Chapter 117: 《late-night Diner》 And 《solitary Gourmet》 Fantasies!
“You are… Hiroshi Nohara!?”
That shout filled with shock and ecstasy was like a stone thrown into a calm lake, instantly stirring up waves in this small restaurant full of stories!
“Nani?! It’s really Teacher Nohara?!”
At the bar counter, those few men in black suits who looked fierce and menacing, exuding a “keep away” aura from head to toe, all sprang up from their seats at the same time!
Their faces, each one screaming “don’t mess with me,” were now replaced by a fanaticism bordering on pilgrimage.
Those eyes burned so hot it seemed they would melt Hiroshi Nohara on the spot!
“It’s really Teacher Nohara!”
A burly man with a buzz cut, a corner of a fierce deity tattoo peeking from his neck, flushed red with excitement. He rushed forward in two strides instead of three, his fan-like large hand extending halfway before retracting like he’d been shocked. He bashfully wiped it on his expensive suit, then said in a guilty tone: “Teacher Nohara! Your《World of the Strange》, I… I watch every episode! That《Terrifying Touch》! That twist! It’s simply… simply divine inspiration!”
“And《An Shizhi》!” A companion with a faint scar on his face crowded up too, his usually fierce face now full of a little fan’s excitement upon seeing their idol: “Us brothers used to love watching your《An Shizhi》 the most! That was real terror! Real urban legends! Then that trash Iwata took over, making garbage! Good thing you’re back! The king returns!”
Even the three “ochazuke sisters” in the corner who always huddled together chattering about men and only ordered ochazuke forgot their dignity, their eyes sparkling like three kittens spotting catnip, excitedly whispering.
“Wow… so handsome… even handsomer than on TV…”
“The real person has such great presence. Look at the girl next to him, she’s so pretty too. Is she his girlfriend?”
“Of course! Genius matches beauty, it’s only natural!”
Misae was startled by this sudden commotion and instinctively hid behind Hiroshi Nohara, but her delicate little face was already flushed with proud glee.
These people were clearly Nohara-kun’s fans, and their respect for him made her feel truly proud.
But seeing those guys with tattoos and cruel looks.
Misae still stepped back a bit.
In Neon society, tattoos mean you’re not a good person—gangster, yakuza-related.
They really get discriminated against.
Hiroshi Nohara looked at this humorous scene, the helplessness from the interruption instantly replaced by a wry warmth.
He smilingly reached out and shook hands one by one with these “fanatic fans” who could punch a cow to death, his posture calm and proper, without a trace of arrogance from the adulation.
In his previous life’s Huaxia, tattoos got odd looks too, but not like Neon’s rigid hierarchy and social repression.
Completely looking down on these yakuza members.
Hiroshi Nohara took it lightly too.
After all, they were fans.
Hurting a fan’s feelings, if word got out, would really damage his image.
Hiroshi Nohara came from another world, so he knew sometimes a superior being generous and decent scores major points.
So he smiled and nodded: “Thanks for the support, everyone. It’s just an ordinary program, doesn’t deserve the title ‘masterpiece.'”
“No no no! You’re too modest!”
Behind the bar counter, the scarred-face boss Xiang Shuishang, who had quietly watched it all, finally set down his plate.
He slightly bowed to Hiroshi Nohara, his hoarse steady voice carrying heartfelt respect: “To create works that make guests truly feel joy and shock from the heart, you deserve any praise.”
Hiroshi Nohara’s gaze fell on him, a glint flashing in those clear eyes.
This face, this outfit, this calm aura settled from the worldly life like the deep sea…
“Excuse me, have we met somewhere?”
Hiroshi Nohara pulled Misae to sit at the bar counter and casually asked: “I have a friend named Kobayashi, who looks… very much like you, boss.”
Xiang Shuishang’s hand paused slightly while wiping a plate, then a startled yet distant faint smile appeared on his usually aloof face: “Is that so? Probably just a coincidence. The world has lots of similar people.”
Hiroshi Nohara smiled and didn’t press.
That was nonsense anyway.
After all, Kobayashi was the protagonist of《Late-night Diner》 from his previous life!
What relation to this world?
But seeing this familiar scene and this Late-night Diner boss named Xiang Shuishang, he chuckled too.
From build to looks, very similar indeed.
And a scar on the face too.
Too amusing!
He surveyed this small restaurant, those story-filled diners, and his top producer brain began spinning at terrifying speed.
Late night, gourmet, lonely souls in the city…
These three keywords, like perfect puzzle pieces, instantly formed a grand blueprint full of possibilities in his mind.
“Boss, can you make everything on the menu?” he suddenly asked.
“Yes.” Xiang Shuishang nodded, his calm eyes shining with artisan confidence: “As long as I know how.”
“Good.” Hiroshi Nohara’s lips curved: “Pork cutlet rice for me. Vegetable salad for my wife, thanks.”
This was just like《Late-night Diner》!
“Got it, please wait.”
Xiang Shuishang turned to the kitchen, and soon a domineering aroma of pork fat and bread crumbs wafted out with a pleasing “sizzle—”.
Soon, steaming golden crispy pork cutlet rice and a vibrant fresh-looking vegetable salad were served to them.
The pork cutlet was crispy outside tender inside; one bite burst with rich meat juice and sweet rice in the mouth—that purest carb-and-fat joy enough to heal any weary soul.
“Mmm—! So delicious!”
Misae tasted the salad, her pretty big eyes blissfully squinting. She sneaked a bite of Hiroshi Nohara’s pork cutlet, her little face full of amazement: “Boss! Your skills… better than Ginza’s Michelin chefs!”
Xiang Shuishang just smiled, said nothing, and turned to prepare food for other guests.
Meanwhile, Hiroshi Nohara savored this human-flavored delicacy while subtly observing everyone around.
He watched the nightclub guards, after a few drinks, boast about their youthful “glorious deeds” on the path—that cheap yet real male vanity made him smile knowingly.
He watched the “ochazuke sisters” complain about not meeting good men while critiquing the new handsome guest—that gossipy feminine longing for love made him chuckle.
He even spotted an enka singer in fancy kimono with a touch of melancholy, alone in the corner silently sipping sake, eyes recalling a brilliant bygone era.
These were the freshest, most real stories of this city.
They needed no fancy packaging, no twisted plots.
They just needed a quiet stage, a steaming dish of gourmet, and a gentle listener willing to hear.
An idea like lightning splitting the night sky instantly lit up Hiroshi Nohara’s mind.
《Late-night Diner》.
That’s it!
He’d found that new god-level proposal to rival《World of the Strange》 as late-night king, even sparking a new social phenomenon!
And that wasn’t all.
When his gaze fell on an office worker eating contentedly alone, face beaming oblivious happiness, another equally bewitching name leaped from his memory depths.
《Lonely Gourmet》.
A story of a man finding his unique gourmet happiness in one unassuming eatery after another.
No fierce conflicts, no complex relations—just purest respect for food and love of life.
These two stark gourmet philosophies, like surging rivers, converged and collided in his mind, forming a vast ocean named “gourmet drama” to drown the entire Neon television industry!
“Not bad… this time really not bad…”
Hiroshi Nohara’s lips curved in a near-maniacal, absolutely confident brilliant smile.
He eyed this small restaurant full of worldly life, gaze like Columbus spotting new lands, burning with conqueror’s fire!
He knew, from this night, a massive commercial empire would quietly take root in his mind—one to make him filthy rich, extending tentacles into dining and publishing, brand new fields.
And his task: turn this late-night warmth into a ratings myth to drive all Neon mad!
…
The next day, when Hiroshi Nohara strode refreshed into his exclusive kingdom office, his first act was to pick up the internal telephone.
“Kitagawa, come to my office.”
Soon, a capable figure appeared at the doorway.
“Minister, you wanted me.” Yō Kitagawa walked over in a well-tailored professional suit.
“Yes.” Hiroshi Nohara pointed to the opposite sofa, signaling her to sit, then got straight to it: “I’m starting a new company, a cultural media firm specializing in manga IP incubation and operations.”
“Eh?!” Yō Kitagawa froze, her usually sparkling big eyes full of shock.
These words were too advanced for her.
Of course, Hiroshi Nohara didn’t need her to understand much—just handle his arrangements.
“The person in charge is me.”
Hiroshi Nohara continued calmly, like announcing lunch: “Startup funds, take out ten million yen first. Office space, rent a small office building near our television station. You’re in full charge—get it done ASAP, okay?”
Ten million yen!
Yō Kitagawa felt her heart skip half a beat.
Not a small sum.
“Understood! But Minister… I don’t really know how to register a company.” Yō Kitagawa was honest.
“No problem, I’ll assign you a pro legal and finance team.” Hiroshi Nohara’s tone was firm: “You just execute my arrangements.”
He paused, then continued:
“After setup, first task: recruit manga artists. No famous masters—I want passionate newbies with basics but unrecognized. Simple mode: no office hours, I’ll provide full script and character sketch; they handle coloring and content fill/expansion per my specs.”
“First work, this one.” He pushed a thick manuscript still smelling of graphite to Yō Kitagawa.
On it, in unique artistic font, playful yet bewitching big characters—《Doraemon》.
“This… this is…” Yō Kitagawa stared at the chubby blue cat robot on the paper, her eyes bursting with incredulous brilliance!
“Help me out, Kitagawa, I’ll pay you.” Hiroshi Nohara smiled helplessly too: “You know, I don’t really know much either.”
“Understood!” Yō Kitagawa felt entrusted with heavy duty, bowing again immediately.
…
A few days later, a sunny weekend.
Not far from Tokyo Television Station, in front of a small two-story office building just listed for rent.
Hiroshi Nohara held Misae’s hand, eyeing this modest but bright, full-of-potential “Future Manga Company,” a satisfied smile on his face.
Beside him, Yō Kitagawa and Hoshi Minamimura stood like loyal knights, proudly introducing “Madam Minister” to her upcoming territory.
And as main handler, Yō Kitagawa stood tall.
This was her personal help for Minister Nohara!
“Madam Misae, see, it’s small but fully equipped! First floor reception and communal studio, second floor your president office and our core meeting room. All decor and equipment handpicked by Minister—top quality!” Hoshi Minamimura’s voice brimmed with proud glee.
“Yes yes!” Yō Kitagawa eagerly flattered: “Minister says this is just the start! Madam as president! Then when《Doraemon》 blows up, acquire bigger offices! Go public! Then you’ll be Neon’s youngest, prettiest lady president!”
“Oh! You… don’t tease me!” Misae’s face reddened like hot iron, shy yet delighted, burying her little face in Hiroshi Nohara’s arm instinctively—her girlish heart stuffed full of immense happiness.
She looked up, starry eyes fixed unblinking on the man who’d built her a sky, voice trembling dreamily: “Hiroshi-kun… can I… really do it?”
“Of course.” Hiroshi Nohara smiled, ruffling her hair, voice full of unquestionable gentleness: “Just remember, you’re Hiroshi Nohara’s woman. That’s enough.”
In his previous life, corny pickup line.
But now.
Pure domineering CEO declaration!
Melting Misae’s heart sweet!
“Um… Minister, Madam, we’ll… go to that new coffee shop ahead, get you drinks!” Yō Kitagawa and Hoshi Minamimura exchanged knowing smiles.
With perfect tacit understanding, they made the ideal excuse to leave the couple in their world.
But as they turned, two terrified screams sliced through the tranquil afternoon without warning!
“Ah—!”
“Ah—!”
Hiroshi Nohara and Misae both froze, looking toward the sound—those two young smirks now scrambling back like ghost-struck rabbits, young faces bare with horror.
“Ya… yakuza! Yakuza!!” Hoshi Minamimura stammered, hiding behind Hiroshi Nohara, trembling finger pointing at the figure slowly approaching from afar.
Hiroshi Nohara frowned, looking that way.
A man walked toward them unhurriedly.
The man wore a visually impactful yellow checkered suit, old-fashioned brown sunglasses on his face, messy black short curls framing a “story-filled” face scary enough for kids’ nightmares.
Deep nasolabial folds, awe-inspiring aura, especially that thick stubble paired with his self-thought-kind but demon-grin smile, radiating “I’m no good guy” powerfully.
He carried a quite professional-looking DSLR camera.
“Excuse me, folks.”
The man stopped before them, hoarse voice like rough sandpaper rubbing, full of pressure: “You all look talented and beautiful, extraordinary presence—must be celebrating something? I’m Bunta Takakura, photographer. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a commemorative photo, capture this moment. Cheap—500 yen a shot.”
He spoke, his grin widening to reveal yellowed smoker teeth.
“Ah—!”
Misae paled in fright, clutching Hiroshi Nohara’s arm tightly.
Yō Kitagawa and Hoshi Minamimura shook like leaves in wind.
This… what photographer?
Clearly a yakuza extorting via photo pretense!
Yet amid the tension, a suppressed-angry complaint came from behind Bunta Takakura.
“Takakura! You idiot! How many times have I told you! Don’t smile at customers with that face! Scares them off!”
A man in same-style but blue checkered suit rushed over furiously, shoving Bunta Takakura aside, then flashing an apologetic smile at Hiroshi Nohara’s group.
“Really sorry! Really sorry! My partner’s looks… a bit intense. But he’s absolutely not a bad guy!”
“You’re the intense one!” Bunta Takakura retorted indignantly, a wronged look on his fierce face: “This is manly world-weariness! You don’t get it!”
“Get shit!” The blue suit guy jumped mad, “Since partnering you, our sales are company dead last this month! Every outing, customers think scammer or cops question us! Worst luck pairing you! Go back to your Kasukabe hometown! Stop messing in Tokyo!”
“…” Bunta Takakura was speechless, his fierce face shedding menace for deep, wronged melancholy sigh.
He eyed the young folks he’d scared pale, finally lowering his camera, bowing deeply to them.
“Really sorry, frightened you all.”
His voice full of helplessness: “Seems… I’m not cut out for this. Maybe… I should run a kindergarten, play with kids—that suits me better.”
This gap-moe speech stunned Misae, Yō Kitagawa, and Hoshi Minamimura.
Seeing this outwardly fierce but soft-hearted big uncle, their fear oddly faded, replaced by wry sympathy.
Only Hiroshi Nohara, at this black humor scene, eyes narrowed slightly: “This guy’s… Bunta Takakura!?”
Hiroshi Nohara’s lips quirked.
Kasukabe Twinleaf Kindergarten’s principal!
Never thought they’d meet early, in such dramatic fashion.
This world really… full of wondrous tales.
Seeing Bunta Takakura so at a loss, Hiroshi Nohara stepped forward, nodding smilingly under their stunned gazes:
“Mr. Takakura, right?”
His voice calm: “Then take plenty of our photos. Record this brand-new start!”
500 yen a photo.
Not expensive.
A little care from Hiroshi Nohara to the principal!
