Chapter 232: Back To Tokyo! Storm Of The Economic Bubble! Hiroshi Nohara’s Resolve!
The night breeze at Kumamoto Airport was unusually cool, carrying a hint of salty humidity from the seaside, gently swaying the shadows of the parking lot streetlights.
The terminal building at 10:30 PM glowed like a massive piece of warm jade, its glass curtain wall reflecting the sparse stars in the night sky, even the planes on the apron gleaming with cold white light.
The Oyama family and Isshin Fujiwara stood by the railing outside the departure hall, not saying much.
Oyama gripped the cloth bag in his hand, his knuckles turning white from the force, his gaze fixed on the plane taxiing in the distance—that was the flight Hiroshi Nohara and Misae were taking, the red lights on its wings like two slowly beating hearts inching toward the end of the runway.
“Phew…” Mage suddenly let out a soft sigh, her voice laced with unconcealed grievance. She tiptoed, straining to see toward the plane, the Kumamon charm on her school bag swaying back and forth: “I didn’t think Brother-in-law and Misae really left… We were just eating grilled mackerel at the izakaya together last week, and now they’re flying to Tokyo so soon.”
She lowered her head and tugged at the charm’s ear, her tone even more wilted: “I haven’t finished reading the last few chapters of Yu Yu Hakusho that Brother-in-law drew《》, and I thought I’d get to sneak a few more pages of original manuscript… Now no one will give me early peeks at manga anymore.”
“All you think about is manga, manga!”
Yoshiharu Oyama glared fiercely at her from the side, his voice unconsciously rising a bit, the wool hat in his hand crumpled from his grip. “If you drop out of the top hundred in next semester’s mock exams again, I’ll confiscate all your manga books! You’re seventeen already, and all your mind is on this useless stuff—how are you going to get into university? You think you can live off reading manga?”
Mage shrank her shoulders from the scolding, her mouth immediately pursing, her eyes reddening a bit, but she still muttered defiantly in a small voice: “Manga isn’t useless… Brother-in-law became a signed author at Shueisha with manga, and they even made a live-action version of Late-night Diner《》 that lots of people love…”
“You still dare to talk back?” Yoshiharu Oyama felt his molars ache, and he couldn’t help but raise his hand to knock her head, but Takao Oyama pulled him back.
“Yoshiharu Oyama! What are you competing with a child for!” Takao Oyama glared at him, then touched Mage’s hair, her tone softening. “Mage is just reluctant to see Hiroshi and Misae go, that’s why she’s saying this.”
Misae, who had been silent, gently squatted down to meet Mage’s eyes, pointing at the accelerating plane in the distance—the roar of the engines was faintly audible, the wing lights tracing a faint red line in the night.
“Mage, don’t be upset.”
Misae’s voice was very gentle, soft like the evening sea breeze. “If you can get into the top fifty in the next mock exam, I’ll take you to Tokyo to play this summer. Then we can go to Brother-in-law’s production department and have him save the latest Doraemon《》 original manuscripts for you, and check out Misae-sis’s manga club—maybe Kobayashi-san will even draw you an exclusive Kumamon illustration.”
“Really, big sis?”
Mage jerked her head up, her eyes lighting up instantly, the earlier grievance vanishing. She grabbed Misae’s sleeve and shook it hard: “You mean it? No fooling me! If I get into the top fifty, you’ll really take me to Tokyo to see Brother-in-law?”
“Of course I mean it.” Misae nodded with a smile, wiping away the tear that hadn’t fallen from the corner of her eye. “When have I ever fooled you? But you have to study hard—if you don’t make it, no chance.”
“I definitely will!” Mage straightened up immediately, clenching her fists, all the wilted look gone from her face, even her voice crisper. “Starting tomorrow, I’ll get up early to memorize vocabulary, no more manga at night—I’ll definitely get into the top fifty! Then I’ll have Brother-in-law sign something for me to show off to the school manga club and make them jealous!”
Seeing her perk up instantly, Oyama and Misae both smiled.
Yoshiharu Oyama pursed his lips from the side, muttering “Kids are so easy to coax,” but the fire in his eyes had eased. He looked up at the plane—the silver airliner had taken off, its wing red lights gradually shrinking to a small point in the distant night sky, soon to blend into the stars.
“Hmph, what’s so great about Tokyo.”
Yoshiharu Oyama suddenly spoke, his voice tinged with defiance and a bit of attachment he hadn’t noticed himself: “Crowded with people and cars, commuting on the subway is like a war, even eating a bowl of tonkotsu ramen means queuing for half an hour. Not like our Kumamoto—chess in the park in the morning, hot soup at home for lunch, and drinks with old friends at the izakaya at night. So comfortable.”
Takao Oyama knew he was reluctant to see Misae go and was saying this on purpose, so she didn’t call him out, just gently patted his arm: “That’s true, but young people need to go out and make their way. Misae following Hiroshi to Tokyo to run her beloved manga club is a good thing. If we miss her, it’s just three hours on the Shinkansen—not like we won’t see her.”
“Yeah, Dad.” Misae chimed in. “Later when Isshin and I go to Tokyo for prefectural office work, we can drop by to see Misae and Hiroshi. Hiroshi said once the Doraemon《》 animation is done, they’ll hold the premiere in Kumamoto, so they’ll definitely come back.”
Isshin Fujiwara stood quietly watching the plane disappear, then spoke in a steady tone: “Uncle and Aunt, rest assured—Hiroshi-san and I have arranged it. If there’s progress on Kumamon IP development, I’ll contact him via pager right away. If Misae-san’s manga club needs Kumamoto materials, the prefectural office will coordinate—no inconvenience for her in Tokyo.”
Yoshiharu Oyama nodded, saying no more, just glancing once more at where the plane had vanished in the night sky before slowly turning: “Alright, the plane’s long gone. Time to head home. Mage has school tomorrow, and Oyama and I need to check the new Kumamon merchandise samples at the company.”
“Yeah, let’s go home.” Takao Oyama took his arm and held Mage’s hand. “Mage, don’t forget to get up early for vocabulary tomorrow—don’t go back on your word.”
“Got it, Mom!” Mage bounced along behind, the Kumamon charm on her school bag swaying again. “I’ll definitely be up by six tomorrow, and have big sis supervise me!”
The group slowly walked toward the parking lot.
The night breeze continued, the airport streetlights stretching their shadows long, gradually overlapping.
Two cars drove out of the parking lot one after another, heading home along the coastal highway.
The night outside the car window was thick, occasionally passing convenience stores still lit up, their doorway Kumamon dolls looking especially friendly in the lights.
Mage sat in the back seat, leaning on the window watching the passing streetscape, suddenly saying softly: “Mom, do you think Brother-in-law and Misae-sis are thinking of us on the plane right now?”
Takao Oyama turned back to touch her head, smiling: “Of course they are. Misae hasn’t been away from home this long since she was little—she must miss us too. But with Hiroshi, she can do what she loves, so we should be happy for her.”
“Yeah!” Mage nodded vigorously, then her eyes lit up as something occurred to her. “When I go to Tokyo this summer, I’ll draw Kumamon manga with Misae-sis, and have Brother-in-law teach me storyboarding! Maybe I can become a manga artist too, as awesome as him!”
Yoshiharu Oyama in the passenger seat heard this and couldn’t help laughing, though his face was still stern, his tone much softer: “If you really become a manga artist, no need for university—but first, get into the top fifty, or it’s all talk.”
“Dad!” Mage protested unhappily but not really angry, just muttering again: “I’ll definitely get into the top fifty and make you eat your words!”
Everyone in the car laughed, the night breeze blowing in through the window cracks, carrying salty sea aroma and a faint cherry blossom scent.
Probably from the cherry trees along the road, still quietly shedding petals.
Isshin Fujiwara drove steadily along the coastal highway, the distant sea horizon glimmering faintly in the night, occasional fishing boat lights passing like moving stars.
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly.
He recalled the “Kumamoto Future Development Plan” he discussed with Hiroshi-san that afternoon, Governor Muto’s words about “giving Kumamoto’s young people reasons to stay,” and Mage’s earlier declaration of becoming a manga artist. Suddenly, he felt Hiroshi-san was right—Kumamoto’s future lay not just in IP development and tourism, but in these dreaming young people—whether staying in Kumamoto or venturing to Tokyo, as long as they pursued their passions, that was the best return for Kumamoto.
Everything was developing well.
The car continued forward, soon exiting the coastal highway into the familiar residential area.
Roadside cherry trees grew denser, petals occasionally landing on the window, brushing off lightly.
“Almost home.” Yoshiharu Oyama looked at the familiar streets outside, saying, “Tomorrow morning I’ll go to the company—you go to the supermarket for strawberries, so Mage can eat some after memorizing words to recharge.”
“Okay, got it.” Takao Oyama nodded, touching Mage’s head again. “Mage, stop humming—almost home, time to get out soon.”
Mage stopped humming, rubbed her eyes, and perked up: “I’ll definitely memorize fifty words tomorrow!”
The car finally stopped at the alley mouth of the Oyama family home. Isshin Fujiwara got out first to open the door for Oyama; Misae parked and came over to take Mage’s bag.
Yoshiharu Oyama led the way into the alley, his steps lighter than on the way to the airport—perhaps thinking of checking Kumamon merchandise samples at the company tomorrow, or Mage’s top-fifty vow.
“Isshin-san, thanks for driving us today.” Takao Oyama stood at the door, thanking Isshin Fujiwara. “Drive safe on the way back.”
“You’re too kind, Aunt.” Isshin Fujiwara bowed. “I will, don’t worry.”
Misae also said goodbye: “See you tomorrow then.”
“Sure, noted.” Isshin Fujiwara nodded, glanced at the Oyama family doorway, then turned to drive away.
Yoshiharu Oyama opened the door, warm yellow light spilling out immediately, illuminating the stone slabs at the entrance.
Oyama pulled Mage inside, changing shoes while saying: “Mage, go wash up and sleep—up early tomorrow for words, don’t be late.”
“Got it, Mom!” Mage changed shoes and dashed upstairs with her school bag. “I definitely won’t be late tomorrow!”
Misae changed shoes too, saying to Yoshiharu Oyama and Oyama: “Dad, Mom, I’m heading upstairs too—early start tomorrow to check work notebook.”
“Go on, not too late.” Oyama nodded, taking Yoshiharu Oyama’s jacket. “You’ve had a long day too—wash up and rest. Company tomorrow.”
Yoshiharu Oyama nodded, sat on the living room sofa, glanced at the family photo on the wall—Misae in high school uniform, Mage holding a Kumamon doll, Misae in the middle, he and Oyama on the sides, all smiling happily.
He sighed softly but couldn’t help smiling—Misae was in Tokyo, but as long as she did what she loved and the family met often, that was enough.
Besides, summer vacation in three months—if Mage really hit top fifty, maybe the family could reunite in Tokyo, have a good drink with Hiroshi, chat Kumamon progress.
Cherry trees outside the window still shed petals, one drifting inside onto the family photo frame.
Takao Oyama brought a cup of warm green tea, placing it before Yoshiharu Oyama: “Stop thinking—have tea and rest. Misae has Hiroshi in Tokyo, she’ll be fine.”
Yoshiharu Oyama took the tea cup, sipped—the warm tea slid down his throat, drawing a contented sigh.
He looked at the night outside, then the family photo, saying softly: “Yeah, she’ll be fine. Kumamoto kids thrive anywhere.”
Night deepened, Oyama family lights dimming, only the living room small lamp on, reflecting the tea cup on the table and the family photo on the wall.
Cherry trees at the alley mouth swayed gently, petals falling on the stone slabs like a layer of pale pink snow.
Meanwhile, high above Tokyo, the plane carrying Hiroshi Nohara and Misae flew steadily.
Misae leaned on Hiroshi’s shoulder, gazing at the night sky outside, saying softly: “Hiroshi-kun, do you think Mom and Dad and Mage are home by now?”
Hiroshi Nohara held her hand, his fingertips warm, smiling: “Definitely. Your mom is so thoughtful—she’ll take care of Mage and Uncle. Once we’re in Tokyo tomorrow, we’ll call to say we’re safe.”
“Yeah.” Misae nodded, leaning on his shoulder, slowly closing her eyes, a faint smile on her lips—she knew, with family and Hiroshi, anywhere was home, Kumamoto or Tokyo.
The plane flew on through the night sky toward Tokyo. The red wing lights shone brightly in the darkness, like a guiding star, or a seed of dreams and warmth about to bloom new flowers on Tokyo’s soil.
……
Tokyo at 3 AM still basked in the lingering clamor of the bubble economy’s end.
As the taxi passed a Ginza corner, most neon signs still glowed—”Matsuya” and “Mitsukoshi Department Store” signs warm yellow in the night. Occasionally, suited office workers staggered out of izakayas, vomiting spectacularly by the roadside.
Hiroshi Nohara leaned in the taxi back seat, half a Seven Stars cigarette between his fingers, smoke condensing into a thin mist on the window.
Misae’s head rested on his shoulder, breathing softly in sleep, clutching the strawberry daifuku wrapper from Kumamoto—Takao Oyama had stuffed it to her for the flight, but she hadn’t eaten it, wrinkling the paper in her grip.
“Sir, apartment building arrived.” The taxi driver’s voice broke Hiroshi’s thoughts. The old man glanced via rearview, smiling and pointing outside: “Your girlfriend sleeps soundly—didn’t wake through the tunnel.”
Hiroshi stubbed the cigarette, gently lifting Misae’s head, movements extremely light: “Please wait a moment, I’ll help her out.”
He paid from his wallet, took the suitcase by her feet—packed with her manga tools, Oyama family specialties, and his spare clothes.
Misae woke gently shaken, eyes still blurry, rubbing them to see the apartment building outside: “Tokyo already?” Her voice was soft and nasal from sleep. “Felt like I just dozed off on the plane.”
“Let’s get inside—the wind’s chilly.” Hiroshi wrapped her scarf tighter, holding her hand toward the building.
Footsteps triggered the motion lights in the stairwell, warm yellow glowing layer by layer, shadows swaying on the walls.
Opening the door brought a familiar woody aroma, refreshing them both.
Their spirits relaxed.
“Home is still the best.” Misae changed to slippers, set the strawberry daifuku on the tea table, flopped on the sofa stretching lazily: “Staying in Kumamoto was fun, but not as free as here—oh, Hiroshi-kun, which cabinet are my manga tools in? I don’t think I packed them last time…”
Hiroshi smiled, bringing in the suitcase: “Second cabinet in the bedroom—I packed them. Forget tools for now—wash up and sleep. Noon tomorrow to Shueisha for manuscript handover.” Seeing her yawn, he ruffled her hair. “Go sleep—I’ll unpack and join you.”
When Hiroshi finished unpacking, washed up, and entered the bedroom, Misae was asleep hugging the pillow, faint smile on her lips, dreaming of something.
He gently covered her with the blanket, lay beside, staring at the ceiling light—leaving Tokyo these two weeks felt endlessly busy, from Kumamon IP coordination to meeting Governor Muto to time with the Oyama family. Back now, it felt surreal yet reassuring.
But Hiroshi Nohara also held Misae and slowly fell asleep.
Time passed unknowingly; dawn light filtered through curtain gaps, casting thin beams on the floor.
Hiroshi slept deeply until past noon, woken by his stomach’s “gurgle.”
He stretched contentedly, bones clicking softly, turning to see Misae awake, smiling at him.
“Hiroshi-kun, you’re up?”
Misae’s hair was messy, cheeks flushed from sleep. “I woke earlier but didn’t call you—you looked so peaceful. But we’re both hungry—my stomach growled loud.”
Hiroshi laughed, brushing her forehead strands behind her ear: “Starving—last night just cold airline bento on the plane. Want something hot. What do you feel like?”
“Teppanyaki in Ginza!” Misae’s eyes lit up, sitting up close. “We went once—the master’s steak was so tender, cheese omelet inside super tasty! Let’s go today?”
“Sure.” Hiroshi nodded, getting out of bed. “Wash up quick—I’ll get the car. Oh, want to check your manga club this afternoon? Tell everyone about prefectural office Kumamon merchandise design coordination.”
“Yes yes!” Misae bounced off the bed to the bathroom. “I’ll tell Kobayashi-san the new coloring plan—her Kumamon was so cute, perfect for merch!”
Half an hour later, Hiroshi drove his Toyota Crown out of the complex.
Bought last year after Seven Samurai《》 won, the black body shone—even after two weeks parked, just slightly dusty cover, clean in the breeze.
Misae in passenger seat held a Doraemon《》 volume, occasionally glancing at the streetscape—Tokyo noon bustled, Ginza department stores crowded, uniformed schoolgirls with ice cream, office workers grabbing lunch at convenience stores, worlds from Kumamoto’s leisure.
“Hiroshi-kun, look at that dessert shop!” Misae pointed at the “Fujiya” sign. “Mage wanted their strawberry cake last time—next weekend back to Kumamoto, buy one for her?”
“Sure, buy next weekend return.” Hiroshi smiled, turning toward the teppanyaki.
About twenty minutes later, the car stopped at Ginza’s “Kikuya” teppanyaki—twenty-year-old shop, owner Kikuchi-san an acquaintance; last World of the Strange celebration banquet here.
Pushing open the wooden door brought the signature teppanyaki aroma.
Shop half full; owner Kikuchi saw Hiroshi, greeted smiling: “Hiroshi-san! Long time no see! This Misae-san? I remember you like cheese omelet from last time!”
“Hello, Kikuchi-san!” Misae bowed smiling. “Same today—cheese omelet and steak, medium rare!”
“No problem!” Kikuchi led to window seat, handing menu. “Look over—I’ll prep the grill, guarantee satisfaction!”
Hiroshi ordered two steaks, cheese omelet, grilled shrimp, handing back menu as lively chat from nearby table rose.
Four friends—two men, two women—at nearby grill, crowding a plate of fried squid, talking animatedly.
“Heard? Mayor Mikami Tanaka held rally at Senso-ji Temple yesterday—says if reelected, push Ginza-area real estate development, build three supertall apartments!”
Suit man, about forty, beer mug in hand, excited: “My Ginza apartment bought last year up two million yen! If Tanaka-san pushes dev, maybe double next year!”
“Real?” Nearby woman in kimono, housewife-like, leaned in. “Hubby bought small unit in Shinjuku last year—rent covers half mortgage. If rises more, maybe pay off loan early!”
“Exactly!”
Other man, glasses, small business owner vibe: “Tanaka-san’s policies practical! Unlike Yoshihiro Shimazu yapping ‘people’s livelihood’—min wage hikes, nursing homes. But nothing beats real estate for us regular folks—we want assets appreciating for better lives!”
“Can’t say that.”
Elderly last speaker, white hair, tea cup in hand, steady: “Shimazu-san on TV said shorten Tokyo commutes under hour, more suburban schools/hospitals—my grandson in Chiba school, two-hour train daily. More schools would help kids.”
“Grandpa, you don’t get it!” Suit man rebutted. “Schools/hospitals anytime—but real estate chance gone is gone! Tokyo prices rise daily—buy now or never! Tanaka-san says every Tokyoite ‘makes money on property’—that’s for us!”
“I think so too!” Kimono woman nodded. “Neighbor’s daughter married real estate guy—lives big Minato Ward apartment, drives to work, so fancy! If Tanaka-san pushes dev, maybe us too!”
“But Shimazu-san says real estate boom is bubble—keep building, burst shrinks assets!”
Elder persisted: “I saw postwar economic crisis young—’fat’ economy unreliable. Real livelihood policies work—like pension hikes for secure retirement, beats property gains?”
“Grandpa, old thinking!”
Business owner shook head laughing. “It’s neon economy peak! How bubble? Kirin Group’s Tokugawa Sato built ten apartments last year—sold fast! Tanaka-san backed by big firms, make Tokyo economy better!”
“Yeah!”
Suit man sipped beer, smugger: “Bank manager last month said now best for mortgage—low interest, fast rises, double in years! If Shimazu-san mayor, might restrict real estate—no money chance!”
Misae listened curiously, tugging Hiroshi’s sleeve softly: “Hiroshi-kun, the Tanaka Mikami and Yoshihiro Shimazu they mention are Tokyo City mayor candidates, right? You mentioned before—you support Shimazu-san?”
Hiroshi nodded, shelling her fresh grilled shrimp into her bowl: “Yes, Shimazu-san Tokyo TV president—supported my Seven Samurai《》 shoot. His policies people-focused: shorter commutes, more schools/hospitals—real needs.”
“But they say Tanaka’s make property rise, everyone supports him.” Misae bit shrimp softly. “I don’t get it, but Shimazu-san’s sound warmer—like your Late-night Diner《》, no flash but comfy.”
Hiroshi laughed, gently scraping her tender nose tip: “Our Misae smart, nailed it. Property rises temporary like bubble—pops easy. Livelihood policies truly improve lives. Don’t worry—just eat. After dropping you at manga club, I’ll hit station, chat election promo with Director Sakata.”
“Yeah!”
Misae nodded firmly, spearing steak to his mouth: “Hiroshi-kun eat too—this steak tender, better than Kumamoto horse meat sashimi!”
Hiroshi took it, but watching happy Misae, his heart tightened quietly.
That chat represented most Tokyoites’ views now.
In current economy, real estate false boom blinded them—buy house, make money—no crisis sense.
Tanaka’s policies fed this; Shimazu’s long-term less “exciting,” weaker pull.
“I don’t care about neon economy… but Shimazu Yoshihiro tied to Tokyo TV side—can’t ignore.” Hiroshi Nohara stroked chin, still backing Yoshihiro Shimazu.
His info cocoon plan out, yet Shimazu’s public rep couldn’t match Mikami Tanaka.
Troubling.
“Hiroshi-san, cheese omelet ready!”
As Hiroshi pondered, Kikuchi served golden omelet, topped chopped seaweed: “Try—double cheese like last time!”
“Thanks, Kikuchi-san.” Misae forked a piece, eyes lighting: “Wow! So good! Cheesy, stringy! Hiroshi-kun try!”
“Yeah, good.” Hiroshi forked some, cheese aroma spreading—tasty indeed.
But his mind not fully on food.
He knew this Tokyo mayor race was more than two men—two paths clash: chase real estate false boom or ground real livelihood.
As Tokyo TV member, Shimazu backer, he must act—show Shimazu policies’ true value.
“Hiroshi-kun, what’re you thinking?” Misae saw him zone out, asking softly. “Worried about station? If busy, no need drop me at manga club—I’ll train.”
“Nothing, just work thoughts.” Hiroshi snapped back, smiling shake. “Not busy—drop you then station fine. Eat—omelet cools bad.”
Misae nodded, focusing on eating, occasionally sharing steak or manga club chat: “Kobayashi-san drew Kumamon with strawberry daifuku—adorable, keychain perfect. Sato-san wants Kumamon in Tokyo manga—like Tokyo Tower, Senso-ji—promotes Kumamon, makes Tokyoites love it.”
“Great idea.” Hiroshi nodded. “Next prefectural office sync, pitch these—maybe more collab funds. If manga club needs help, say—I can pull two from production.”
“No need!” Misae waved. “Our members ace—Kobayashi-san’s coloring better, Sato-san’s storyboards great. No trouble production—we’ll do it ourselves, like your An Shizhi《》, power from our strength.”
Hiroshi watched her serious face, full of gratification.
Misae seemed carefree but opinionated, resilient.
Like insisting on running manga club solo, no leaning on him—this grit made him admire more.
Nearby table chat continued—suit man on property gains, kimono woman planning small unit buy, elder on livelihood, business owner mulling Tokugawa Sato dev collab.
Hiroshi listening, clearer now.
Tokyo like inflating balloon—all enjoying swell thrill, blind to cracks.
“Hiroshi-kun, full!” Misae set fork down, patting round belly. “Stuffed—more than Kumamoto farewell banquet!”
“Good you’re full.” Hiroshi paid, holding her hand out. “Now to manga club—tell them Kumamon stuff.”
Exiting teppanyaki, Ginza sun warm on skin.
Misae skipped ahead, pointing roadside cherry trees: “Hiroshi-kun look, Tokyo cherries later than Kumamoto—still blooming! Next bring Mage for sakura, Kikuchi-san’s teppanyaki!”
“Sure.” Hiroshi smiled, her joy easing his worries temporarily.
Whatever election outcome, future trials—he’d protect those close, do his part—like drawing Late-night Diner《》, hold warmth amid clamor.
Toyota Crown engine hummed again, carrying them to manga club.
Toyota Crown pulled steadily into Future Manga Company office district street, April sun through window dappling light on Misae’s held Kumamon design sketch《》.
Her fingertip traced paper—rough draft she burned nights in Kumamoto Prefecture for: Kumamon in strawberry daifuku hat, holding “Welcome to Kumamoto” wood sign, round belly pale pink cherry pattern.
Drawing level average, but usable.
“Hiroshi-kun look, I put Mount Aso outline on Kumamon’s scarf.”
Misae turned, eyes sparkling, pride evident: “Reminds of Kumamoto scenery without forced. Keychain—flocked scarf fabric, feels nice.”
Hiroshi Nohara eyed sketch, fingertip tapping Kumamon foot detail—mini Doraemon holding Anywhere Door smiling at Kumamon.
He smiled faintly: “Clever collab—seamless, borrows Doraemon《》 heat for Kumamon. At club, explain to all—if prefectural office asks concept, detail these—they’ll approve.”
“Yeah!” Misae nodded hard, folding sketch carefully into bag like treasure. “I’ll say start two overtime nights weekly from next week, finish merch drafts by month-end. Governor Muto wants for next month’s Kumamoto tourism promo—no delay.”
Meanwhile, car parked at Future Manga Company office building.
Building Hiroshi rented for her last year—quiet district, whole third floor manga space, good light, small balcony for sun/discuss storyboards.
Hiroshi unbuckled her, grabbed horse meat jerky from trunk—special for club members.
“Head up—pick you tonight.” He ruffled her hair, tone softening. “Unsolvable issues? Call—I come if free.”
“Got it!” Misae tiptoed, quick peck on his cheek, blushing as she ran to building, turned waving: “Hiroshi-kun drive safe! Tonkotsu ramen tonight!”
“Sure.” Hiroshi smiled watching her vanish inside, then back to car, engine to Tokyo TV.
Ten minutes to Tokyo TV in Chuo Ward.
Passed “real estate agency” shops, glass doors plastered “Minato Ward luxury apts,” “Shinjuku tower units”—sky-high prices, yet suited office workers clustered asking—that bubble end Tokyo, all swept in “asset appreciation” frenzy, no stopping.
Hiroshi gripped wheel, eyes calmly scanning posters.
He knew frenzy short-lived—under two years, bubble burst, heavy mortgages crush most house-rushers.
But he couldn’t change it—prep those close for storm best he could.
