Chapter 9: Broadcast
As Kiyoto Suzuki explained the situation, Hiroshi Nohara also understood the reason why he and Ichiro Hashishita were late today.
First, it was to apply for Ichiro Hashishita’s promotion to third-class director.
Second, it was the An Shizhi copyright matter.
After all, the An Shizhi copyright was still in Hiroshi Nohara’s hands. If they wanted to produce it as animation, they would definitely need to buy the copyright from Hiroshi Nohara and then proceed with production.
That was the normal process.
But the reason Kiyoto Suzuki was so angry was that Ichiro Hashishita’s promotion to third-class director had been delayed by the Human Resources Department.
They said that after investigation by the Human Resources Department and feedback from the animation department, Ichiro Hashishita needed to participate in or produce a better work on his own.
This directly made Kiyoto Suzuki extremely furious.
If that was all.
He also understood that the people at the Tokyo Television Production Bureau Headquarters were quite exclusionary toward outsiders like them.
Even he, Kiyoto Suzuki, was being squeezed out, let alone Ichiro Hashishita?
He could only pinch his nose and accept it.
The key point was that when applying for funds from the animation department and requesting to purchase the An Shizhi animation adaptation rights, the 500,000 yen per episode procurement fee he proposed was directly cut to 400,000 yen.
It was equivalent to slapping him in the face directly.
“This is too damn outrageous!”
Kiyoto Suzuki sat in his chair, still quite angry as he gritted his teeth and said: “From what I know, Masao Iwata over there has a production budget of 2 million yen per episode, not even including the copyright fee for purchasing the manga!”
This was already an extreme double standard.
Kiyoto Suzuki had something he didn’t say.
Because the production budget assigned to him was only 1 million yen per episode!
Less by a full half!
Although in terms of theme, what Masao Iwata was required to produce was a more exquisite plot-based terror animation that needed to air in the midnight slot, around 11 p.m. at night.
While the terror animation Kiyoto Suzuki was required to produce was for the late-night early morning slot, around 12:20 a.m., with slightly looser requirements.
But this was a double standard in itself.
Now.
They were playing an even more extreme double standard!
Kiyoto Suzuki sitting here truly felt a rage burning from the depths of his soul, making his heart extremely indignant.
“Section Chief Suzuki, it’s okay, 400,000 yen is already quite a lot.” But at this moment, Hiroshi Nohara smiled lightly and spoke, stunning even Kiyoto Suzuki.
“Nohara-kun…” Kiyoto Suzuki’s expression was stunned.
“I accept this copyright fee price.” Hiroshi Nohara’s mouth curved slightly: “After all, it’s just the price for the first season. If our program becomes a huge hit, then for the next season, would the copyright fee still be just this much?”
Hiroshi Nohara placed the copyright fee in the future.
After all, whether An Shizhi would become a hit, others might not know, but could he not know?
“Nohara-kun!” But Kiyoto Suzuki really didn’t know. At this moment, looking at Hiroshi Nohara, his face was full of moved emotion.
Then he stood up directly from his seat.
He bowed deeply to Hiroshi Nohara on the spot and said in an extremely moved tone: “Thank you very much! Hiroshi Nohara-kun!”
For Kiyoto Suzuki, this was Hiroshi Nohara sacrificing his own money to help his success.
And he so firmly recognized him, Kiyoto Suzuki.
This was enough to show the bond between the two!
Especially since Hiroshi Nohara was an intern assistant he had personally recruited, and also the classmate and friend of his own nephew Kawa Suzuki.
He could completely be regarded as one of their own!
And moreover.
The kind of one of their own who must be respected!
“Mr. Suzuki!” Hiroshi Nohara of course understood Japanese etiquette at this time. He didn’t dare to just stand there and accept the bow, but also bowed deeply to Kiyoto Suzuki to show his humility.
Even while bowing, Hiroshi Nohara still felt a bit helpless.
Bowing at every turn.
And he had to return the bow.
If he didn’t return it, the other party would hold jealousy.
“Speechless.” Hiroshi Nohara thought about the strict hierarchical order in the Japanese workplace, as well as the perverse personal dependence and faction issues, and even after transmigrating to being in his twenties, he still couldn’t adapt.
But he was already here, what else could he do?
……
After chatting a few more words about the next work issues, amid Kiyoto Suzuki’s approving encouragement, Hiroshi Nohara returned to the classroom.
The outside light and sounds instantly flooded in, and that vibrant little world enveloped him once again.
He walked back to his workstation, where Hoshi Minamimura and Roji Hase were looking at him with some anxiety, and even Yō Kitagawa cast a concerned gaze.
“It’s fine.” Hiroshi Nohara gave them a reassuring smile: “Let’s keep working and strive to bring the first story to life today!”
His words seemed to carry magic, dispelling the unease in everyone’s hearts.
The depressive atmosphere influenced by the section chief’s lateness and bad expression was swept away, replaced by an excitement like being injected with a heart stimulant.
Time quietly passed amid the friction of pen tips on drawing paper.
Hiroshi Nohara didn’t say another word. He just stood behind Hoshi Minamimura and Roji Hase like a calm ghost. His gaze swept over every manuscript, and his fingers occasionally lightly tapped on a certain storyboard, offering the most concise revision opinions.
“Make the shadows here deeper, the kind of black that can swallow light.”
“This man’s eyes shouldn’t be terrified, but puzzled—yes, the kind of puzzlement that senses something wrong amid unease.”
“The talisman in the background, draw it even more worn, as if it would crumble with a gentle peel, but it’s sealed, sealing away a secret.”
“What we want is atmosphere, not traditional death and terror—it’s the suspicious atmosphere appearing in familiar modern cities, slowly turning into fear, ultimately becoming utter terror, the kind of terror that chills you upon deep reflection!”
His guidance was precise and lethal, always pinpointing the core of the image.
Hoshi Minamimura and Roji Hase had shifted from initial amazement to near-worshipful conviction.
They felt like they weren’t producing an animation, but under a master’s guidance, performing some mysterious ritual, summoning bit by bit a ghost lurking deep within the paper.
Ichiro Hashishita also joined in, silently doing auxiliary coloring work. Although his face still carried lingering gloom, his hand movements were meticulous.
He poured all his frustration and unwillingness into those thick, dark colors.
Exactly three o’clock in the afternoon.
When the final frame of image was scanned into the computer for final compositing, everyone in Suzuki’s Classroom held their breath.
“Let’s start!” Kiyoto Suzuki stood up and gave the command.
“Yes!”
Hoshi Minamimura’s hand trembled as he pressed the play button.
The office lights were turned off, leaving only the computer screen glowing with cold light.
A eerie sound as if from ancient times faintly rang out. The dim yellow sunset dyed this residential area an eerie orange-yellow, with countless expressionless or grinning children playing.
A paper theater man wearing a yellow mask appeared on screen, accompanied by the sound of small drum strikes, speaking the opening lines in a flat, emotionless tone.
“Passersby, don’t miss out…”
“An Shizhi time has arrived…”
Then, white text on black background like a funeral announcement appeared above with the title—「An Shizhi · Talisman Woman」
The screen switched.
Rough lines, large color blocks, paper-like figures.
A man found a new house. Under the sunset, the truck’s departure sounded with “beep beep,” reflecting the man’s lifeless eyes weary from moving, and his dazed face numb to the future.
Accompanied by the dubbing done by Roji Hase, the narration began introducing this
That voice, played through cheap sound system, felt like it was scraping directly on everyone’s eardrums.
The slideshow-style screen switches not only didn’t weaken the terror, but amplified the unknown, unresolved fear countless times due to the pauses and eerie static compositions.
At the story’s end, when the protagonist man tore apart more talismans in his home, and right above his head, shadowy figures with sinister expressions slowly emerged.
The story abruptly ended!
The screen went black.
The office was in dead silence.
Yō Kitagawa subconsciously hugged her arms tightly, her face somewhat pale. Hoshi Minamimura and Roji Hase were panting heavily, their foreheads covered in cold sweat.
“Success…” Kiyoto Suzuki murmured to himself, his eyes reigniting with light for the first time.
Hiroshi Nohara turned on the lights.
He looked at everyone’s reactions, his heart calm and unruffled.
All of this was within his expectations.
This psychological terror rooted in urban legends and daily life was, for people of this era, a brand new, irresistible stimulation!
