Chapter 23: 177
Aiai Takeshita’s apartment was spotless, with a faint lavender aroma wafting through the air.
She had not drunk any alcohol, and a cup of warm black tea sat in front of her.
When《An Shizhi》the second episode《Bai Can》’s final image froze, and that piercing brake sound seemed to still echo in her ears, she finally let out a long breath, feeling a chill on her back.
Even though she had already seen it in advance during the review, when it truly aired through the television signal on such a quiet late night, that bone-deep terror still made her heart race.
She picked up the proposal on the table that she had already read several times, her gaze falling once more on the name “Hiroshi Nohara” and the incredibly novel term he had created for this world—”urban legends”.
This was no longer just simple horror animation.
Aiai Takeshita asserted in her heart.
This was a completely new narrative mode, abandoning the distant ghost gods and ancient legends of traditional horror stories, and instead turning the lens on every ordinary person in the modern city, digging out the most primal, most resonant fears from the details of their most familiar, everyday lives.
Apartments, neighbors, hospitals, taxis… these were all traps, all entrances to the unknown.
This was the true stroke of genius.
Aiai Takeshita lifted her tea cup, the warm liquid sliding down her throat, yet unable to dispel the trace of chill in her heart and the increasingly burning admiration.
She made up her mind: if, if this animation’s ratings truly failed to meet the television station’s standards, she absolutely could not let such a gem gather dust.
She would personally go to Deputy Director Asumi.
That old classmate of hers, who had sharp eyes since high school days and never compromised with mediocrity, would surely understand the true value of《An Shizhi》.
……
The next morning, Suzuki’s Classroom.
The air was so solemn it seemed it could drip water.
Everyone was present, Hoshi Minamimura’s dark circles thick as if drawn with ink, Yō Kitagawa’s eyes still somewhat red and swollen. They were like a group of prisoners awaiting judgment, their gazes all fixed on the office doorway.
Finally, the door opened.
Ichiro Hashishita walked in, clutching a thin report that seemed to weigh a thousand pounds in his hand. His face looked even worse than yesterday, a gray pallor mixed with disappointment, unwillingness, and absurdity.
“Hashishita…” Kiyoto Suzuki’s voice was terribly hoarse.
Ichiro Hashishita said nothing, simply placing the report in the center of the table, everyone instinctively leaning in.
“Late-night Animation《An Shizhi》, second episode ratings: 1.77%.”
“Ratings level—poor.”
1.77%.
The office was deathly silent.
If yesterday’s 1.75% was a basin of ice water, then today’s 1.77% was a merciless slap.
A mere increase of 0.02%.
This negligible growth was more despairing than a cliff-like drop.
It meant that the “reputation seed” Hiroshi Nohara had pinned high hopes on yesterday had not sprouted at all. It meant all their struggles were in vain.
“How… how could this…” Hoshi Minamimura’s lips trembled, unable to form a complete sentence.
Roji Hase slumped dejectedly in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling as if all his strength had been drained.
Yō Kitagawa could no longer hold back, burying her face in her arms and letting out suppressed, faint sobs.
It was over.
This time, it was truly over.
Kiyoto Suzuki stared at the glaring number on the report, feeling as if his heart were being viciously gripped. He didn’t even dare look at Hiroshi Nohara, afraid to see the same despair on that forever confident young man’s face as on theirs.
In the nearby Iwata’s Classroom, an unmasked burst of raucous laughter erupted.
“Hahahaha! 1.77%! My god, how did they manage that? It even rose 0.02%! Did two new viewers show up? One his dad, one his mom?”
“Section Chief, now we can completely relax! That old guy Suzuki is totally dead!”
“Just wait for next Monday to see our《Oni-bō Samurai》 stun everyone and crush their pathetic ratings to powder!”
Masao Iwata leaned comfortably in his genuine leather boss chair, listening to his subordinates’ praise, a smug and cruel smile on his lips. He picked up the telephone to report this “good news” to Deputy Director Takada, and on the other end, Toshihide Takada let out a satisfied chuckle.
Everything was under control.
……
Just as Suzuki’s Classroom was shrouded in suffocating despair, a voice finally came from that corner everyone had instinctively avoided.
“Everyone.”
Hiroshi Nohara’s voice remained calm, showing no emotional fluctuation. He stood up from his seat and walked to the report, picking it up.
All eyes gathered on him.
They saw no despair on Hiroshi Nohara’s face, no unwillingness, not even the slightest surprise. His gaze was like looking at a number unrelated to himself—calm and focused.
He held the thin paper up to everyone, pointing at the “1.77%” figure, and slowly spoke.
“What do you see?”
The crowd exchanged glances, not knowing how to answer. They saw failure, saw despair—what else was there to see?
Hiroshi Nohara’s gaze swept over every ashen face, his voice not loud but clearly reaching everyone’s ears.
“I see growth.”
His finger lightly tapped on the “0.02%” increase.
“I know this number is negligible, even laughable. But have you thought about what it means?”
He paused, giving them time to think, then continued: “It means that with no promotion at all and an airtime like exile, not only did our audience not flee, they… increased.”
“This 0.02% isn’t two people. In Tokyo, it represents thousands of families. It means that among yesterday’s scared viewers, some not only tuned in themselves today but also dragged their friends, family, colleagues along.”
“Word-of-mouth fermentation is never instantaneous. It’s like rolling a snowball—at first, you only see a tiny, negligible trace on the snow. But if the slope is long enough and the snow wet enough, it grows bigger and bigger, eventually becoming an avalanche.”
His voice carried a composure and power that saw through everything. He wasn’t consoling; he was stating a fact, a future only he knew was inevitable.
“Our slope is a full seven days. Our snow is《An Shizhi》’s unique terror. Now, the snowball has just begun to roll.”
Hiroshi Nohara set down the report, surveying the crowd, and finally, a confident arc curved at his lips.
“Everyone, the real show has just begun.”
