Chapter 220: Kumamon’s Silly Moments! Filming Progress Underway!
Kumamoto’s nightfall came earlier than Tokyo’s. Just past seven, the streets outside the window only had a few convenience stores lit with warm yellow lights.
Hiroshi put down the pencil in his hand, his knuckles aching from holding it for so long. He rubbed his wrist and was about to get up to go downstairs for dinner when his mobile phone vibrated in his pocket.
Hiroshi took out his mobile phone. The screen showed “Asumi,” and he raised an eyebrow before pressing the answer button.
“Mr. Nohara, good evening.” Deputy Director Asumi’s steady voice came from the other end, with faint sounds of the television station office discussions in the background: “I didn’t interrupt your rest, did I?”
“Deputy Director Asumi is too polite. I just finished drawing a few pages of storyboard and was about to have dinner.” Hiroshi walked to the window, pushed open half of it, and the evening breeze brought in the faint scent of cherry blossoms: “Calling at this hour, is there something urgent?”
Asumi chuckled lightly on the other end, his tone carrying obvious amusement: “No urgent matters, but there’s good news. The results for those awards you were nominated for have come out—Japan Drama Academy Awards, Mainichi Film Award, Tokyo Drama Awards, these three key awards our station focused on, and you swept them.”
Hiroshi’s fingers paused on the phone, not entirely surprised, but he hadn’t expected the results so soon.
He had been busy drawing manga lately and took time to help Isshin refine the Kumamon proposal, so he had completely put the awards ceremony out of his mind.
“Which ones exactly?” Hiroshi leaned on the windowsill, his tone still calm, as if asking about someone else’s affairs.
“Your mindset is steady.” Asumi tsked twice on the other end, his voice reporting the awards with excitement: “Japan Drama Academy Awards: Best New Director, Best Original Script, and 《World of the Strange》 won Best Unit Drama; Mainichi Film Award is even better, you got a Best Director nomination personally—though you didn’t win, being on the same nomination list as Director Eiji Kurosawa is huge recognition already; the best is Tokyo Drama Awards: Best Animated Film to 《An Shizhi》, Best Variety Show to 《Super Change Change Change》, and you even took Best Creative Award—adding up big and small, seven or eight awards, you’re emptying this year’s award pool.”
Asumi’s tone turned emotional: “Honestly, Mr. Nohara, when I was your age, I was still running errands for seniors. Getting a nomination in some small award would let me brag to colleagues for half a month. You directly swept the core awards from the three major ones—no one would believe it. A director in his twenties, you’re the first in the entire Japanese film and television industry.”
Hiroshi listened to Asumi’s emotions, the corners of his mouth curving up slightly, but he didn’t boast along, just said lightly: “It’s all thanks to the station. Director Sakata gave me Independent Production Department authority, and Section Chiefs like Tsuyoshi Yamamoto kept a tight watch on their projects. Without them, I couldn’t have won these awards alone.”
“You’re always so humble.” Asumi laughed helplessly: “Director Sakata was just saying in the office that if you didn’t always push the credit to others, all Tokyo media would be at your doorstep now. By the way, after learning the results, Director Eiji Kurosawa specifically asked me to tell you to come drink his rare vintage sake when you return to Tokyo—he rarely praises people like that.”
Hiroshi recalled Director Eiji Kurosawa filming 《Seven Samurai》. The old man was sixty-four, yet arrived on set at five a.m. every day, overseeing the props team polishing samurai swords, even matching the wood grain on the scabbards to historical records.
For someone so obsessive about films to recognize his work made him happier than any award.
“When I return to Tokyo, I’ll definitely visit Director Kurosawa.” Hiroshi replied: “By the way, Deputy Director Asumi, calling so late, it’s not just to share the good news, right?”
He knew Asumi too well. This deputy director from Kanto Stage was always thorough; if it was just about awards, a pager message would suffice—no need for a long-distance call.
Asumi paused for two seconds on the other end, his tone sobering: “Indeed, there’s something else to tell you— you might not have followed in Kumamoto, but in Tokyo, Tokyo City Television recently made a huge joke and even messed with the Tokyo Drama Awards.”
“Tokyo City Television?” Hiroshi frowned. This station was specially set up last year by Mayor Mikami Tanaka with Kazuo Takahashi in charge—essentially the city government’s mouthpiece. It had no splash before; how did it suddenly make waves?
“Normal if you didn’t follow; they were just shooting harmless municipal promotional films before, no one watched.”
Asumi’s voice carried sarcasm: “This Tokyo Drama Awards, they went all out—Best Actor to Shunsuke Kamiki, Best Actress to a newbie they just signed, even Best Romance Drama to their own 《Tokyo Love Song》. Once announced, all Tokyo media exploded, calling black curtain, boycotting the awards; even our station’s Keiko Matsumoto said in an interview, ‘This result insults the audience’s eyes.'”
Hearing “Shunsuke Kamiki,” Hiroshi’s gaze cooled.
He had dealt with Tokugawa Sato from Kirin Entertainment Agency before and knew Shunsuke Kamiki was Sato’s “gold canary”—terrible acting, always relying on capital to climb.
They had clashed before; he didn’t expect the guy still meddling.
“With Shunsuke Kamiki’s acting, he gets Best Actor?” Hiroshi’s tone dripped with contempt: “In 《Tokyo Love Song》, he needed eye drops for crying scenes, lines delivered like reading a textbook. Is Tokyo City Television treating audiences like fools?”
“Exactly.” Asumi sighed: “Heard Tokugawa Sato invested five hundred million yen in Tokyo City Television for this, and pulled several real estate ad sponsorships. Mikami Tanaka pushed from behind to flatter Sato—after all, Sato’s real estate projects are key for his re-election next year. Result? Awards announced, Tokyo Drama Awards’ credibility tanked; even their own viewers sent protest letters, vowing never to watch again.”
Hiroshi leaned on the windowsill, fingers tapping unconsciously.
He wasn’t surprised capital intervened in awards; the Japanese film and television industry was never pure. Just didn’t expect Tokyo City Television to be so shortsighted, ignoring basic decorum.
“Our station never expected that award to be fair anyway.”
Asumi’s voice softened: “Tokyo Drama Awards is just a local Tokyo award; our station participated to give face to Mikami Tanaka. Now they’ve smashed their own sign—good for us. Think: our station has aces like 《World of the Strange》 《Super Change Change Change》, plus your big wins; no need for such local awards. But Tokyo City Television? They had nothing decent, banking on this for fame. Now it’s a joke—who’ll watch their shows?”
Hiroshi nodded slightly; Asumi was right.
Tokyo Television Station was an old powerhouse with Japan’s widest promo channels; Kanto Region coverage alone tripled Tokyo City Television’s, plus long-term print media like 《Asahi Shimbun》 《Yomiuri Shimbun》—no exposure worries.
Tokyo City Television was different: signal limited to Central Tokyo, small audience base, now credibility lost to award scandal—near impossible to rise again.
“Speaking of, Kazuo Takahashi must be worried sick now.” Asumi’s tone gleeful: “He was privately saying he’d make Tokyo City Television the ‘Tokyo No.1 cultural platform.’ Less than half a year, and this scandal. Mikami Tanaka summoned him to city government yesterday and chewed him out; he came out paler than paper.”
Hiroshi recalled Kazuo Takahashi, the man transferred from city government publicity: always in crisp suits, slick talk, but no real ability.
At last Tokyo TV reception, he approached to chat, hinting “cooperation”—now clear he didn’t grasp basic industry rules.
“Shortsighted.” Hiroshi’s voice indifferent: “They saw immediate profit, forgot media’s core is ‘credibility.’ Capital buys awards, not audience eyes—if audiences don’t buy, high awards or ratings are empty.”
“Spot on.” Asumi agreed: “Managing Director Takada said today in office it’s ‘self-destruction.’ And I know last month, Kanto Stage faced capital meddling in production; Deputy Director Takada shut it down—media without bottom line is no different from profit-only merchants.”
Hearing Toshihide Takada’s name, Hiroshi raised an eyebrow.
This executive deputy director was Tokyo Faction core, always looked down on Asumi from Kanto Stage, even clashed over 《Seven Samurai》 production rights.
Now even he spoke like this—Tokyo TV internal faction fights had eased.
“Managing Director Takada sees clearly.”
Hiroshi said lightly: “Normal though; Tokyo Metropolitan Area planning is underway. Stations clinging to ‘Tokyo Faction’ ‘Kanto Faction’ ideas will be eliminated. Mr. Sakata told me before: Tokyo TV to go ‘Greater Tokyo integration,’ no more internal splits—Mr. Takada couldn’t hold executive deputy director if he missed that.”
Asumi laughed: “You read Mr. Sakata’s mind well. Honestly, Mr. Nohara, Director Sakata values you more now. Last board meeting, someone suggested promoting you to Second-Class Director; he shot it down: ‘Wait, Mr. Nohara deserves better’—you’re the only one he shields like that station-wide.”
Hiroshi didn’t respond; he knew Nobuhiko Sakata favored him not just for results, but shared “media responsibility” views.
Nobuhiko Sakata wanted Tokyo TV as “warm media”; his 《Super Change Change Change》 broke Japanese indifference, 《World of the Strange》 sparked social issue thoughts, 《Seven Samurai》 broke traditional kendo film molds—all matched Sakata’s concepts.
“By the way, Mr. Nohara, when back to Tokyo?” Asumi asked suddenly: “Director Sakata says celebration banquet on return; Director Eiji Kurosawa, Keiko Matsumoto agreed. Also, 《Late-night Diner》 live-action sequel prep nearly done; Kenji Ito urges to discuss script details.”
Hiroshi glanced at Kumamon designs on desk, sticky notes on doll production notes.
He thought: “Kumamoto unfinished; Kumamon doll samples from prefectural publicity next week, short film location unset. Probably half month here, then Tokyo once sorted.”
“Fine, take time, no rush.” Asumi agreed readily: “I’ll stall celebration; for 《Late-night Diner》 script, Kenji Ito drafts first, revise on return. How’s Misae?”
Mentioning Misae softened Hiroshi: “Good, busy with manga. Visiting her parents this time, plan to settle marriage—not good to drag.”
Asumi exclaimed delightedly: “Really? Congrats! Misae is great—gentle, capable, perfect match. Invite me to wedding sake!”
“Definitely.” Hiroshi smiled; night deepened outside, Misae’s voice from below: “Hiroshi, dinner ready, come eat!”
“Gotta go, Misae calling for dinner.” Hiroshi took phone: “Talk on Tokyo return.”
“Ok, eat, good night.” Asumi hung up.
Hiroshi pocketed phone, reached stairs; Misae below holding tempura bowl, sweet smile: “Hiroshi, who were you calling? So long, food cooling.”
“Asumi-san from Tokyo TV, about awards.” Hiroshi descended, took bowl: “Forgot to say, we won several; on return, Mr. Sakata celebration banquet, bring you.”
Misae’s eyes lit: “Really? Meet Director Eiji Kurosawa? Loved his shots in 《Seven Samurai》, so powerful! Keiko Matsumoto’s 《Yesterday’s Cherry Blossoms》, watched repeats, cried lots!”
Seeing Misae excited, Hiroshi ruffled her hair: “Of course, introduce then. But first, eat—tempura gets soggy.”
“Yes!” Misae nodded, pulled Hiroshi to dining room.
Dining room: Yoshiharu Oyama, Takao Oyama seated; table tempura, chicken corn soup, sashimi, fresh dorayaki—all Hiroshi favorites.
“Hiroshi, who calling?” Yoshiharu poured beer, asked: “Misae said Tokyo TV?”
“Yes, Deputy Director Asumi, awards.” Hiroshi sat, bit tempura—crisp shell, juicy shrimp, familiar taste: “Won several; Station Manager Sakata celebration on return.”
Yoshiharu’s eyes brightened: “Which? The ones you mentioned?”
“Yes, Japan Drama Academy Awards, Mainichi Film Award, Tokyo Drama Awards.” Hiroshi said casually, like everyday news.
Takao Oyama’s chopsticks clattered down; she picked up, incredulous: “Real? Japan’s top awards! Hiroshi, so many!”
Misae grabbed arm excitedly: “Hiroshi amazing! Knew you could! Back Tokyo, brag to manga club: our president’s boyfriend, Japan’s top director!”
Seeing family excited, Hiroshi felt warmth.
He raised beer mug to Yoshiharu: “Uncle, Aunt, Misae, thanks for support. Cheers to you.”
Yoshiharu raised glass, eyes reddening: “We toast you. Hiroshi, so talented, sensible—Misae’s lucky. Oyama family your backing always.”
Takao nodded, piling food: “Eat more, exhausted lately. Tomorrow salmon ochazuke, angelica chicken soup, nourish.”
Misae watched, eyes worshipful, loving.
She recalled first meeting Hiroshi on platform: crisp suit, asked directions, same train, chatted, familiar quick.
Then she knew this man special; her eye spot-on.
……
Kumamoto Prefecture dusk fell faster than Tokyo; past six p.m., Fujiwara Family Home courtyard veiled in faint gray-blue.
Isshin Fujiwara tossed prefectural black briefcase on entry cabinet; leather clasp snap carried lingering fatigue—afternoon grinding Kumamon budget with planning section, no hot tea break; shoulders heavy as lead weights.
“Young Master Isshin, welcome home.”
Maid in navy kimono from kitchen, dish towel in hand, familiar smile: “Master just in five minutes, changing inside. Dinner ready: your favorite simmered dish and grilled mackerel, ten minutes to table.”
“Thanks, Aunt Kukuho.”
Isshin took towel, fingertips on fine weave, nerves easing.
He bent to change shoes; clogs alerted inside. Sliding door rattled open; Motomaru Fujiwara in loose cream loungewear emerged, silver hair stark in warm light.
“Half hour late today?” Motomaru’s voice old civil servant steady; sat by low table, sipped cold tea, gaze on son’s pale face: “Prefectural office snag?”
Isshin about to answer; kitchen footsteps, Temari Fujiwara with fresh apple plate, red chunks dewy.
She set dish between, touched son’s forehead, pained: “Isshin, face so pale? Dark circles—isn’t sleeping?”
“Mom, fine, just busy.” Isshin dodged, ate apple; crisp sweet didn’t lift fatigue, throat drier.
He drained tea bowl halfway, revived.
Temari persisted, sat opposite, tapping low table: “Wearing our Isshin out isn’t small. Tell mom: prefectural office tough task? Last time, helping that Director Hiroshi Nohara with promo—related?”
“Hiroshi Nohara” paused Isshin.
He set bowl, fingered rim, nodded seconds later: “Yes, Kumamon. Today reconciled with planning section; they thought doll and short film budgets high, ground afternoon to finalize numbers.”
“Kumamon?” Temari’s eyes lit, leaned: “That cartoon bear by Hiroshi Nohara you mentioned? Promote Kumamoto produce, sights?”
“Yes.” Isshin nodded, recalled Hiroshi’s design: round black body, red cotton blush, citrus-print red apron—adorably endearing.
He smiled: “Hiroshi-san says it breaks ‘only volcano, samurai’ image, makes youth see Kumamoto cute, friendly.”
Silent Motomaru set bowl, eyed son interested: “Oh? That hot Tokyo film-tv Hiroshi Nohara? Saw him in 《Asahi Shimbun》 today: awards for animation, dramas, ‘new samurai film pioneer.’ Interesting collaboration.”
“Dad, you know his wins?” Isshin surprised; thought father only politics news.
Motomaru smiled, tapped table: “Prefectural meeting yesterday, Governor Masao Muto mentioned: his ‘Hachiko’ promo success for Akita Prefecture, Tokyo Metropolis—Kumamoto learn. Didn’t pay much mind—twenties youth, talent? Just trendy ideas youth like.”
Isshin straightened urgently: “Dad, don’t underestimate. Hiroshi-san detailed. Kumamon design: even doll breathable layer, local red cotton blush—distinctive feature, boosts industry. Familiarize locals first, then Tokyo TV variety nationwide—planned step-by-step.”
Motomaru raised brow, sipped tea, skeptical: “Plans good, but results matter. Few Kumamoto promos? Years ago ‘Mount Aso volcano line,’ tens millions yen, tourists up <5%; last year horse meat sashimi, Tokyo dept stores counters—fizzled nameless. Cartoon better than real promos?"
“Dad, different!” Isshin near stood, recalled “cute mascot concept,” explained: “Hiroshi-san says Kumamon not mere tool, but Kumamoto ‘cultural symbol.’ Like Disney Mickey: think joy; Kumamon, think Kumamoto cute, warm. And on 《Super Change Change Change》—top ratings variety; on it, nationwide sees Kumamon!”
Temari nodded eagerly: “Watched 《Super Change Change Change》, fun! Laughed tears with neighbor aunt. Kumamon appear, many like.”
Motomaru shook head, steady: “Isshin, too young, oversimple. Tokyo TV variety hard; even on, one appearance remembers Kumamoto? Doubt. Kumamoto promo needs solid policy, industry—not fluff.”
“Father!”
Isshin yanked newspaper from briefcase, spread on low table: “See! Yesterday’s 《Yomiuri Shimbun》: Hiroshi-san Best Director, Best Script Japan Drama Academy Awards; 《Super Change Change Change》 over 40% ratings! No skill, how? He says Kumamon hits, it will!”
Motomaru, Temari eyes on paper.
Bold headline: “23-Year-Old Director Hiroshi Nohara Sweeps Three Major Film Awards”; photo first award: black suit, trophy, steady firm gaze—not youthful.
Detailed: 《An Shizhi》 pioneered “urban legends animation”; 《World of the Strange》 sparked national social talks; 《Seven Samurai》 “kendo film classic”; manga 《Yu Yu Hakusho》 《Doraemon》 bestsellers, million+ sales.
Temari gasped: “Wow, Hiroshi Nohara amazing! 23, more awards than our Isshin a year older! Lucky collaborate.”
Motomaru’s gaze shifted, scanned paper, finger tracing, solemn: “Didn’t expect such ability in this youth.”
“Dad, believe now?”
Isshin proud: “Hiroshi-san talented, masters audience emotions. Kumamon nationwide hit—not casual. County office set: dolls next week, short film month-end, spring Tokyo TV!”
Motomaru set paper, smiled at excited son: “Good, dad wrong. Such confidence, helper—do project well. Success boosts Kumamoto economy, your prefectural career.”
“Thanks, Dad!” Isshin relaxed, first genuine smile today.
Aunt Kukuho called: “Master, Madam, Young Master, dinner ready.”
Temari rose, patted son: “Enough work talk, eat. Tired day, nourish. Aunt Kukuho made simmered dish, your fave konjac, quail eggs.”
“Yes!” Isshin followed parents to dining.
Table: warm light on cuisine, simmered aroma filled room.
Temari piled fish: “More mackerel, protein; konjac stomach good, you late nights—nourish.”
Motomaru poured sake: “Try, Kyoto ginjo special, smooth, no headache. With Hiroshi Nohara, invite sake—youth exchange sparks ideas.”
“Got it, Dad.” Isshin clinked, sake warmth eased fatigue.
Ate quick, mind on tomorrow: doll company details, Mount Aso site scout for short film.
Busy, but Kumamon nationwide potential filled energy.
“Mom, Dad, done.” Isshin set bowl/chopsticks, grabbed briefcase: “Room for work, tomorrow report progress to Hiroshi-san.”
Temari pained: “No rest? No break today.”
“Work first, Mom.” Isshin smiled, headed room: “After busy, time with you, Dad.”
Watching back, Temari sighed to Motomaru: “Like young you—work forgets all. Good, Hiroshi Nohara helps, easier.”
Motomaru set cup, eyed night: “Yes, good partner key. Hiroshi Nohara talented, grounded—Kumamon details show no shortcuts. Isshin learns more than anything.”
Room: Isshin lit lamp, spread briefcase files.
Light: Kumamon design prominent, round black bear smiling.
Pen modified tomorrow’s budget, scribble like sketching Kumamoto future.
Long road ahead, challenges; but Hiroshi’s plan, parents’ support—confidence full.
Soon, this cute bear brings Kumamoto new future.
……
Morning light skimmed Kumamoto Prefectural Office glass curtain wall; Isshin gripped two files in parking lot.
One: Ministry of Finance-approved Kumamon budget; other: Publicity Department-stamped filming permit, printer-fresh edges.
Tossed briefcase to old Toyota passenger; saw Hiroshi from corner convenience store, two hot taiyaki bags, citrus print.
“Hiroshi-san!” Isshin hurried, handed files: “Ministry stamped 9 a.m., Publicity permit sync—funds to special account afternoon, filming on schedule!”
Hiroshi took, thumbed “Kumamoto Prefectural Office Key Project” red seal, bit taiyaki—red bean sweet steam.
Chewed, checked budget page, eyed “doll production fee” “short film fee,” smiled: “Two days faster than expected; your prefectural office efficient vs Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building.”
“Thanks to you.” Isshin grinned: “Governor yesterday chewed planning section—if delay Kumamon, collective self-criticism. Your costume monitor: done yesterday eve, per design—even blush red cotton from south Kumamoto mill.”
“Red cotton feel?”
Hiroshi paused, fingered file: “Told them: blush no synthetic, local red cotton—soft, ties produce; poor feel cheapens shots.”
“Rest assured, saw sample!” Isshin nodded firm: “Red cotton soft, natural sheen under light, better synthetic. Breathable per you: double ice silk lining, staff all-day no heatstroke. Paws pockets for ten citrus candies—perfect tourist interact.”
Hiroshi nodded satisfied, about filming team; steady steps, hearty laugh behind: “Hiroshi-san, Isshin, chatting here? Saw from third floor!”
Turned: Ichiro Yamada in dark gray suit, black briefcase, striding.
Close: Hiroshi noted schedule half-out side pocket, colored sticky notes.
“Minister Yamada? Here?” Isshin surprised; yesterday he-Hiroshi handle team.
Yamada laughed, clapped Hiroshi: “Feared waiting! Team ready: Osaka Television vet cameraman, did 《Kansai Scenery》, outdoor expert; our county station lighting/sound core, scouted Mount Aso yesterday—best angles marked. Your order, roll cameras!”
As publicity minister, key moment—how idle?
Must prepare thoroughly!
