Chapter 239: Confirmed! This Is The Food Documentary! Hiroshi Nohara’s Direct Understanding Of Gourmet Food!
The small meeting room on the third floor of Kanto Stage was more cramped than the main conference room. The edges of the wooden tables and chairs by the window were worn smooth, and a coffee stain, which looked like it was from last week, was still stuck to a table corner.
Tokyo TV’s accompanying staff were squeezed inside, holding Kanto Stage’s ledgers. The pages rustled as they were flipped, and a faint fragrance of Uji tea wafted through the air, though the tea had long gone cold.
Hashimoto Ichiro was the first to break the silence. Holding the ledger’s “Kanto Stage’s Documentary Ratings for the Past Three Years” in his fingers, he frowned so deeply he could have killed a mosquito: “I say, everyone, is Director Nohara serious? Humanistic documentaries? How long has it been since Tokyo TV touched this kind of thing? The last one about old love under purple cherry blossoms had ratings of only 3.2%, and it was criticized by the station as ‘a waste of budget’.”
His words were like a pebble dropped into water, immediately stirring up discussion.
Kenji Ito leaned back against his chair, spinning a steel pen in his hand, his tone laced with confusion: “Exactly! Hashimoto-kun, think about it, what are we making now? Super Change Change Change has ratings over 40%, World of the Strange is consistently above 20%, and even reruns of Late-night Diner TV drama get 10% ratings. Documentaries, on the other hand, are expensive and time-consuming, and no one watches them when they’re finished. Why bother?”
Soji Ashikaga, sitting in the corner, put down his ledger. His tone carried his usual arrogance: “It’s not that I think documentaries are bad, but Kanto Stage’s current situation doesn’t have the capital for such endeavors. They can barely keep their local news cameras running, and they want to make documentaries? Besides, samurai films and heartwarming stories are what bring in the ratings. Audiences have long since changed the channel for slow-paced content.”
Director Sato, sitting next to him, nodded in agreement. He had worked at Kanto Stage for two years and was familiar with the situation: “Ashikaga-san is right! Ten years ago, Kanto Stage made Kanto Folk Chronicle. Matsui-san and his team spent three months on it, and what was the result? The ratings didn’t even reach 2.3%. The board of directors directly cut the project, and even halved the production department’s budget. Now Director Nohara is asking them to make documentaries again, isn’t that jumping into a fire pit?”
Director Watanabe also frowned, flipping through the preliminary plan for Taste of Neon. “And this name, Taste of Neon? It sounds like a food program, but the plan says it’s about ‘people,’ with old artisans and fishermen. Is it a food film or a people-focused film? Will the audience like it? Besides, City Stage is currently making Tokyo Area Exploration with Shunsuke Kamiki as host. Young people love to follow him. If we compete with them on the same theme, can we win?”
The atmosphere in the meeting room grew heavier. Everyone spoke one after another, all expressing pessimism.
Hashimoto Ichiro sighed, recalling how after he betrayed Hiroshi and was at his wit’s end, it was Hiroshi who, without holding a grudge, brought him back to the production department. He felt a bit uneasy: “It’s not that I don’t trust Director Nohara, it’s just… the risk this time is too great. If Kanto Stage collapses, we who followed him might also get implicated.”
Just then, Kouta Asano, who had been silent, suddenly spoke.
He gently placed the ledger in his hand on the table. He still had that amiable smile on his face, but his tone was serious: “Everyone, have we forgotten something? When has Director Nohara ever disappointed us?”
His words instantly silenced the noisy meeting room.
Asano looked at everyone and continued, “When he wanted to make An Shizhi, everyone said, ‘No one will watch urban legends,’ and what happened? The late-night slot ratings broke 12%, and it even created a new genre. Now all the TV stations in Neon are imitating it. Later, when he made Seven Samurai, people said, ‘Samurai films are already outdated,’ but the box office exceeded 8.9 billion yen, and senior Eiji Kurosawa praised him, saying he ‘captured the soul of the samurai.’ And Super Change Change Change, at first no one wanted to sign up. He and Tanaka-kun went out to the streets to promote it, and now it’s the number one variety show in the country. Governor Koike even specifically praised him for ‘changing Neon’s indifference.'”
He paused, picked up the plan for Taste of Neon from the table, and tapped on the “Kanto Old Crafts” page: “You think he’s just messing around making documentaries this time, but I think he already has a plan. When he makes programs, he never just follows trends; he finds what the audience truly needs. Now that people are used to lively variety shows and stimulating dramas, perhaps they’re looking for this kind of heartwarming documentary—just like Late-night Diner, no big stars, no grand scenes, and it became popular, didn’t it?”
No one spoke in the meeting room.
Hashimoto Ichiro remembered how, when he was working with Hiroshi on An Shizhi, Hiroshi would stay up late revising storyboards, not even having time to drink his coffee;
Kenji Ito remembered how, when Hiroshi was directing the TV drama version of Late-night Diner, he specifically took them to Xiang Shuishang’s diner to experience life, teaching them how to capture the subtle expressions of ordinary people;
Soji Ashikaga remembered going to the premiere of Seven Samurai and almost applauding during the Battle of Inada scene—the way the shots were composed was more shocking than any historical film he had ever made.
“Asano-san is right,” Hashimoto Ichiro said first, his tone filled with guilt. “I was thinking too shallowly. Director Nohara never does anything without confidence. Since he’s decided to make a documentary, he must have his reasons.”
“Exactly!” Kenji Ito nodded, his enthusiasm returning. “Last time we made Late-night Diner, he said, ‘A good program isn’t made for the judges, it’s made for the audience,’ and it really became popular. This time, Taste of Neon might also bring us surprises.”
Soji Ashikaga snorted, but his tone softened. “You have some foresight. But if it fails, I won’t speak up for him.”
Everyone laughed, and much of the previous anxiety dissipated.
Director Sato said with a smile, “Even if it fails, Director Nohara will find a way to fix it—his brain works much faster than ours. Last time, one segment of World of the Strange had poor ratings, and he revised the subsequent script the next day, causing the ratings to jump by 3% in the next episode.”
Just then, the meeting room door was gently pushed open, and Ryuji Yamada, Ken Fujishita, Hiroshi Kimura, Kojiro Kobayashi, and Shigeru Saito walked in.
They were there to serve tea to the Tokyo TV staff. They had overheard the discussion at the door and looked on with curiosity.
Ryuji Yamada placed the teapot in his hand on the table and said with a smile, “You all had a lively discussion just now, weren’t you talking about Nohara-san’s reform plan?”
Kenji Ito nodded, his tone a little proud. “Yes, we were talking about Director Nohara’s Taste of Neon. Although we were a bit worried at first, we all feel it can succeed now.”
Ken Fujishita rubbed his beer belly, his eyes full of curiosity. “Speaking of which, we heard from Kiyoto Suzuki-san that Nohara-san is very capable. He’s often reported in the newspapers for his achievements, like the box office success of Seven Samurai and the popularity of the Doraemon manga. But we’d still like to hear your take—is Nohara-san really that amazing?”
As soon as he said this, the Tokyo TV people perked up.
Hashimoto Ichiro cleared his throat, his tone full of respect. “Fujishita-san, you haven’t worked with Director Nohara, so you don’t know how amazing he is. Let me tell you, when I made a mistake and betrayed him, and was at my wit’s end, he brought me back and even made me the Section Chief of the Animation Production Department, in charge of An Shizhi.”
He paused, recalling the scene, his eyes full of gratitude. “No one had high expectations for An Shizhi at first, and no one in the production department wanted to participate. Director Nohara personally stayed up all night drawing storyboards and applied for a budget from the station, and only then was it made. When it aired, in the late-night slot, who would have thought the ratings would break 12%? An Shizhi is now in its fourth season and is still very popular.”
Kenji Ito also chimed in. “When I was in charge of the TV drama version of Late-night Diner, I didn’t know how to capture the feeling of the manga at first. Director Nohara took us to Xiang Shuishang’s diner to observe the customers’ expressions and listen to their stories. He also said, ‘If you want to portray ordinary people’s lives, you have to step into their lives.’ The result was excellent, and the audience said, ‘It’s like watching things happening around us.'”
Although Soji Ashikaga spoke little, he added, “When he was filming Seven Samurai, to recreate the Sengoku period scenes, he specifically went to the ancient building complexes in Kyoto for location shooting and even invited senior Eiji Kurosawa as a consultant. For the Battle of Inada scene, they filmed for a whole week. They waited when the weather was bad, and reshot if the actors weren’t in the right state. They didn’t cut corners at all. When the finished film came out, senior Kurosawa said, ‘This is a true samurai film.’ What do you think, isn’t he amazing?”
Kouta Asano added with a smile, “And Super Change Change Change, at first no one wanted to sign up. Director Nohara took Tanaka-kun to the streets and schools to promote it, and even designed a few simple costume change ideas to teach people how to play. Now Super Change Change Change is the number one variety show in the country, and even elementary school students know about it. People interact with each other more—Governor Koike even specifically praised him for ‘promoting social harmony in Neon.'”
Director Sato also said, “Director Nohara is also excellent at discovering talent. Last time, Sakurako Honda of Kanto Stage wanted to make a documentary about ‘old street explorations,’ right? Matsui-san thought no one would watch it and rejected the proposal. Director Nohara heard about it, specifically went to talk to Honda-chan, and said he would support her filming. Tell me, where can you find a leader who understands programs so well and knows how to treat people?”
The people from Kanto Stage listened in stunned silence.
Ken Fujishita’s mouth hung open, and he almost dropped his teacup on the table. “My goodness! Animation breaking 12% in the late-night slot? And Seven Samurai was praised by senior Eiji Kurosawa? That’s too incredible! Nohara-san is only 23 years old! When I was 23, I was still serving coffee to seniors!”
Hiroshi Kimura adjusted his glasses, his tone full of emotion. “And he’s both a director and a manga artist. Yu Yu Hakusho, Doraemon, Late-night Diner—all top works from Shueisha. My daughter watches Doraemon every day and says she wants a robot cat’s pocket. I didn’t even know the author was Nohara-san—he’s so young, and his energy is so boundless!”
Kojiro Kobayashi flipped through his notebook, his tone filled with admiration. “I was worried that Nohara-san was too young to manage the old-timers at the station, but it seems I was overthinking it. To earn the respect of senior Eiji Kurosawa and to get Director Sakata to make an exception for the Independent Production Department—such a person must have extraordinary qualities.”
Although Shigeru Saito remained silent, a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. He loosened his grip on the pager in his hand—he had previously thought Hiroshi was just lucky, but now he realized these achievements were earned through strength.
Ryuji Yamada sighed, his tone a bit emotional. “Kiyoto Suzuki-san didn’t lie to us. Nohara-san is indeed a genius. But he’s also very down-to-earth. Earlier in the main conference room, he said he wanted to brainstorm with us, not to command us. A leader like that is worth following.”
Just then, Hashimoto Ichiro suddenly showed a knowing smile and lowered his voice. “Let me tell you a secret. Director Sakata dotes on Director Nohara. Did you know? Director Nohara’s Independent Production Department was approved as an exception—only elite second-class directors get that treatment, and he, a third-class director, already has it. When Seven Samurai was a box office hit, Director Sakata specifically added a two-hundred-million yen budget for the production department, saying, ‘Let Nohara-kun use it as he pleases.'”
Kenji Ito nodded, his tone a bit mysterious. “Also, there’s a rumor in the station that Director Nohara is the future of Tokyo TV. Director Sakata often tells people, ‘Nohara-kun is much more capable than I was when I was young.’ Some even say that when Director Sakata retires, Director Nohara might take over as Director of the Production Bureau—think about it, 23 years old! If he really becomes the Director, he’ll be the youngest director in Tokyo TV’s history!”
The Kanto Stage people’s eyes widened, their faces filled with astonishment. Ken Fujishita instinctively said, “My goodness! In Neon, saying someone is the ‘future’ means they’re going to take over, right? Is Director Sakata handing over Tokyo TV to Nohara-san? That’s too unbelievable!”
Ryuji Yamada was also shocked. He had been in the television industry for thirty years and had never seen someone so young be given such high hopes. “There have been genius directors before, but at most they won a few awards. Someone like Nohara-san, who is being groomed by the station manager as the future, is the first. But it makes sense; he’s talented, down-to-earth, and can unite people. He is indeed worthy of trust.”
Hiroshi Kimura adjusted his glasses, his tone analytical. “Moreover, Nohara-san has connections with Governor Koike and Minister Hattori. Super Change Change Change was praised by Governor Koike, and Taste of Neon has received support from Minister Hattori. With these people helping him, his path will be smoother. It’s not impossible for him to take over as Director Sakata’s successor in the future.”
Kojiro Kobayashi nodded, his pen flying across his notebook. “If Nohara-san can truly become Tokyo TV’s future, then by following him, we Kanto Stage can also rise again. If Taste of Neon is made well, perhaps Kanto Stage can return to its former glory.”
Shigeru Saito finally spoke, his voice still low but with a hint of determination. “The Technical Department will provide full support. I will bring out the best cameras to ensure the footage is perfect.”
The atmosphere in the meeting room became enthusiastic. The Tokyo TV people chatted about Hiroshi’s past, and the Kanto Stage people listened, their eyes full of admiration and anticipation. Ryuji Yamada said with a smile, “It seems we chose the right leader this time. Following Nohara-san, we will surely be able to produce good programs.”
Ken Fujishita also said with a smile, “Yes! When Taste of Neon is finished, I must show it to the owner of Asakusaya, let him know that we Kanto Stage can also produce good programs, and then he’ll surely be willing to cooperate with us!”
Kenji Ito patted Ken Fujishita’s shoulder and said with a smile, “Don’t worry, with Director Nohara here, it will definitely be fine. We’ll start preparing tomorrow and aim to start filming as soon as possible to show the audience our strength!”
Everyone laughed, and the air in the meeting room became warm. Sunlight streamed through the glass window, casting its glow on the ledgers and plans on the table, as if gilding the upcoming reforms with a ray of hope.
Ryuji Yamada refilled everyone’s tea and said with a smile, “Everyone, your tea has gone cold. I’ll bring you another pot of hot tea. After Nohara-san and Managing Director Asumi finish their meeting, we can discuss the filming details together.”
Director Sato nodded, his tone filled with anticipation. “Okay! I also want to discuss the storyboards for Taste of Neon with Director Nohara and see if I can offer some suggestions—I used to make rural-themed programs at Kanto Stage, so perhaps I can be of help.”
Soji Ashikaga snorted, but also said, “If we need to film historical parts, like the historical background of old crafts, I can help—after all, I have more experience filming historical dramas than you do.”
Kouta Asano said with a smile, “That would be great! Let’s work hard together, and we’ll definitely make Taste of Neon a success and let all of Neon know that we at Tokyo TV and Kanto Stage can produce the best programs!”
The laughter in the meeting room grew louder, and the previous worries and doubts disappeared, leaving only anticipation for the future. Everyone believed that under the leadership of Hiroshi Nohara, Kanto Stage would surely regain its vitality, and Taste of Neon would surely become a memorable program for the audience.
Meanwhile, in the main conference room, Hiroshi was discussing the specific details of the filming with Asumi and Yuichi Matsui.
He was unaware of the conversation in the small meeting room, but he could feel the growing momentum in the air—he knew that this reform had a good start.
The autumn wind still blew outside, but this time, what blew into the Kanto Stage office building was no longer bleakness and despair, but a power filled with hope.
…
Sunlight slanted into the main conference room of Kanto Stage, falling on the open white paper and casting a long shadow of Hiroshi Nohara, who was holding a pencil.
The HB pencil in his fingertips glided across the paper, the rustling sound mingling with the soft rustle of plane leaves outside the window, bringing more peace than the hum of the air conditioner.
In just a few minutes, the blank paper was adorned with simple sketches—on the left was a fishing boat on the coast of Kamakura, with fishermen bent over hauling in nets at the bow, and small text next to it marked “4 AM, shooting against the light, emphasize the reflection on the fishing net.” In the middle was a bun shop on Yokohama’s East Asian Street, with steam curling from the steamer baskets, and below it written “6 AM, side lighting for steam, close-up on the landlady’s wrists as she kneads dough.” On the right was the kitchen of a Gunma farmhouse, where an old woman was putting soba noodles into a pot, with a note saying “5 PM, warm lighting, shoot the splash of water as the noodles go in and the old woman’s wrinkles.”
“These are my general ideas,” Hiroshi said, placing the pencil on the edge of the paper and pointing to the title above the sketch. “Taste of Neon, we’ll start filming in Kanto, divided into three parts: ‘Freshness of the Seaside,’ ‘Warmth of the Streets,’ and ‘Taste of Home.'”
He paused and tapped on the “Freshness of the Seaside” section: “For example, at Chiba’s fish market, fishermen go out to sea at dawn, and sushi chefs go to select fish before it’s light. These scenes have both a sense of everyday life and reflect Kanto’s heritage of living by the sea. At the bun shop on Yokohama’s East Asian Street, the landlady is a third-generation successor. From her grandfather pushing a cart to sell buns to opening a shop now, this is ‘Warmth of the Streets.’ The farmhouse soba noodles in Gunma, the old woman sends noodles to her neighbors after the autumn harvest every year; this is ‘Taste of Home’—the core is ‘people,’ and food is just the vehicle; the human stories are the soul.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the meeting room door was pushed open. Kiyoto Suzuki came in with a tea tray. As he placed the teacups on the table, his gaze was drawn to the sketch, and the teapot in his hand almost tilted. “Hiroshi-kun, did you draw this?”
He walked over quickly, picked up the sketch, and his finger stopped on the storyboard for the “Yokohama Bun Shop.” It clearly indicated the number of squares on the steamer, and even specified, “When the first basket of buns comes out, the steam should be thick, focus on the customer’s hand reaching for the bun.”
Kiyoto Suzuki looked increasingly surprised. When he looked up, his glasses had slid down to the tip of his nose. “This isn’t a sketch, is it? You’ve even marked the lighting angles! When I filmed Kanto Scenery Painting, I hired a professional storyboard artist, and the drafts weren’t this detailed!”
Yuichi Matsui also came over. He understood lenses better than Kiyoto Suzuki. Pointing to the storyboard for “Chiba Fish Market,” he said, “Look at this sequence of shots. From the fishermen hauling in the net to the sushi chef slicing the fish, you’re using tracking shots, right? You’ve even drawn the camera’s movement trajectory—Hiroshi-kun, your storyboards are more professional than the finished drafts of our station’s old cameramen!”
Asumi, who had been sitting nearby flipping through the ledger, also came over when he heard their words. He picked up another sketch, a close-up of Kamakura seafood donburi: raw fish laid on rice, chopsticks picking up a slice of salmon, with a note saying “Close-up on the glistening fish, chopsticks moving slowly to highlight freshness.” Asumi couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve even thought of such details? When you filmed Late-night Diner, you made the actors practice picking up eggs ten times. It turns out you’ve been meticulously working on details since the storyboards.”
Hiroshi scratched the back of his head, his tone a little embarrassed. “Actually, I’m not as familiar with Kanto’s local cuisine as you all are. For example, Matsui-san knows which seafood donburi in Kamakura is the oldest, and Suzuki-san knows which buns in Yokohama are traditional. All these will require your help. What I can do is clarify the cinematic language, and together we can find those old shops and artisans with heritage and tell their stories.”
“Heritage is good!” Yuichi Matsui immediately responded, his tone excited. “Let me tell you, in Kamakura, there’s ‘Sato Seafood House.’ The owner, Sato-san, is sixty years old. He’s been going out to sea with his father since he was fifteen, and he still goes out at three in the morning every day, catching only seasonal fish, saying, ‘Fish that aren’t in season don’t have that fresh taste.’ His son, who was a white-collar worker in Tokyo, quit his job last year to help him, saying he wants to pass on this craft—isn’t this the story of ‘people’ you’re talking about?”
Kiyoto Suzuki also nodded. “It’s the same with ‘Li’s Bun Shop’ on Yokohama’s East Asian Street! The landlady, Li-san, is third-generation. Her grandfather came to Neon from Southeast Asia and sold buns from a small cart. Now the small cart from back then is still hanging at the shop entrance. She opens at six in the morning every day, and the first basket of buns is always saved for the old lady next door. She says, ‘The old lady watched me grow up, so she should eat first’—this story would be heartwarming to film!”
（ The Chinese influence is blurred, but there are so many Chinese elements in Japan. Please don’t overthink it）
Hiroshi listened intently, occasionally making notes in his notebook. “We need stories like that. We don’t need to find famous shops; we just need to find ones with old foundations and human touch. For example, when filming ‘Li’s Bun Shop,’ we’ll start filming from when Li-san kneads dough at three in the morning, film how she seasons the filling, how she remembers the taste preferences of old customers, and the smile of the old lady picking up the buns—these details are more touching than anything else.”
Yuichi Matsui listened with increasing excitement. He picked up the sketch and looked at it again, exclaiming, “Hiroshi-kun, I’ve been filming for thirty years, and I’ve never seen such a young person who understands lenses so well! Your storyboard even marks the force of Li-san’s wrist when kneading dough as ‘close-up, to show the strength of the old craft.’ If we film according to this, without any changes, it will definitely be effective!”
Hiroshi smiled and agreed, but in his heart, he was thinking of the past life’s “A Bite of China”—weren’t the scenes that viewers remembered filled with these details of everyday life? He brazenly accepted the praise. “Actually, it’s based on some past ideas. The key is to ‘follow the people,’ not to film food for the sake of filming food. For example, when filming Sato-san’s seafood house, we can’t just show how fresh the sashimi is; we have to film how he struggles with the waves when going out to sea, how he selects fish, how he chats with old customers—these things have more power than the food itself.”
“Well said!”
Asumi couldn’t help but clap his hands, his tone full of admiration. “No wonder you could film Late-night Diner! That kind of delicate observation is your talent! When you filmed Super Change Change Change, you captured the interaction between people; when you filmed Seven Samurai, you captured the struggle of human nature; and now, filming Taste of Neon, you’re capturing the warmth of heritage—you can always find the core element, and that’s what makes you different from others.”
Yuichi Matsui also nodded, his tone full of respect. “Exactly! When I filmed Kanto Scenery Painting back then, I always thought about filming landscapes and customs, but I forgot to film people. Now, looking at your storyboard, I finally understand—a landscape without people, no matter how beautiful, has no soul; food without people, no matter how fragrant, has no taste. Hiroshi-kun, your brain is truly made for this!”
Hiroshi was so praised that he felt a bit embarrassed and changed the subject. “Matsui-san, actually, there’s something else I’d like to ask you. We need to form a specialized team for Taste of Neon, such as cameramen, directors, and sound engineers. This will all depend on your help—after all, you know the people at Kanto Stage best and know who is suitable.”
Yuichi Matsui immediately patted his chest. “Don’t worry, Hiroshi-kun! I’ve already made a list with Yamada-san! Old cameraman Sato-san, who filmed Kanto Scenery Painting, knows Kanto’s seas and streets, and the scenes he films have character. Young director Honda Sakurako-chan, who pestered me last time about wanting to film old streets, is from Kanto and knows Kanto’s cuisine inside out, even knowing which soba noodles are handmade. And sound engineer Kobayashi-san, who filmed folk documentaries with me before, can record the sound of the sea breeze and the steamer at the bun shop clearly—these people are all capable!”
He paused and added:
“I’ve also spoken with Saito-san from the Technical Department and asked him to bring out that best high-definition camera. Although it’s been used for five years, the picture quality is still good enough to film the glistening fish and the pleats of the buns. If it’s not enough, I’ll talk to Managing Director Asumi again and transfer two cameras from Tokyo TV!”
Hiroshi looked at Yuichi Matsui’s excited expression and felt relieved. “With Matsui-san’s help, I’m at ease. Then please go and talk to them now, finalize the team, and we’ll start scouting tomorrow—first to Sato-san’s seafood house, then to Li’s Bun Shop, and aim to start filming next week.”
“Okay! I’ll go now!” Yuichi Matsui grabbed the sketch, his footsteps quicker than usual. When he reached the doorway, he looked back and reminded, “Hiroshi-kun, just wait, I guarantee I’ll gather everyone within half an hour!”
Watching Yuichi Matsui’s receding figure disappear through the door, the atmosphere in the meeting room became more relaxed.
Asumi took a sip of his tea and suddenly remembered something, saying with a wry smile, “Right, Hiroshi-kun, I need to go see how the ledger check is going. Last time Kanto Stage reported a list of equipment, saying they had five usable cameras, but in reality, only two could be turned on. I hope this time isn’t another ‘big surprise.'”
Kiyoto Suzuki also gave a wry smile and put down the teapot. “Don’t get your hopes up. Last time I reconciled accounts with finance, I found they had marked ‘Advertising payment from Asakusaya’ as ‘received,’ but the owner of Asakusaya said they hadn’t paid yet, saying they’d pay when we had a new program—this ledger probably hides more than a few problems.”
Asumi sighed. “Still, I have to go look. Let’s go, Hiroshi-kun, you come with me too, and get acquainted with Kanto Stage’s financial situation—although the budget for Taste of Neon has been approved, if the ledgers are a mess, subsequent funding will also be difficult.”
Hiroshi nodded and followed the two towards the small meeting room.
As they reached the doorway, they heard Hashimoto Ichiro’s voice from inside, with a hint of helplessness. “Kimura-san, what’s going on with this personnel ledger? The subsidies for long-term employees haven’t been paid for three months, why isn’t it marked? And the equipment ledger states ‘three high-definition cameras,’ but Saito-san says only one is functional. That’s too much of a discrepancy!”
Pushing the door open, the scene inside was worse than they had imagined.
The Tokyo TV inspectors were all frowning, red circles filling their ledgers. Kimura Hiroshi, Ken Fujishita, and others from Kanto Stage stood by, their faces looking rather grim.
Kimura Hiroshi adjusted his glasses, his tone embarrassed. “Hashimoto-san, regarding the subsidies, it’s because the station is facing financial difficulties recently, and we were thinking of paying them after the advertising payments arrived. As for the equipment, we didn’t check carefully when we reported it before; we thought we’d get the budget approved first and then deal with it…”
“This isn’t ‘not checking carefully,’ it’s deceiving!”
Asumi walked over, picked up the equipment ledger, and flipped through a couple of pages, his frown deepening. “Look at this page, ‘ten sets of recording equipment,’ but Saito-san says only three are usable, the rest are either broken and unrepaired, or lost—if we’re filming Taste of Neon, how can we record the sound of waves or kneading dough without enough recording equipment?”
Ken Fujishita rubbed his beer belly, his tone a little aggrieved. “Asumi-managing director, it’s not that we wanted to deceive, it’s just that the station truly has no money. Last time we wanted to repair those two broken cameras, finance said ‘no budget,’ so they had to be left as they are. Regarding the subsidies, I’ve brought it up with finance several times, and they always say, ‘We’ll wait for Director Sakata’s approval’—we had no choice.”
Kiyoto Suzuki picked up the advertising ledger, marked in red pen: “Marui Soy Sauce owes 3 million yen, overdue by one month.” “Asakusaya owes 2 million yen, not yet received.”
He sighed. “If these advertising payments aren’t collected, let alone repairing equipment or paying subsidies, even the subsequent filming of Taste of Neon will be problematic.”
The meeting room fell silent instantly. The Tokyo TV inspectors said nothing, and the Kanto Stage people hung their heads. The atmosphere was exceptionally heavy.
Asumi looked at the ledger in his hand, then at Kiyoto Suzuki. They exchanged a look, and both saw bitterness in each other’s eyes.
Finally, Asumi turned around and looked at Hiroshi, his tone a mix of helplessness and expectation. “Hiroshi-kun, you’ve seen it. Kanto Stage’s ledgers are like this, a complete mess. Not enough equipment, tight finances, uncollected advertising payments—this Taste of Neon will have to rely on you. If this program becomes popular, advertisers will definitely be willing to invest, and the problems with equipment and subsidies can be resolved; if it doesn’t become popular…”
He didn’t finish, but everyone understood the unspoken words.
Kiyoto Suzuki also said, “Hiroshi-kun, we old guys have feelings for Kanto Stage and want to save it, but we don’t have your skills. You saved the late-night slot with An Shizhi, you saved samurai films with Seven Samurai, this time… please save Kanto Stage too.”
Hiroshi looked at the people before him—Asumi’s hand was still gripping the ledger, his knuckles turning white; Kiyoto Suzuki’s glasses had slid to the tip of his nose, but he didn’t bother to push them up; Kimura Hiroshi and Ken Fujishita hung their heads, like children who had done wrong; Shigeru Saito stood in the corner, his pager rang, but he didn’t answer, just looked at him.
He took a deep breath, walked over, picked up the equipment ledger, turned to the “Usable Equipment” page, and lightly crossed out “three high-definition cameras,” changing it to “one （ two need to be transferred from Tokyo TV ）,” and wrote next to it, “Recording equipment: three sets at Kanto Stage + two sets transferred from Tokyo TV.”
Then, he looked up, his eyes still steady, but his tone carried strength. “Regarding the equipment, I’ll talk to Managing Director Asumi to transfer two high-definition cameras and two sets of recording equipment from Tokyo TV. They’ll arrive tomorrow. Regarding advertising payments, Fujishita-san, please talk to ‘Sato Seafood House’ and ‘Li’s Bun Shop’ and tell them we’ll do promotions for them in the program, and ask them to pay some advance payments first to alleviate some financial pressure. Regarding subsidies, after the first episode of Taste of Neon airs, I will apply to Director Sakata to pay the subsidies for the long-term employees first.”
He paused and looked at everyone. “As for whether Taste of Neon will be popular, I can’t guarantee it, but I will do my best. As Matsui-san said, we are filming Kanto’s heritage, Kanto’s human touch—as long as we film with our hearts, the audience will surely feel it.”
Asumi looked at Hiroshi’s steady demeanor and suddenly felt relieved. He remembered the first time he met Hiroshi; this young man [Truncated: Max tokens]
He patted Hiroshi’s shoulder, “Good! We’ll do as you say! I’ll call Tokyo TV right now and have them send over the equipment. Mr. Fujishita, you go and talk to those old shops about advance payments. Mr. Kimura, organize the list of subsidies for the veteran employees, and wait for Hiroshi-kun to apply to Director Sakata. Mr. Saito, you’ll liaise with the Tokyo TV people tomorrow regarding the equipment to ensure it’s usable.”
“Hi!” everyone replied in unison, the previous heaviness dispelled considerably, and their eyes regained their light.
Ken Fujishita immediately picked up the desk phone on the table and began calling “Sato Seafood Shop” with excitement in his voice: “Mr. Sato! It’s Fujishita! I have good news for you. Kanto Stage is going to film a documentary specifically about your seafood shop, and we can even promote you…”
Hiroshi Kimura took out his notebook and began organizing the subsidy list, his fingers flying as he wrote: “Camera operator Mr. Sato, sound engineer Mr. Kobayashi, director Honda-chan…”
Shigeru Saito took out his pager and sent a message to someone in the Technical Department, which read, “Prepare to receive equipment from Tokyo TV tomorrow, and check the lines in advance.”
Kiyoto Suzuki looked at the scene before him and couldn’t help but smile. He walked over to Hiroshi and said in a low voice, “Hiroshi-kun, thank you. Without you, we really wouldn’t know what to do at Kanto Stage.”
Hiroshi smiled and shook his head, “Mr. Suzuki, no need to thank me. I just did what I should do. Besides, this isn’t just my business; it’s everyone’s business. Mr. Matsui forming the team, Managing Director Asumi arranging the equipment, Mr. Fujishita negotiating the advertisements – everyone working together is what will allow us to film Taste of Neon well and save Kanto Stage.”
Just then, the door to the small meeting room was pushed open. Yuichi Matsui rushed in excitedly, holding a list: “Hiroshi-kun! The team is set! Old cameraman Mr. Sato, director Honda-chan, sound engineer Mr. Kobayashi, and three assistants are all willing to come! Honda-chan heard we’re filming a gourmet program and even brought Oden made by her mother, saying we should try it to get the feel for it!”
Behind him followed a group of people. One young girl among them, holding a thermos, had an excited expression on her face – it was Sakurako Honda, who had previously insisted on filming the old street with Yuichi Matsui. Upon seeing Hiroshi, she immediately bowed: “Mr. Nohara! I am Sakurako Honda! I absolutely loved the Late-night Diner you filmed, and I will definitely learn well while following you to film Taste of Neon this time!”
Hiroshi nodded with a smile, “Honda-chan, no need to be polite. Let’s work hard together. What’s in your insulated bag? It smells very good.”
Sakurako Honda immediately opened the thermos, inside was steaming oden: “My mother made it! There’s daikon, kelp, and fish cakes, all with the old Kanto flavor. Please try some!”
Yuichi Matsui picked up a skewer of radishes, took a bite, and narrowed his eyes with satisfaction, “Mmm! That’s the taste! Hiroshi-kun, you try it too. This is the taste of Kanto. For filming “Taste of Neon”, we have to film this taste!”
Hiroshi picked up a string of kelp, took a bite, and it was indeed fresh—carrying the fragrance of kelp, and a hint of Mom’s taste.
He suddenly remembered the plum onigiri Misae had made for him that morning, and his heart felt warm.
He looked at the lively scene before him—Ken Fujishita was still on the phone with the old shop, Hiroshi Kimura was organizing a list, Mr. Saito was checking the equipment list, Yuichi Matsui and Sakurako Honda were distributing oden to everyone, and Asumi was coordinating equipment with Tokyo TV—and suddenly felt that this mess didn’t seem so difficult to clean up.
Just like this oden, the radish needs to be simmered slowly to absorb flavor, and the kelp needs to be soaked thoroughly to be fresh—the reforms at Kanto Stage also need time, patience, and everyone working together.
The sunlight outside the window shone through the glass, falling on everyone, and on the ledger and manuscript on the table.
Those red circles and annotations that used to be headaches now seem like small interludes on the road forward.
Hiroshi picked up the manuscript for “Taste of Neon”, looked at the fishermen, the landlady of the bun shop, and the old woman from the farm, and couldn’t help but smile.
He knew that the road ahead would be long and full of difficulties, but as long as they walked together, they would surely reach the end.
After all, they were filming the inheritance of Kanto, the human relations of Kanto, and the warmth hidden in the gourmet food.
These things will never go out of style.
In his previous life, why did “Taste of Neon” become an instant nationwide hit, even garnering astonishing attention overseas?
The reason lies here.
Warmth.
Human relations.
and the most down-to-earth desire for gourmet food!
PS: Please continue to shamelessly ask for recommendation votes and such.
