Chapter 170: This Is The First Day Of 1991! The Oyama Family’s Moment Of Happiness!
Today was the first day of 1991, with the daylight emerging in an extremely stingy manner, cautiously peeking a few pale rays from behind the thick cloud layer, sprinkling onto this Akita countryside covered in thin snow.
All was silent, with only a few barks from the distance, which made this New Year’s morning seem even more tranquil, like an eternal dream.
Hiroshi Nohara woke very early, or rather, he hadn’t really slept soundly at all.
The tranquility of his hometown instead made his heart, already accustomed to Tokyo’s noise, feel a subtle sense of unfamiliarity.
He didn’t turn on the light, just borrowing the faint daylight from the window, picked up the mobile phone by the bedside, which was considered a luxury item at the time.
The phone screen lit up, its dim blue glow illuminating his young and handsome face.
It was five-thirty in the morning.
Hiroshi Nohara’s fingertips danced on the small keypad, sending carefully worded blessings to those numbers woven together by fateful connections, known as connections.
Director Sakata, Deputy Director Asumi, Director Eiji Kurosawa, the editor-in-chief of Future Manga Company, the editor from Shueisha, and those colleagues from Tokyo Television Production Bureau, some close and some distant… each name represented a past, a battle, a bond, or an unspoken interest exchange.
He even sent greetings to his former classmates and teachers.
Not just mobile phone texts.
But also pager messages.
After all, in this era when mobile phones weren’t yet widespread, most people’s blessings still needed to be relayed through pager messages.
He was like a web-weaver sitting at the center of the web, using these invisible threads to tightly connect himself to this vast world.
Soon, that small starry sky began to respond to his presence in a more fervent way.
“Beep beep—”
“Beep beep beep—”
The phone’s text alert and the pager’s beeping intertwined in this quiet bedroom into a unique symphony.
“Hiroshi-kun, Happy New Year! Seven Samurai’s box office is still rising! At the celebration banquet when you return, I must toast you properly!” — This was from Deputy Director Asumi, with lines brimming with triumphant exhilaration.
“Happy New Year. How’s the script coming along? We must chat properly when you return.” — This was from Director Kurosawa, as concise as ever, yet carrying expectation.
“Teacher Nohara! Happy New Year! Yu Yu Hakusho, Doraemon, and Late-night Diner are all selling hot! Looking forward to your new achievements this year!” — This was from the editor-in-chief of Future Manga Company.
Omagari City’s mayor, Agricultural Association President, former classmates, teachers, even some business people seen only once at the wine table… countless blessings surged in like tides, turning his small phone into a scorching token bearing endless goodwill and expectations.
Hiroshi Nohara scrolled through them one by one, a faint smile always on his face.
He suddenly realized that, unknowingly, his life trajectory had intertwined so profoundly with so many people.
That boy who once left the Akita countryside with nothing now finally had his own place in this vast world.
He had truly changed his life.
Hiroshi Nohara lay in bed, thinking of the wretched and fatigued middle-aged man’s life from his previous memories, a smile curling at his lips.
If the original Hiroshi Nohara was a comedic side character in a bungling and funny comedy.
Then now.
This version of Hiroshi Nohara.
Was the protagonist in a refreshing, hot-blooded saga!
“At least for me, it’s pretty good.” Hiroshi Nohara chuckled lightly. No one wants to be a wretched protagonist.
Even if it’s as his son’s side character.
At that moment, footsteps came from outside the bedroom, along with his mother Tsuru Nohara’s voice: “Hiroshi, are you awake? Get up and eat something. Later you have to go with your dad to pay New Year visits.”
“Oh, coming!” Hiroshi Nohara snapped back, his lips curving slightly.
His mother’s words pulled him from that virtual world built of information back to this most real mortal world filled with worldly life.
“So, keep pushing forward, Nohara-kun!” Hiroshi Nohara gave himself a pep talk.
……
Omagari City’s winter had a biting yet pure beauty.
In the village, every household’s eaves hung with glistening icicles, the air filled with the fresh fragrance of burning pine wood and the aroma of food.
The Nohara family walked on the snow-covered country road, their footsteps crunching “creak creak,” like a simple winter love song.
Ginnosuke Nohara wore a brand-new down jacket today, his scalp waxed to a shiny gloss, and his always energetic face now overflowed with unconcealed, almost boastful pride.
Well, or rather, completely unconcealed boasting.
At this moment, Ginnosuke Nohara walked at the front like a peacock fanning its tail, eager to let the whole world know that behind him were his two sons he was extremely proud of, who had stood out.
“Yo! Ginnosuke! Happy New Year!”
“Happy New Year! Oh, isn’t this Hiroshi and Hiroshi? Both back!”
The Nohara family home in the village, and those old neighbors with century-old ties, were already waiting at the doorway.
Seeing the Nohara family, they warmly came forward, their weathered faces full of the purest goodwill.
“Hiroshi! You’re truly the pride of our Nohara family!”
An elderly man with white hair, retired from Omagari City’s city hall, lit up with excitement in his cloudy eyes upon seeing Hiroshi Nohara: “I watched your Seven Samurai! It was fantastic! Especially that part scolding the farmers, it was… it really hit home! Us farmers are just like that! Cunning, stingy, but that’s all forced out! You really get us!”
“Yes, yes!” Another middle-aged man chimed in, his face full of proud gratification: “My son is at university in Tokyo, he told me all of Tokyo is talking about your movie! They say you vented our anger for us rural folk! Hiroshi, you’re really… successful!”
The younger generation’s gazes were filled with undisguised worship and fanaticism.
They looked at Hiroshi Nohara as if he were a hero stepped out from legend.
Hiroshi Nohara just smiled and nodded, responding to the villagers’ enthusiasm.
He didn’t explain grand narratives about “class” and “era,” just calmly accepted this purest recognition from his homeland.
Because he knew, for these simple villagers, complex theories were far less real and warm than a simple “you get us.”
And amid this clamor full of praise, Hiroshi Nohara keenly noticed that his elder brother Hiroshi Nohara had also become a focus of attention.
“Hiroshi, you’re now Omagari City’s famous big president!” A middle-aged woman held Hiroshi Nohara’s hand, her face blooming with smiles: “My boy is helping out at your Akita Dog Breeding Base. He says you’re a president with no airs, always treating them to drinks! Working for you puts his mind at ease!”
“Yes! And my family’s land sold to your company, and now working at your company earns way more than farming ourselves!” Another man laughed: “Hiroshi, you’ve really… helped us big time!”
“Uncle and Aunt, you’re too kind.” Hiroshi Nohara stood amid the crowd, his dark face wearing a honest smile.
Smoothly and imperceptibly withdrawing his hand from Fifty Road Aunt’s grasp.
He was no longer the farmer who only knew to bury his head in the fields; facing the villagers’ praise, he was composed and at ease, that steadiness and magnanimity truly carrying a mature president’s air.
He quietly explained to Hiroshi Nohara: “Hiroshi, our company has grown, hiring villagers to tend the fields and breeding base. We’re all from the same village, helping each other, and life gets better.”
Hiroshi Nohara looked at his elder brother’s confident face and nodded with a smile: “You’re doing great, Elder Brother.”
“Hahaha! Did you hear that?! Did you hear?!”
Ginnosuke Nohara, seeing his two sons surrounded by the crowd, could no longer suppress his pride; hands on hips, he burst into laughter that he wished would echo through the whole village: “My two sons! One is Neon’s top television producer! The other is Omagari City’s youngest big president! Let me tell you, my life has been worth it!”
The villagers, seeing his smug demeanor, all knowingly laughed.
“Oh! Ginnosuke’s right! But my stove’s still burning corn, gotta check back!”
“Yes, yes! My kids are waiting for hugs!”
“No, I forgot something…”
They knew the old man’s temperament and didn’t point it out, just making excuses and dispersing in twos and threes.
“Hey! Don’t go! I wasn’t done!” Ginnosuke Nohara saw the suddenly quiet scene, his pride stuck in his throat, feeling uncomfortable.
He couldn’t help muttering: “These guys, really… no face given!”
“Alright, say less.” Tsuru Nohara covered her mouth, chuckling, giving her husband a playful glare, her eyes full of melting gentleness and pride: “The kids succeeded on their own merit. Don’t meddle as their dad.”
“How am I meddling?! I’m… proud of them!” Ginnosuke Nohara argued indignantly.
The two bickered again, their worldly bickering blending with distant firecracker sounds, forming the warmest, most touching New Year scroll.
……
Noonday sunlight, with winter’s special warmth, filtered through the window lattice onto the Nohara family table.
Lunch was still lavish, full of rich rural flavor.
The family sat around, enjoying this rare reunion.
Hiroshi Nohara set down his rice cake soup, his face slightly flushed from steam, with a perfectly measured solemnity.
“Hiroshi,” he looked at Hiroshi Nohara, tone carrying a hint of consultation: “This afternoon, shall we go to Omagari City together? Deliver New Year gifts to city hall leaders, pay respects?”
Hiroshi Nohara paused slightly upon hearing this.
He looked at his elder brother in some surprise.
The Hiroshi Nohara in his memory, though diligent and honest, was always a bit clumsy in social niceties.
He never imagined his brother would consider such meticulously maintained relationships so thoroughly.
Hiroshi Nohara, seeing his younger brother’s surprised gaze, scratched his head embarrassedly, a honest smile on his face: “Heh, don’t look at me like that. I… learned from you. While you were away, I read lots on business management, consulted many. They all say to grow a business, hard work alone isn’t enough; you need… good relations with those above.”
Hiroshi Nohara, seeing his elder brother’s face full of eagerness to learn, felt all surprise turn to deep gratification.
He knew his brother had truly grown.
He was no longer the brother needing his protection, but a true partner who could fight side by side.
“Good.” Hiroshi Nohara nodded firmly, a genuine smile on his face: “Brother, you’re right. It was already in my plan. Let’s go this afternoon.”
……
Afternoon sunlight bathed Omagari City’s streets in warm gold.
The black Toyota Crown drove steadily on the somewhat quiet streets.
Inside, Hiroshi Nohara and Hiroshi Nohara sat side by side. The trunk was packed with carefully prepared New Year gifts.
In Neon, giving small New Year gifts was very common.
First stop: Agricultural Association President’s home.
This respected elder, upon seeing the Nohara brothers visit personally, showed a rare warm smile on his usually stern face.
“Hiroshi-kun, Hiroshi-kun, you two are… truly formidable young men!” He personally brewed hot tea for them, tone full of praise: “Your company has made huge contributions to Omagari City’s agriculture. Especially your Akita Dog Breeding Base, now our city’s calling card! Your Excellency the Mayor has praised you by name in several meetings!”
Second stop: Omagari City’s mayor’s residence.
This mayor in his prime was even more enthusiastically welcoming than expected upon seeing Hiroshi Nohara again.
“Nohara-kun! Long admired! Long admired!” He gripped Hiroshi Nohara’s hand tightly, shrewd eyes flashing with a politician’s sharp light: “I watched your Seven Samurai! Brilliant! It’s not just a movie, but a great work to awaken our national spirit!”
“You flatter me.” Hiroshi Nohara replied politely.
At this point, Omagari City’s mayor, eyes gleaming, stated his ultimate goal: “So, the Akita Prefecture Akita Dog-related movie you mentioned before, is it on the schedule?”
After all, this mayor had seen Hiroshi Nohara’s filmmaking ability.
The first time he met this 23-year-old, though very respectful, he felt some trepidation about Hiroshi Nohara.
But when Seven Samurai, Hiroshi Nohara’s film, led even his most admired Director Eiji Kurosawa to hold a press conference clarifying it was Hiroshi Nohara’s movie and even better than his own.
This mayor now truly held high expectations for Hiroshi Nohara.
“Mayor, upon returning to Tokyo, the Akita Dog movie will start preparation. Then, whether Akita Prefecture or Omagari City, I hope both will see a surge in fame from my movie.”
Hiroshi Nohara answered with a smile.
And very confidently.
This confidence made the mayor beam: “Hahaha! Hiroshi-kun, I’m greatly looking forward to it!”
They chatted in detail for a while, then Hiroshi Nohara left city hall.
When the black Toyota Crown drove away from Omagari City again, the horizon was dyed scarlet by the evening glow.
Hiroshi Nohara gazed at the swiftly receding scenery outside, his clear eyes shimmering with a layout master’s profundity and composure.
He knew this afternoon’s visit was more than simple reciprocity.
It was laying the firmest road to success for his long-brewing grand plan about “Hachiko.”
He wanted all of Omagari City to become his plan’s most loyal supporters.
He wanted that Akita Dog named “Hachiko” to become this city’s, even all of Neon’s, eternal cultural icon.
And this was just the beginning.
……
Meanwhile, at the other end of the Neon Archipelago, in Kumamoto Prefecture’s central city Kumamoto City, the first ray of New Year’s sun pierced the floor-to-ceiling window of a modern single-family home, gilding the room in warm gold.
Unlike Akita Prefecture’s vast snowy countryside, Kumamoto City’s winter had less bite, more urban refinement and order.
Streets bustled with traffic, mall entrances hung with New Year decorations, air filled with faint plum blossom fragrance and high-end perfume from department stores.
The Oyama family’s New Year visits differed starkly from the Nohara family’s rustic relative-calling.
As a retired junior high dean of students, Yoshiharu Oyama’s connections were mostly in education.
His visits were like nostalgic, decorous tea chats with old friends.
Early morning, Misae was dragged from her warm bedding by her mother Takao Oyama, changed into a proper kimono, and accompanied her father, carrying exquisitely wrapped gift boxes, shuttling between Kumamoto City’s luxury apartments and standalone homes.
Visitors were either venerable old principals or former education colleagues.
They sat together, sipping fine tea, reminiscing glory days, discussing retirement life, lines exuding intellectuals’ dignity and decorum.
Of course, talk inevitably turned to their children.
And this was what Yoshiharu Oyama most anticipated today.
Then time reached noon.
All morning, Yoshiharu Oyama’s laughter hadn’t stopped, that satisfaction feeling still enjoyable even now.
At noon, as the impeccably maintained old Toyota sedan drove steadily back to the apartment, the car’s atmosphere was like a sun-warmed cat belly, full of lazy satisfaction.
In the driver’s seat, Yoshiharu Oyama, this old-school intellectual always with a stern face, was humming off-key enka, his irrepressible smug smile nearly reaching his ears.
That heartfelt joy was brighter than the sunlight outside.
He had truly reveled that morning.
Especially those who had excuses not to meet, claiming family matters, whom he dragged into detailed talks.
Very detailed.
Seeing them pinch their noses in helpless resignation, yet compelled by New Year to listen to his boasting.
Yoshiharu Oyama sighed deeply: “Today was truly fantastic!”
“Dad.” In the back, the Oyama family’s youngest daughter, high schooler Mogae Nohara, boredly flipped a fashion magazine, glancing at her father’s smug face via rearview mirror, pouting in girlish sarcasm: “That smile hasn’t left your face all day? Did those uncles praise you to the skies again? Us three sisters have become your boasting capital!”
Mother Takao Oyama in the passenger seat turned, giving her youngest a gently stern glare: “Mogae, mind how you speak to Dad. No manners.”
“I didn’t!” Mogae Nohara pouted defiantly, tossing the magazine aside, her lively, cunning eyes—eight parts like Misae’s—flashing mischief: “I just think Dad’s boasting today is over the top. Treating us three sisters like his proudest trophies, parading house to house.”
Thinking of her dad’s contrast from his usual stern face while boasting to old friends.
Mogae Nohara burst out laughing: “Dad’s hilarious! Didn’t know Dad loved showing off too!”
“Mogae, don’t say that.” Beside her, eldest sister Masae Oyama, the dignified junior high teacher like her father, smiled helplessly: “Give Dad face.”
“What face? Didn’t Dad get enough face boasting?” Mogae Nohara said even more smugly.
“Oh, Mogae! How can you talk to Dad like that?” Misae on the other side covered her mouth, chuckling “pfft,” her sparkling eyes full of amusement at her sister’s “treasonous” words.
“Nonsense!”
Yet, when everyone expected Yoshiharu Oyama to sternly scold his youngest as usual, he just glanced faintly at Mogae via rearview, then spoke in a logical, rigorous tone like correcting a student’s error.
“Mogae, that statement is fundamentally wrong.”
“Eh?” Mogae Nohara blinked, surprised her dad rebuked so calmly, not his usual angry outburst.
Defiant, she retorted: “How’s it wrong? Weren’t you just boasting about us?”
“No.” Yoshiharu Oyama shook his head, his stern face full of teacherly seriousness: “I admit, I was boasting today. But…” He paused, tone declaring an indisputable truth: “What I boasted about is my erudite eldest daughter, inheriting my mantle as kokugo teacher at Kumamoto City No.1 Junior High, Masae.”
“And…” Via rearview, he glanced at the also surprised Misae, eyes full of fatherly pride: “My somewhat scatterbrained but self-made second daughter, who built a career in Tokyo and became Future Manga Company president young, Misae.”
Here, he paused deliberately, then in a tone of regret and pity, delivered the petrifying final verdict.
“As for you…” He sighed deeply, voice full of frustration at unfulfilled potential: “A high schooler with mediocre grades, always reading those messy fashion magazines, clamoring to go to Tokyo without basic independent living skills… Mogae, what about you is worth boasting to my old friends?”
“…”
The whole world seemed muted in that instant.
After brief silence…
“Pfft—Hahahahaha!”
The car erupted in earth-shaking laughter!
Mother Takao laughed till she doubled over, tears streaming. Eldest Masae covered her mouth, shoulders shaking, her usually composed face full of irrepressible mirth.
“Hahaha! Mogae! Your turn!” Even Misae laughed till she trembled, collapsing onto Masae’s shoulder in silvery peals.
“Dad! You… you’re too much!”
Mogae Nohara, the sharp-tongued little demon moments ago, now had her pretty face beet red like a boiled shrimp.
Her lively eyes instantly misted, voice full of shame and grievance from public execution by her own father!
Usually she teased her dad.
How did it reverse now?!
“Dad, you really… turned the tables!” Takao Oyama finally stopped laughing, wiping tears, marveling at her husband’s victorious smugness.
These words poured oil on the fire.
“Hahahaha!”
“Ahahaha!”
The car’s laughter grew more unrestrained.
“Damn it!” Mogae Nohara completely broke.
Her fragile girlish heart felt mercilessly crushed to powder by her family’s “loving” laughter.
She huffed angrily, ignoring her “heartless” family, and pulled a exquisitely wrapped manga volume from her small bag, flipping it sulkily.
The cover boldly read warm, worldly words—Late-night Diner.
“I’m telling you!” Mogae Nohara flipped the manga, declaring fiercely in “indignant” tone: “Soon as I graduate high school, I’m off to Tokyo! I’ll throw myself on my brother-in-law! He’ll take me in! I’m never coming back! Hmph!”
This girlish fantasy “threat” didn’t quell the laughter but made the car even merrier.
After the laughter, the atmosphere calmed.
Takao Oyama gazed at the rushing streetscape, her gentle smile returning; turning to her three daughters, she asked softly: “Alright, no more. Seriously, what for lunch? Any afternoon plans?”
“What about you, Mom?” Misae caught her mother’s implication: “Not with us?”
“Me.” Takao’s voice carried a noblewoman’s elegance and leisure: “Afternoon flower arranging with Mrs. Suzuki and them, then sample new matcha. You girls?”
“I…” Masae Oyama’s fair cheeks instantly blushed suspiciously.
She twirled her forelock subconsciously, voice mosquito-like: “I… afternoon, meeting Fujiwara-kun… to watch a movie.”
“Fujiwara-kun?!”
The name rippled the car like a stone in a calm lake!
“Whoa—!” Mogae Nohara whooped first, her teary eyes now blazing with gossip fire!
Dropping her manga, she leaned to her big sister, face full of sly grins: “Big Sis! Nice! Date to movie so soon? How far along? Held hands? Hugged? Have you…”
“Mogae!”
Takao Oyama’s voice held subtle sternness, cutting off her youngest’s “wolfish” questions.
She patted Mogae’s arm gently, eyes with traditional woman’s reproach: “Girls must speak properly! Act like a lady!”
“Exactly!” Yoshiharu Oyama shot a “stern” rearview glance, intoning: “Not steady at all!”
Though saying so, both he and Takao hid barely concealed curiosity and concern.
Masae Oyama, under family’s “scrutinizing” gazes, blushed till it seemed to drip blood.
Head down, voice tiny: “N-no… Fujiwara-kun… he’s a good person.”
Pausing to muster courage, she added: “He seems… a bit indifferent, always businesslike, but… treats me very well. And… he said after New Year, he’ll… visit you, Dad and Mom, personally.”
This was a bombshell.
Personal visit?
In Neon’s tradition, nearly equivalent to formal “proposal.”
Very important!
“Oh—!” Mogae Nohara whooped meaningfully, grinning wider at her sister’s bashfulness.
She turned her “mischievous” gaze to the also smirking Misae.
“Big Sis settled, wedding next, then your turn, Second Sis?” She winked excitedly: “I hear brother-in-law’s way more proactive than that Fujiwara-kun!”
“Mind your own!”
Misae’s cheeks flushed “whoosh.”
She pushed Mogae lightly, sparkling eyes shy but mostly sweet, proud happiness.
Chest out, confidently: “Anyway, waiting for Big Sis to finish. Our Hiroshi can come anytime!”
“Oho! ‘Our Hiroshi’!” Mogae Nohara latched on, mimicking Misae’s tone in falsetto: “Hear that! Not even married yet, already ‘our Hiroshi’! Shameless much!”
Seeing both sisters’ flushed faces, Mogae Nohara, recently “executed” by Dad, now grinned triumphantly like a successful prankster.
Her crushed girlish heart pieced back together by sisters’ “predicaments.”
Indeed, family’s happiness builds on family’s “pain”!
PS: Spent the day on outline, next sort it out, updates too fast, need solid outline.
