent independent office that had always been vacant and used as a storage room, gently closing the door.
The crowd exchanged glances, a kind of awe unconsciously produced when facing a strong person.
He had no mind to chat idly with these people.
He still had manga manuscripts to rush!
Hiroshi Nohara spread out the manuscripts he brought from home on the table, picked up that brush already in sync with his heart, and dipped it in ink.
The clamor and glory outside the window seemed isolated from him.
The television station work here had already gotten on track, the snowball was rolling, he no longer needed to worry about it. Like a skilled chess player, after setting up a must-win game, he leisurely turned to another, broader chessboard.
The pen tip fell on the paper, making a soft rustling sound.
That was Yusuke Urameshi’s Spirit Gun gathering power, Kurama’s rose blooming quietly, Hiei’s Evil King’s Flame Kill Black Dragon Wave roaring to tear apart this world.
He knew that the success of《An Shizhi》 was just the first step in establishing himself in this world. It could bring him fame, status, the qualification to speak equally with important people like Asumi.
But it wasn’t enough.
What he wanted was true power, independent of anyone, to master his own destiny.
And《Yu Yu Hakusho》, this manga hailed as a “masterpiece of genius” in his previous life, was another, sharper sword in his hand.
……
Time passed in the rustling of the pen tip, and Tokyo’s night fell once again.
Friday early morning, 12:20 a.m.
【An Shizhi·Different Level】
This time’s story took place in a brightly lit department store.
A young father was with his wife and young son, picking out birthday gifts. The scene was warm, everyday, filled with the slightly fatigued sense of happiness unique to urban families.
However, a call from his boss broke this tranquility. The father had to rush back to the company immediately to handle an emergency.
The child’s crying, the wife’s gaze—that was a calm gaze with a hint of icy cold resentment, like a soft knife stabbing the father into embarrassment.
He apologized awkwardly, retreated in a hurry, and escaped into an elevator that had just opened.
“Sigh, can someone let me have some peace…” In the narrow space, he muttered irritably to himself.
The elevator was very quiet, he was the only one inside.
Then, an icy cold, emotionless voice, as if from the depths of a machine, echoed faintly.
“Understood.”
