Chapter 241: Tokyo City Television’s Disdain For The Documentary! Mikami Tanaka’s Keen Sense!
The meeting room of Tokyo City Television was a size smaller than Tokyo TV’s, with promotional posters for 《Exploring Tokyo’s Surroundings》 on the walls—Shunsuke Kamiki wearing a bright jacket, making a V-sign to the camera, and the corner of the poster printed with “Every Friday at 8 PM, explore Tokyo’s surroundings with Shunsuke.”
The conference table was dark solid wood, with some chipped edges, and the canned coffee on the table had gone completely cold. Several men in suits sat around the table, their faces showing a bit of casual indifference.
The first to speak was Keisuke Morikawa from the Tokyo City Television intelligence department. He held a crumpled report in his hand, his tone deliberately casual: “Everyone, just got the news—Tokyo TV plans to team up with the newly acquired Kanto Stage for reforms, focusing on humanistic documentaries—they say they’re shooting something called ‘Kanto local culture,’ and they’ve specially approved a budget for it.”
As soon as he finished, Jun Yamada, section chief of the production department at Tokyo City Television, sitting opposite Morikawa, burst out laughing. He spun a steel pen in his hand, his eyes full of disdain: “Humanistic documentaries? Does Tokyo TV have no one available? Or has Nobuhiko Sakata gone senile? Our station shoots 《Exploring Tokyo’s Surroundings》, with Shunsuke Kamiki as host—just the preheating phase pulled in 30 million in advertising sponsorship. They’re betting on documentaries no one watches—this is clearly making way for us.”
Nearby, Tokyo City Television director Takashi Sato nodded in agreement. He had previously shot a few short films on rural themes, with poor ratings, and he was full of resistance at the mention of documentaries: “Exactly! Section Chief Yamada, did you forget? Last year NHK’s 《Kyoto Ancient Temples Journey》 took half a year, and the final rating was only 2.8%. The advertisers nearly flipped out. Now Tokyo TV has Kanto Stage shooting this—probably wants Kanto Stage to completely flop. After all, Kanto Stage was already barely holding on, and with this mess, next year they might not even afford to rent an office building.”
Keisuke Morikawa chimed in, throwing the report onto the table and leaning back in his chair: “I heard Kanto Stage doesn’t even have many usable cameras left. They had to borrow equipment just for local news before, and now they want to shoot documentaries? The footage will probably be blurrier than VHS video tapes. Besides, who would watch old artisans boiling soba noodles or fishermen hauling nets? Audiences stay up at night glued to the TV for stars like Shunsuke Kamiki, lively variety shows—not documentaries slow enough to put people to sleep.”
Kazuo Takahashi, sitting at the head, had been silent, his fingers lightly tapping the desktop, his eyes carrying the scrutiny unique to politicians. Only after the laughter died down did he slowly speak: “Don’t rush to laugh. I’m wondering why Tokyo TV chose documentaries. I’ve seen a few NHK humanistic documentaries before—they’re pretty good. Like last year’s 《Hokkaido Fishermen Story》. Ratings weren’t high, but the reputation was good, and it won a small award—maybe Tokyo TV is betting on reputation to gain attention?”
Jun Yamada immediately shook his head, leaning forward, his tone full of confident rebuttal: “Deputy Station Manager Takahashi, you don’t get it! Can reputation be eaten? We do TV for ratings, for advertising revenue! Look at our station’s 《Exploring Tokyo’s Surroundings》—reputation is average, but ratings stable at 8%, and Marui Soy Sauce alone invested ten million in ads—documentaries? Even with great reputation, would merchants invest? Those local old shops hesitate even to sponsor a shooting location, let alone advertising fees?”
Takashi Sato added, recalling his own frustrating sponsorship pulls, his tone more agitated: “Exactly! Last time I shot 《Chiba Fishing Port Story》, I went to the local fish market for sponsorship, and the boss straight-up said ‘shooting this is useless, better hire a star for promotion’—see, even merchants know documentaries have no audience. Tokyo TV doing this now is purely wasting money—better use the budget to hire a second-tier star for a variety show, at least to pull in young viewers.”
Keisuke Morikawa nodded, pulling out the flip phone just issued to executives—small screen, only for texts and calls. He glanced down at a message, then looked up: “Also, my informant says Tokyo TV approved only ten million yen for Kanto Stage this time—not even enough for our station to hire Shunsuke Kamiki for one ad shoot. With that little money, want to make a good documentary? Probably not even enough for travel expenses, let alone renting pro equipment or hiring editors.”
Kazuo Takahashi frowned, his fingers pausing on the desktop, still a bit uneasy: “That’s fair, but doesn’t Tokyo TV have Hiroshi Nohara? That young man is no simpleton. He saved the late-night slot with 《An Shizhi》, and 《Seven Samurai》 broke eight billion at the box office. Maybe he has a way to make documentaries shine—we can’t be too careless.”
This made the laughter in the meeting room stop.
The smile faded a bit on Jun Yamada’s face. He touched his chin, his tone uncertain: “You mean Hiroshi Nohara? He’s involved in Kanto Stage’s reform too? I thought Tokyo TV would just send Asumi or Toshihide Takada to oversee—if he’s in it, maybe he really can stir up something.”
Takashi Sato’s face also darkened. He had been at Tokyo TV for two years and seen Hiroshi Nohara shooting 《World of the Strange》—clearly only in his twenties, yet more lens-savvy than veteran directors, and better at grasping audience psychology. Thinking of this, he felt a chill: “If Hiroshi Nohara is leading, we really need to pay attention. His 《Late-night Diner》 had no big stars, no big scenes, but it exploded. Ratings stable over 10%, even pulled long-term sponsorship from Nissin Ramen—if he makes documentaries like 《Late-night Diner》, our 《Exploring Tokyo’s Surroundings》 might lose viewers.”
Only then did Keisuke Morikawa drop his earlier casualness. He picked up the report, flipped through it again, his tone now tense: “My report doesn’t mention Hiroshi Nohara… I’ll confirm with my informant.”
With that, he picked up the desk phone, dialed a number, said a few words into it, then hung up, his face looking worse: “Everyone, informant replied—this Kanto Stage reform is indeed led by Hiroshi Nohara, and he’s set the first project: a gourmet documentary called 《Taste of Neon》, starting shooting at Chiba Fish Market next week.”
“Gourmet documentary?”
Kazuo Takahashi’s brows furrowed tighter, leaning forward, his tone worried: “《Late-night Diner》 was also gourmet-themed and exploded. If Hiroshi Nohara shoots documentaries like 《Late-night Diner》, going the ‘gourmet + human relations’ route, it might really attract viewers—after all, audiences are getting aesthetically fatigued with pure entertainment variety shows. If documentaries can capture warmth, they might succeed.”
Jun Yamada’s face changed too. He had always thought documentaries had no audience, but thinking of 《Late-night Diner》’s success made him uneasy: “No way? 《Late-night Diner》 is a TV drama, each episode has plot and conflict to hook viewers. Documentaries? Can’t just shoot old artisans boiling noodles every episode? That’d be too monotonous, viewers would switch after two episodes—besides, gourmet documentaries are just processing ingredients and cooking them? Mouthwatering but can’t eat it—who’d keep watching?”
Takashi Sato nodded too, recalling his own seafood short films, his tone self-assuring: “Section Chief Yamada is right! Japanese people value ‘restraint’—too bluntly showing ‘want to eat’ is seen as ‘uncouth.’ Look at 《Late-night Diner》, it shoots gourmet but focuses on ‘stories,’ not ‘eating’ itself. But documentaries shooting gourmet would close-up the gloss of sashimi, steam from buns— that’s just tempting viewers’ appetites. Viewers won’t say it, but they’ll think it’s ‘vulgar’—how could such a film explode?”
Keisuke Morikawa recovered, leaning back in his chair, his tone regaining confidence: “And don’t forget, 《Late-night Diner》’s success was partly because it’s a drama, aired in prime time. Documentaries? Tokyo TV definitely won’t give it prime time—likely late-night or weekend afternoon dead slots. Few viewers then anyway—even if well-made, few will see it.”
Kazuo Takahashi listened, fingers tapping the desktop lightly, the worry in his eyes slowly fading.
He picked up the canned coffee, took a sip, the coolness clearing his mind: “You make sense. Japanese social atmosphere is like that—sensitive to ‘gluttony’ as ‘original sin,’ unwilling to show it on camera. Documentaries focusing on gourmet would easily make viewers ‘uncomfortable’—after all, no one wants to admit screen food attracts them.”
Jun Yamada jumped in, his tone eagerly merit-seeking: “Exactly! Deputy Station Manager Takahashi, think—our 《Exploring Tokyo’s Surroundings》 shoots local gourmet too, but focus is ‘exploration process,’ Shunsuke Kamiki chatting with shop owners, interacting with tourists—gourmet is just ‘accent.’ But Tokyo TV’s documentary making gourmet the star is putting ‘want to eat’ front and center—viewers will resist, no one wants to be called ‘lacking restraint.'”
Takashi Sato added, recalling a previous TV industry exchange, his tone professionally confident: “I heard from an NHK veteran director before—Japanese documentaries are either history/culture or social issues, rarely gourmet—not that no one wants to, but no one watches. Like TBS’s 《Osaka Gourmet Journey》 ten years ago, spent a lot, ratings only 1.9%, criticized by media as ‘vulgar,’ ‘filming eating like showing off’—Tokyo TV doing this now might repeat the mistake.”
Keisuke Morikawa pulled out his phone, showed saved ratings data to Kazuo Takahashi: “Look, this is ratings data for all Japanese gourmet documentaries in the past five years—highest 3.5%, NHK’s 《Okinawa Seafood Story》, thanks to heavy Okinawa tourism bureau promotion. Tokyo TV’s 《Taste of Neon》 has no NHK reputation base or tourism bureau support—exceeding that? Impossible.”
Kazuo Takahashi looked at the phone data, then at the confident faces, his last bit of worry vanishing.
He leaned back, sighed in relief, his tone relieved: “I see. I was worried Hiroshi Nohara could pull something off, but looks like I overthought. Documentaries have no market anyway, plus sensitive gourmet theme—even with Hiroshi Nohara, hard to turn it around—he can’t fight the whole social atmosphere.”
Jun Yamada laughed immediately, picking up canned coffee and toasting Kazuo Takahashi: “Deputy Station Manager Takahashi, rest easy! Our 《Exploring Tokyo’s Surroundings》 premieres next week—Shunsuke Kamiki did a pre-heat at Senso-ji Temple yesterday, lots of fans showed, high topic heat on Twitter. Tokyo TV’s documentary, even if made, only late-night— no conflict with us. Maybe they’ll envy our ratings!”
Takashi Sato nodded too, recalling past collaboration with Shunsuke Kamiki, excited: “Shunsuke Kamiki’s fans are mostly 15-25-year-olds—the demographic advertisers crave. We’ve negotiated with three cosmetics companies—if ratings break 10%, they’ll add 20 million ad budget. Tokyo TV? Their documentary sponsorship at best local shop small ads—can’t compare.”
Keisuke Morikawa agreed, folding the report into his briefcase: “I’ve told my informant to keep eyes on Tokyo TV. If their documentary has new moves, we can counter early. But I doubt it’ll splash—Kanto Stage’s equipment sucks, team has no documentary experience—even with Hiroshi Nohara, hard to make good stuff.”
Kazuo Takahashi nodded, picking up the 《Exploring Tokyo’s Surroundings》 broadcast plan, flipping two pages, satisfied: “Good. Our focus remains 《Exploring Tokyo’s Surroundings》 premiere prep. Section Chief Yamada, coordinate more with Shunsuke Kamiki’s team for smooth debut next week; Director Sato, handle post-production editing, cut more highlight trailers for first episode, start looping in-station tomorrow; Morikawa, keep watching Tokyo TV—report news promptly, but no need to tense up—their rival isn’t a threat.”
“Yes!”
The three responded in unison, tones lightly confident. The meeting room atmosphere livened again, discussing 《Exploring Tokyo’s Surroundings》 ad investment and follow-up shoots, mentioning Tokyo TV’s documentary only with teasing laughs—no more worry.
Sunlight streamed through the glass onto the 《Exploring Tokyo’s Surroundings》 poster—Shunsuke Kamiki’s smile extra bright. Kazuo Takahashi looked at it, recalled the analysis, lips curving up—he suddenly felt this City Stage vs. Tokyo TV competition had no suspense from the start.
After all, Tokyo TV bet on unwatched documentaries, while they held viewer-loved stars and lively variety—winning hand too big.
Keisuke Morikawa suddenly remembered, pulling a photo from his briefcase onto the table: “Right, everyone—this is from my informant, photo of Hiroshi Nohara at Kanto Stage meeting yesterday—he’s holding what looks like 《Taste of Neon》 storyboard draft, drawn pretty detailed, but so what? Bad content, pretty drawings won’t get viewers.”
Jun Yamada picked up the photo—Hiroshi Nohara in dark suit, holding paper full of simple sketches, talking seriously to Kanto Stage staff.
Jun Yamada scoffed, tossing the photo back: “Seriousness useless? Wrong direction, seriousness wasted. Our 《Exploring Tokyo’s Surroundings》—Shunsuke Kamiki was serious too, even learned local dialect—that’s ‘seriousness in the right place’—Hiroshi Nohara’s is ‘wasted effort.'”
Takashi Sato nodded, picking up the photo, glancing and tossing back: “Look at his storyboard—fishermen hauling nets, bun shops steaming buns—all uninspired stuff. Our 《Exploring Tokyo’s Surroundings》 first episode goes to Kamakura beach, Shunsuke Kamiki learning surfing with coach, plus local insta-famous coffee shop making handmade coffee—way more fun than fishermen hauling nets, viewers will prefer.”
Kazuo Takahashi looked at the photo, then the relaxed faces, fully reassured.
He stood, picking up the broadcast plan, firm: “Alright, time’s up—get back to work. Next week 《Exploring Tokyo’s Surroundings》 premieres—we must give our best, show Tokyo TV what truly popular programs are—their documentary? Let them fiddle, we’ll wait for results.”
“Yes!” The three responded again, standing, packing files and coffee cans, heading to the meeting room door.
Jun Yamada last, passing the poster, patting Shunsuke Kamiki’s smiling face, proud: “Shunsuke, oh Shunsuke—beating Tokyo TV this time depends on you.”
The meeting room door closed slowly, leaving the photo and cold coffee cans on the table.
Sunlight still streamed through the glass onto the photo of Hiroshi Nohara’s serious face, as if silently saying—this seemingly suspense-free competition might not be as simple as City Stage thought.
……
Tokyo City Hall mayor’s office plainer than imagined—dark brown wooden desk taking most space, thick files piled on left, black desk phone on right with worn edges.
Wall hung Tokyo City map, red pen circling undeveloped areas—those were Mikami Tanaka’s pushed real estate projects.
Sunlight through blinds cast mottled light and shadow on the floor, faint tea aroma in the air.
Kazuo Takahashi stood before the desk, holding report from City Stage, deliberately casual: “Your Excellency the Mayor, fresh news from City Stage—Tokyo TV and Kanto Stage reform direction set: humanistic documentaries, specially approved ten million yen budget, project 《Taste of Neon》, shooting starts at Chiba Fish Market next week.”
Mikami Tanaka looked up from a real estate development plan, fingers tapping the desk lightly, emotionless: “Humanistic documentaries? Ten million budget? Takahashi, what do you think are the odds of success?”
Kazuo Takahashi straightened, confident from City Stage analysis: “Per City Stage production and director team judgment, very low. As you know, Japanese documentary market’s been sluggish—past five years highest ratings 3.5%, NHK barely hit it with tourism bureau promo. Tokyo TV lacks NHK rep and local gov support, plus sensitive gourmet theme—Japanese value restraint, blunt gourmet shots easily resisted, unlikely to thrive.”
“Oh?”
Mikami Tanaka raised a brow, leaning back, scrutinizing: “You sure? NHK’s 《Hokkaido Fishermen Story》 last year had low ratings but great rep, won industry small award. And Tokyo TV’s Nobuhiko Sakata and Yoshihiro Shimazu aren’t fools—if no confidence, would they approve ten million easily?”
Kazuo Takahashi paused, not expecting this, instinctively explaining: “But… City Stage’s Section Chief Yamada and Director Sato analyzed—documentaries have no market, advertisers uninterested. Our City Stage’s 《Exploring Tokyo’s Surroundings》 with Shunsuke Kamiki host pulled 30 million ad sponsorship in pre-heat alone. Tokyo TV’s documentary even made only airs late-night—no conflict. They’re taking a risky move.”
Mikami Tanaka hummed lightly, sipping tea, subtle sarcasm: “Risky? Takahashi, you’re too young, oversimplifying. Sakata’s 40 years in TV, Shimazu from reporter to station manager—if no hope, they’d invest in documentaries? Especially Shimazu—after losing election to me, he’s been holding grudge. This Tokyo TV reform might be his voter-pulling pawn in Kanto—you think he cares if Kanto Stage rises? He cares about pleasing Kanto voters via this project.”
Kazuo Takahashi realized, having focused only on market, forgetting politics, bowing: “My oversight—please advise, Your Excellency.”
Mikami Tanaka set down the cup, tracing the “real estate development plan,” tone sinking: “I don’t know TV ratings, but I know opponents’ eyes. Don’t forget—this Tokyo TV Kanto Stage reform lead isn’t Sakata or Shimazu, it’s that young Hiroshi Nohara.”
“Hiroshi Nohara?” Kazuo Takahashi looked up stunned. He’d seen the name in the report but dismissed—only 23, even with 《An Shizhi》 and 《Seven Samurai》, just a young director. “You mean… he’s leading the reform? But however talented, he can’t fight the whole market environment.”
“Can’t?”
Mikami Tanaka smiled, pulling a newspaper from the drawer, spreading it before Kazuo Takahashi—Akita Prefecture tourism bureau report: “Akita Dogs Boost Tourism, Q3 Visitors Up 40% YoY,” with cute Akita dogs photo, noting “Akita Dog image designer: Tokyo TV director Hiroshi Nohara.”
“Look at this.”
Mikami Tanaka pointed, solemn: “Early last year, Akita Prefecture tourism declining, local gov desperate. Hiroshi Nohara designed Akita Dog image, shot a short 3-min promo film aired in 《Super Change Change Change》 breaks—result? Three months, visitors up 40%, local specialties sales doubled. A 23-year-old does that—think he’d touch documentaries without confidence?”
Kazuo Takahashi saw the data, heart sinking, confidence fading: “But… Akita Dog is mascot, different from documentaries.”
“What’s different?” Mikami Tanaka countered sharply: “Both ‘digging local features’—one mascot, one documentary. Think Kumamoto Prefecture—before Kumamon blew up, who knew it? Hiroshi Nohara’s Kumamon now national insta-mascot, Kumamoto tourism income tripled, local ag products hot sellers.”
He paused, tapping the paper:
“Think these coincidences? Hiroshi Nohara excels turning ‘useless’ into ‘useful.’ Who bet on late-night urban legend animation? His 《An Shizhi》 hit 12% ratings; who thought samurai films outdated? His 《Seven Samurai》 89 billion box office; now no one bets on documentaries—you sure he won’t miracle again?”
Kazuo Takahashi nodded silently, realizing City Stage analysis ignored Hiroshi Nohara’s “breakthrough ability”—always turning unloved fields into paths.
Dismissal turned to worry, he gripped the report: “Then… what now? City Stage’s 《Exploring Tokyo’s Surroundings》 premieres next week—if Tokyo TV’s documentary explodes, it’ll hit our ratings, ad revenue, promo plans.”
Mikami Tanaka picked up the desk phone, dialed: “Have publicity dept compile all reports/data on Hiroshi Nohara past six months—my office in ten.”
Hanging up, to Kazuo Takahashi, serious: “From now, closely monitor Tokyo TV and Kanto Stage. First, City Stage intelligence strengthen informant ties, esp. Kanto internals—get 《Taste of Neon》 shoot plan, slot, promo strategy; second, have Yamada and Sato prep backup plans—if signs of fire, adjust 《Exploring Tokyo’s Surroundings》 early, e.g., more local gourmet or second-tier guest stars to grab viewers first; third, greet Tokugawa Sato at Kirin Group—have him watch Hiroshi Nohara. Sato wants to poach him to Kirin—maybe get intel there.”
Kazuo Takahashi pulled notebook, jotting fast, pen scratching clear: “Got it. Heading back to City Stage now. Also, greet local tourism bureaus to not cooperate with Tokyo TV? Like Chiba or Gunma—if no support, their shoots might suffer.”
Mikami Tanaka shook head, tapping desk: “No. Breaking with local tourism now gives ammo—Yoshihiro Shimazu could grab ‘suppressing local culture’ handle, hurt our voter support. Even with support, won’t necessarily make Tokyo TV’s doc explode—we prep fully, not petty moves.”
He paused, adding:
“Also, City Stage PR monitor media—if positive 《Taste of Neon》 reports, get industry ‘experts’ to counter, e.g., question authenticity or say Hiroshi Nohara ‘exploiting local culture’—subtle, plant ‘doubt’ seeds in viewers.”
Kazuo Takahashi nodded: “Noted. Oh, Your Excellency—City Stage heard Hiroshi Nohara’s team mostly Kanto old staff, no doc experience, only one Tokyo TV camera coach transferred—might… impact quality due to inexperience?”
Mikami Tanaka sipped tea, complex: “Inexperience? Maybe. But recall—《An Shizhi》 team mostly newbies, yet he drew storyboards overnight, taught hands-on, succeeded. Scariest: not talent, but turning ‘impossible’ to ‘possible’—don’t measure him conventionally.”
Then, door opened softly—publicity staff with stack of materials, bowing it on desk: “Your Excellency, Hiroshi Nohara reports and data as requested.”
Mikami Tanaka flipped materials—《An Shizhi》 ratings, 《Seven Samurai》 box office, Kumamon/Akita Dog tourism analysis. Pointing one page to Kazuo Takahashi: “See—《Super Change Change Change》 initially no signups, he street/school promo’d with team, designed disguises himself—became top national variety, even Governor Koike praised him for ‘changing Japanese indifference’—not luck, real ability and grit.”
Kazuo Takahashi leaned in—《Super Change Change Change》 ratings curve from 5.2% to 40.2%, viewer survey: 83% said “more family/friend interactions because of this show.”
Worry deepened—City Stage analysis really overlooked Hiroshi Nohara’s “breakthrough ability.”
“So, absolutely no complacency.”
Mikami Tanaka set materials down, solemn: “Yoshihiro Shimazu betting on Hiroshi Nohara—if this doc explodes, he’ll leverage ‘local culture care’ for votes—bad for our mayor election. Takahashi, this is yours—watch tight, report any stir immediately—even Hiroshi Nohara can’t disrupt our plans.”
Kazuo Takahashi bowed, unprecedented seriousness: “Rest assured, Your Excellency! I’ll arrange all City Stage work, monitor Tokyo TV/Kanto Stage closely—no impact on our projects/election.”
Mikami Tanaka nodded, resuming real estate plan, steady: “Good, back to City Stage—implement all points. With Tokugawa Sato, be measured—don’t seem exploitative. Kirin Group’s real estate still needs his support.”
“Yes!”
Kazuo Takahashi bowed again, grabbing report and materials, heading to door.
At door, he glanced back—Mikami Tanaka studying real estate plan, finger tracing “Shinjuku undeveloped area,” eyes sharply determined.
Sunlight through blinds gilded the politician in cold hard glow.
Kazuo Takahashi deep breath, gripped materials tight.
He knew days ahead tough—Hiroshi Nohara and 《Taste of Neon》 might be City Stage and Mikami Tanaka’s biggest variable.
Prior dismissiveness gone, replaced by full vigilance—no one dares underestimate a youth who made Akita Dogs and Kumamon national hits.
Out of City Hall, sunlight glaring.
Kazuo Takahashi pulled pager, messaged City Stage’s Jun Yamada: “Convene production emergency meeting now, discuss 《Taste of Neon》 countermeasures, bring all Hiroshi Nohara materials.”
Pager replied quick: “Received, meeting in ten.”
Kazuo Takahashi pocketed pager, striding to roadside car.
He knew this “TV competition” hid vast political stakes and election chips—Hiroshi Nohara and his documentary the most unpredictable piece.
Meanwhile, Kanto Stage prep room—Hiroshi checking tomorrow’s gear with Yuichi Matsui and Sakurako Honda.
Shigeru Saito crouched, tweaking HD camera, lens on wall clock—second hand clear. Yuichi Matsui checked shoot list: “Ten spare batteries, twenty storage cards, three windproof mics, two reflector boards… all set.”
Sakurako Honda held notebook full of Sato Seafood House details: “Mr. Sato says tomorrow’s 3 AM tide best for fishing—we must reach wharf by 2:30. He prepared hot soup—cold at seaside pre-dawn, warm up first before shooting.”
Hiroshi nodded, testing reflector angle to light: “Tomorrow, capture details—like calluses on Mr. Sato’s hands hauling nets, his eye contact with son—these touch people. Matsui, your experience—guide young assistants, keep them calm.”
Yuichi Matsui thumped chest: “Rest easy, Hiroshi-kun! Thirty years shooting, this is nothing—tomorrow freshest footage guaranteed!”
Shigeru Saito stood, camera in hand, low but energetic: “Gear tuned—seaside wind strong, doubled windshields on audio, no wind noise. Tomorrow I’ll shadow camera op, handle issues on fly.”
Hiroshi watched busy team, smiling.
He knew nothing of Tokyo City Hall talks, nor Mikami Tanaka’s focus—only that tomorrow’s shoot vital: 《Taste of Neon》 start, Kanto Stage’s rise hope.
Autumn wind outside blew gently, swirling fallen leaves.
Kanto Stage office lit bright, faces expectant and driven—they might not know future hurdles, but following Hiroshi Nohara to make warm documentary filled them with power.
At Tokyo City Hall now, Mikami Tanaka eyed Akita Dog promo on desk, fingers tapping.
Hiroshi Nohara tough foe, but he trusted his political resources and real estate wouldn’t fall to one documentary. The game just began.
