Chapter 242: Filming Begins! Chiba Prefecture’s Seafood Market! The Freshest Taste Of Sashimi!
At four in the morning, the Chiba Fish Market in Chiba City, Chiba Prefecture, was still bathed in the faint blue light of dawn.
Fishing boats by the wharf were lit by dim deck lights, the sound of waves hitting the embankment mixed with the shouts of fishermen, spreading in the cool air.
Tuna that had just been unloaded were wrapped in white cloth, piled on wooden stalls. Their eyes still gleamed with freshness. Occasionally, seabirds would dive down, only to be shooed away with a smile by the vendors behind the stalls.
Hiroshi Nohara, wearing a dark gray work jacket and holding a rolled-up storyboard, stood under the archway at the market entrance.
Behind him followed a large filming team – Yuichi Matsui carried the camera bag, Sakurako Honda clutched a notebook filled with key points, and Shigeru Saito squatted on the ground, adjusting a newly arrived high-definition camera, its lens aimed at the distant fishing boats. In the image, the boat lights blurred into warm yellow light spots in the morning mist.
Ichiro Hashimoto and Kouta Asano also came to help, and the two were currently assisting the sound engineer Kobayashi-san in securing a windshield for the microphone.
“Nohara-kun, over here!”
A middle-aged man in a dark blue suit strode over, a badge that read “Chiba Prefectural Government Commissioner” pinned to his chest, his face exuding just the right amount of enthusiasm.
Behind him followed a man in a light gray suit, holding a leather folder, looking more composed than the commissioner.
“I am Motohiro Ishigami, responsible for cultural and tourism affairs at the Chiba Prefectural Government, and this is Ryuichi Koike, the Vice Mayor of Chiba City.”
Motohiro Ishigami extended his hand proactively, his tone full of respect, “I’ve heard of Nohara-kun’s great name for a long time. I watched Seven Samurai three times in the cinema, and each time I was shocked by the scene of the Battle of Inada! To be able to film Taste of Neon in Chiba is truly an honor for us in Chiba!”
Hiroshi grasped Motohiro Ishigami’s hand, his tone still steady, “Mr. Ishigami is too kind. Chiba’s seafood is famous in Kanto, especially tuna and sea bream. Filming ‘The Freshness of the Seaside’ couldn’t be more fitting. We’ll need your cooperation on this.”
Hideyoshi Kawabe nodded in agreement, flipping open the folder in his hand. Inside were detailed materials about the Chiba Fish Market—including daily fishing boat arrival times, tuna auction procedures, and even introductions to several time-honored fish shops.
“Don’t worry, Nohara-kun. We’ve already spoken to the Market Management Office. We’ve specifically reserved the best filming spots today, and we’ve also asked Masayasu Nomizu to prepare in advance. He’s the oldest fish shop owner in the market. He started going out to sea with his father at fifteen, and his sashimi-making skills are among the best in Chiba.”
“Mr. Nomizu?” Hiroshi’s eyes lit up. He had heard of this old fisherman during his preliminary survey. “I mentioned to the Market Management Office that I wanted to film the traditional sashimi-making process. I didn’t expect you to have already contacted him for us.”
Motohiro Ishigami smiled, his tone carrying a hint of familiarity, “Speaking of which, Mr. Nomizu and I are sort of ‘indirectly fellow villagers.’ Both Mr. Kawabe and I were proteges of Governor Ryuichi Koike. When we worked at the Metropolitan Government, we often heard Governor Koike mention you—he said your Super Change Change Change changed the indifference of Japanese people, and that the Kumamon you designed tripled Kumamoto Prefecture’s tourism income.”
Ryuichi Koike added, his tone more emotional, “Exactly! Governor Koike visited Chiba last month for an inspection and specifically told us that if there was an opportunity to cooperate with Nohara-kun, we should give our full support. You know, the real estate market in Tokyo is so aggressive now that many young people from Chiba are being siphoned off to buy apartments in Central Tokyo. Most of the elderly who remain rely on the fishery and tourism industries. If this film can make more people aware of Chiba’s strengths, it might help retain some young people.”
Hiroshi was taken aback for a moment, then understood.
He had seen in a report from Tokyo TV that Chiba Prefecture, being close to Central Tokyo, had seen a severe outflow of young people in recent years. Many children of fishing families would rather work as office workers in Tokyo than inherit their family’s fishing boats.
“Are you saying, Mr. Ishigami, that Chiba places more importance on cultural tourism and the fishery, and is not interested in real estate?” Hiroshi Nohara chuckled lightly.
“Not just uninterested, we’re outright against it.”
Motohiro Ishigami lowered his voice, a hint of helplessness in his tone, “Last year, a real estate developer from Tokyo wanted to build apartments in Chiba Bay, saying they would ‘create Tokyo’s backyard.’ As a result, the fishermen collectively protested at the Prefectural Office. We Chiba people live by the sea; if the fishing grounds in the bay are filled in, how many people will become unemployed? Governor Koike also supports us, saying, ‘We cannot abandon our roots.’ We managed to block the project.”
Ryuichi Koike nodded in agreement, pointing to the wooden stalls in the market, “These stalls have been here since the Showa Period. Last year, someone suggested replacing them with steel structures, saying they were sturdier. But Mr. Nomizu led the opposition, saying, ‘Wood grain absorbs the ocean’s moisture, and fish placed on it are fresher.’ You see, we Chiba people are like this; we respect old ways and we respect local things. Nohara-kun is filming a ‘Humanistic Documentary,’ which is perfect for capturing this ‘respect’ of Chiba.”
Asumi also walked over at this moment, holding a thermos, and said with a smile, “Mr. Ishigami is right. When I was at Kanto Stage, I often came to Chiba to film local news and knew how dedicated people here were to the fishery. Once, a young reporter wanted to film ‘modernized fishery’ and replace Mr. Nomizu’s wooden boat with a motorboat, but Mr. Nomizu directly blocked the camera outside the boat, saying, ‘The noise from the motorboat will scare the fish schools, and our ancestors’ methods are correct.'”
Motohiro Ishigami and Ryuichi Koike both laughed.
Motohiro Ishigami patted Hiroshi’s shoulder, “See, even Asumi Managing Director knows Mr. Nomizu’s temper. This time, to cooperate with the filming, Mr. Nomizu has specially moved his departure for sea an hour earlier, and he said he’ll take us to his usual fishing grounds, where the tuna are fattest.”
Hiroshi felt a warmth in his heart and quickly thanked him, “It’s truly troublesome for Mr. Nomizu. For our sashimi filming this time, we want to focus on the ‘sea-to-table’ process—from going out to sea to fish, to the market auction, then processing at the fish shop, and finally the reactions of diners eating sashimi. We want the audience to know how much effort goes into a delicious piece of sashimi.”
“That’s a great idea!”
Ryuichi Koike’s eyes lit up. He pointed to the auction area deep in the market, “Every morning at five, there’s a tuna auction here. Dozens of fish shop owners gather to bid, and the sound of their calls can be heard all the way to the wharf. Mr. Nomizu always manages to buy the best tuna at the most suitable price. He says, ‘By looking at the gleam in the fish’s eyes and the elasticity of its body, you know how fresh it is.’ This detail will surely make for a good shot.”
Motohiro Ishigami added, “And Mr. Nomizu’s fish shop is at the very back of the market. The wooden counter has been used for forty years, and the knife marks on it were left by him while cutting sashimi. He has a rule for making sashimi: he only sells ten tuna a day and closes when they’re sold out, saying, ‘If I sell more, I can’t guarantee the texture.’ Many diners from Tokyo specifically drive here just to eat the sashimi he cuts.”
Hiroshi lowered his head and made a few notes on the storyboard. The sound of his pen tip scratching the paper was exceptionally clear in the morning mist, “So, our filming process will likely be like this: first, we’ll film Mr. Nomizu going out to sea to fish at dawn, focusing on his actions when hauling in the net and the condition of the fishing boat in the waves; then, we’ll film the market auction, capturing the tension of the bidding; next, we’ll film Mr. Nomizu processing the tuna at his fish shop, with close-ups of his knife work and the texture when the fish skin is cut open; finally, we’ll film the diners’ expressions as they eat sashimi, emphasizing the feeling of ‘freshness’.”
He paused, then looked up at Motohiro Ishigami and Ryuichi Koike, “During filming, we might need to temporarily clear the shooting area to avoid tourist interference. Also, the lighting in the auction area is a bit dim, and we might need to use a reflector board for fill light. I hope this won’t cause you any trouble?”
“Not troublesome at all!”
Motohiro Ishigami immediately waved his hand, “We’ve already informed the Market Management Office. Today, a specific area in the auction section has been reserved for the filming team, and you can use the reflector boards freely. We’ve also arranged guides for the tourists to keep them away from the shooting area, ensuring it doesn’t disrupt Nohara-kun’s filming.”
Ryuichi Koike added, “If you need to film diners, we can ask several old, reputable restaurants in the market to cooperate, and have their regular customers act as ‘extras.’ They are all familiar customers, so they won’t be nervous in front of the camera and can express their genuine feelings.”
Hiroshi felt completely at ease. He turned to Yuichi Matsui and said, “Matsui-san, let’s proceed according to the plan. First, we’ll go to the wharf to film Mr. Nomizu going out to sea. Use a telephoto lens for the camera, emphasizing the fishing boats in the morning mist. Honda-chan, you’ll follow Mr. Nomizu, recording the details he mentions about fishing, such as when to cast the net and how to determine the location of fish schools.”
“Yes!”
Yuichi Matsui immediately shouldered his camera, followed by Shigeru Saito carrying spare batteries. Honda-chan also took out a pen, quickening her pace, her notebook already bearing the title “Mr. Nomizu’s Fishing Techniques.”
Motohiro Ishigami and Ryuichi Koike walked along with them towards the wharf. Motohiro Ishigami chatted with Hiroshi as they walked, “Nohara-kun, I really liked your Late-night Diner. Especially the oden in it, every time I watch it, I want to go downstairs and find a small shop to eat. This time, while filming sashimi, will you also include some details about human relations? For example, interactions between Mr. Nomizu and his son, or conversations with old customers?”
“Of course.”
Hiroshi nodded, his tone firm, “Food is just the medium; the human story is the core. For instance, why does Mr. Nomizu insist on using a wooden boat to go out to sea? Does he argue with his son about fishery matters? Why are old customers willing to make a special trip to eat his sashimi? Only by filming these details can we make the audience remember Chiba’s seafood and Chiba’s people.”
Ryuichi Koike couldn’t help but praise, “No wonder Governor Koike said Nohara-kun understands ‘humanity’ best. NHK filmed Chiba’s seafood before, only showing how tuna was processed, not the people behind it. After it aired, it had little impact. Nohara-kun’s approach is much better; it has warmth and therefore attracts viewers.”
As they spoke, everyone had reached the wharf.
A wooden fishing boat was docked at the shore, with “Nomizu Maru” inscribed on its hull. An old man with graying hair stood at the bow, wearing dark blue fishing trousers and holding a polished oar. It was Masayasu Nomizu.
Upon seeing Hiroshi and his group, his face broke into a simple, honest smile, and he walked over quickly, “You must be Nohara-kun, right? Mr. Ishigami told me about you. Seven Samurai was filmed very well!”
“Hello, Mr. Nomizu. Thank you for your trouble,” Hiroshi bowed respectfully, his tone filled with deference.
Masayasu Nomizu waved his hand, pointing at the fishing boat, “No trouble! It’s a good thing to let more people know about Chiba’s seafood. This boat was passed down from my father; it’s thirty years old. Don’t mind its age, it’s very stable at sea. The tide was good early this morning, so we’re sure to catch good tuna.”
Yuichi Matsui had already set up the camera, and Shigeru Saito was adjusting the lighting nearby.
“Mr. Nomizu, shall we start filming?” Yuichi Matsui called out, the camera aimed at Masayasu Nomizu’s hands—those hands, calloused and with thick knuckles, were exceptionally nimble as he skillfully untied the ropes securing the boat to the shore.
“Alright!”
Masayasu Nomizu responded and leaped onto the fishing boat, his movements more agile than a young man’s.
He picked up the oar and rowed towards the sea. The fishing boat in the morning mist looked like a leaf, moving slowly in the waves.
Yuichi Matsui followed along the shore with the camera, his lens constantly tracking the fishing boat. Honda-chan ran alongside, softly asking Masayasu Nomizu, “Mr. Nomizu, how do you tell where the fish schools are?”
Masayasu Nomizu looked back and smiled, his voice carrying through the morning mist, “Look at the color of the seawater! Where there are many fish schools, the water will have a faint bluish-green tint. And the seabirds—where there are seabirds, there are definitely fish!”
Hiroshi stood by the wharf, watching the scene through the monitor, and said to Kouta Asano beside him, “Asano-kun, when Mr. Nomizu casts his net later, shoot it with side lighting to emphasize the arc of the net in the air and the splashes of water.”
“Understood!” Kouta Asano nodded and quickly moved to Yuichi Matsui’s side, quietly relaying Hiroshi’s request.
Motohiro Ishigami and Ryuichi Koike stood behind Hiroshi, watching the filming scene. Motohiro Ishigami said softly, “Nohara-kun is so meticulous about the camera work; he’s even thought about the arc of the fishing net.”
“That’s professionalism,”
Ryuichi Koike replied softly, “The city station filmed Shunsuke Kamiki’s visit to Chiba before, and only filmed him shaking hands with Mr. Nomizu, not these details. It just didn’t feel right.”
Approximately half an hour later, Masayasu Nomizu’s fishing boat stopped on the distant sea.
He picked up a large net and, with a powerful swing of his arms, cast it. The net unfurled in the air like a dark blue cloud, slowly falling into the sea.
Yuichi Matsui immediately zoomed in, capturing the moment the net hit the water. The water droplets splashed in the morning light glittered.
“Great shot!” Shigeru Saito couldn’t help but exclaim. He stared at the camera’s screen, where the net was slowly sinking on the sea surface, and Masayasu Nomizu’s figure stood particularly tall in the morning mist.
After another ten minutes or so, Masayasu Nomizu began to haul in the net.
He gripped the net ropes with both hands, leaning back, his muscles tensing beneath his fishing attire.
Yuichi Matsui moved to the other side of the fishing boat, capturing Masayasu Nomizu’s profile as he hauled in the net—the old man’s brow was furrowed, his gaze focused, yet his lips held a hint of anticipation.
“Got it!” Masayasu Nomizu suddenly shouted, and the sound of heavy objects struggling could be heard from within the net.
He pulled the net forcefully onto the boat. Inside lay several plump tuna, their scales glinting with silvery-blue light in the morning sun.
“Great! Hold for a moment!” Hiroshi called out, walking over quickly. He said to Masayasu Nomizu, “Mr. Nomizu, your expression when you hauled in the net just now was excellent. Could we get another close-up shot? Just focusing on your eyes when you saw the tuna.”
“No problem!” Masayasu Nomizu readily agreed, picked up the net again, and made the motion of hauling it in, his eyes full of reverence for his catch.
Yuichi Matsui immediately adjusted the lens, focusing on Masayasu Nomizu’s eyes—those eyes, creased with wrinkles, were exceptionally bright, as if reflecting the light of the sea.
After filming the sea departure scenes, the sky had already brightened.
Masayasu Nomizu sailed his fishing boat back to the shore, and fishermen helped carry the tuna to the stalls. Motohiro Ishigami walked over, smiling, “Mr. Nomizu, today’s tuna looks excellent. It should fetch a good price at the auction later.”
“Your words to my ears!” Masayasu Nomizu wiped the sweat from his brow and followed everyone towards the market’s auction area.
The auction area was already bustling. Dozens of fish shop owners gathered around the stalls, holding small notebooks, their eyes fixed on the tuna on display.
An auctioneer in a black suit stood at the center of the stall, holding a small hammer, and announced loudly, “First tuna, thirty kilograms, starting bid ten thousand yen!”
“Eleven thousand!”
“Twelve thousand!”
“Fifteen thousand!”
The owners raised their paddles one after another, their voices rising and falling.
Masayasu Nomizu stood at the front of the crowd, his eyes fixed on the tuna on display, his fingers writing rapidly in his small notebook.
Hiroshi signaled Yuichi Matsui to set up the camera on the side of the stall, filming the auctioneer’s gestures and the owners’ actions of raising their paddles. Sound engineer Kobayashi-san specially pointed the windshield microphone towards the crowd, recording the continuous calls of bidding.
“Two hundred thousand!” Masayasu Nomizu suddenly raised his paddle, his voice loud and clear.
The crowd instantly fell silent. The other owners looked at him, and no one raised their paddle again. The auctioneer struck his hammer, “Two hundred thousand once! Two hundred thousand twice! Sold!”
A satisfied smile appeared on Masayasu Nomizu’s face. He walked to the front of the stall, carefully inspected the tuna’s eyes, and pressed the fish’s body with his finger. He said to Hiroshi beside him, “This fish is fresh. Its eyes are bright, and the flesh is firm. It’s best for sashimi.”
Hiroshi nodded and said to Yuichi Matsui, “Film Mr. Nomizu’s actions as he inspects the tuna. Get a close-up of his finger pressing on the fish’s body and the elasticity of the fish’s flesh.”
Yuichi Matsui immediately adjusted the lens. In the shot, Masayasu Nomizu’s finger pressed on the tuna, and the fish’s body quickly returned to its original shape, its texture clearly visible.
Honda-chan recorded nearby, “Mr. Nomizu’s criteria for selecting tuna: bright eyes, firm flesh, and elastic body.”
After filming the auction scenes, everyone followed Masayasu Nomizu to his fish shop.
The fish shop was of wooden construction. An old wooden sign hung at the entrance, reading “Nomizuya.” Behind the counter, a row of sharp knives was displayed, their handles engraved with different patterns.
Masayasu Nomizu carried the tuna from the stall and placed it on the wooden board behind the counter. He picked up a slender knife and said to Hiroshi, “This knife was passed down from my father. To cut sashimi, one must be quick, otherwise, it will damage the texture of the fish.”
“Mr. Nomizu, when you cut, we’ll film from the front, emphasizing the sound of the knife cutting through the fish and the thickness of the sashimi.”
Hiroshi said this as Kobayashi-san immediately placed the microphone by the counter, ready to record the sound of the fish being cut.
Masayasu Nomizu took a deep breath, raised the knife, and swiftly brought it down.
With a “swish,” the tuna’s skin was cut cleanly, revealing the pink flesh with its clear, visible texture.
He turned his wrist, and the blade moved rapidly across the fish flesh. Slices as thin as cicada wings were placed on a plate lined with a bamboo mat, each slice having the same thickness.
“Excellent skill!” Motohiro Ishigami couldn’t help but exclaim. “Mr. Nomizu’s sashimi is just the right thickness. When dipped in soy sauce, it won’t absorb too much juice, allowing you to taste the natural freshness of the fish.”
Yuichi Matsui’s lens was constantly focused on Masayasu Nomizu’s hands and knife. Shigeru Saito used a reflector board to fill in the light, making the pink color of the sashimi more vibrant.
“Mr. Nomizu, why do you insist on selling only ten tuna a day?” Honda-chan asked curiously.
As Masayasu Nomizu cut sashimi, he replied, “Making sashimi requires dedication. It takes forty minutes to cut one tuna, so ten tuna means four hours. If I do more, I won’t have the energy. If I don’t do it with care, it won’t taste good, and I can’t cheat the customers.”
Hiroshi stood nearby and said to Ichiro Hashimoto, “Hashimoto-san, when we film the diners eating sashimi later, get close-ups of their expressions and their reactions as the sashimi is in their mouths—we need to capture the feeling of ‘freshness’.”
“Understood!” Ichiro Hashimoto nodded and had already set up another camera at the entrance of the fish shop, preparing to film the diners’ reactions.
Soon, a line formed in front of Masayasu Nomizu’s fish shop.
The first customer was an office worker in a suit. He sat down familiarly, “Mr. Nomizu, two servings of tuna sashimi, the usual.”
“Coming right up!” Masayasu Nomizu placed the freshly cut sashimi on a plate and handed it over.
The office worker picked up his chopsticks, picked up a slice of sashimi, dipped it in a little wasabi and soy sauce, and put it in his mouth. He closed his eyes, a look of satisfaction on his face, “Mr. Nomizu’s sashimi is still the freshest. It’s even better than the sushi restaurants in Ginza, Tokyo!”
Yuichi Matsui’s lens immediately focused on the office worker’s face, capturing his contented expression.
Honda-chan walked over and asked softly, “Excuse me, why do you specifically come to Mr. Nomizu’s shop to eat sashimi?”
The office worker smiled and replied, “My grandfather used to go out to sea with Mr. Nomizu. I’ve been eating Mr. Nomizu’s sashimi since I was a child; it’s about memories. And it’s really fresh. Every time I come to Chiba, I make a special trip to come here.”
The filming continued until noon. From going out to sea, auction, cutting fish, to the diners, all the shots were successfully completed.
Masayasu Nomizu invited everyone to eat bento boxes in his fish shop. The bento boxes contained freshly made sashimi, dipped in soy sauce, its freshness making one squint their eyes.
Motohiro Ishigami and Ryuichi Koike looked at the team packing up the equipment, their faces full of surprise, “Nohara-kun, it’s already finished? It only took less than a day, and you filmed so meticulously. NHK filmed for three days and didn’t finish.”
Hiroshi smiled and took a sip of tea, “We scouted the location in advance, streamlined the process, and everyone cooperated well, so it was fast. Plus, we got all the key shots without wasting time on unnecessary filming.”
Yuichi Matsui wiped the camera lens, his tone full of pride, “This is Hiroshi-kun’s skill! Last time filming Late-night Diner, we also finished one episode in a day, and the details were more than what others filmed in three days.”
Ichiro Hashimoto nodded in agreement, “Last time filming An Shizhi, Hiroshi-kun drew out storyboards for every shot in advance, even specifying the lighting angles. Filming was completely time-efficient. Working with Hiroshi-kun is hassle-free!”
Masayasu Nomizu looked at Hiroshi and gave him a thumbs-up, “Nohara-kun is truly amazing! I thought filming would take a long time, but I didn’t expect it to be so quick and detailed. When the film airs, I’ll definitely have my whole family watch it!”
Motohiro Ishigami stood up and said to Hiroshi, “After the film is edited, could you please send us a sample copy first at the Prefectural Government? We’d like to show it at Chiba’s cultural tourism promotion conference to let more people know about Taste of Neon.”
“Of course,” Hiroshi nodded, “I’ll have Asumi-san contact you once it’s edited.”
Asumi also added, “Please don’t worry, Mr. Ishigami. We’ll edit it as soon as possible and aim to broadcast it next month. Perhaps it will boost tourism in Chiba and encourage more people to eat Mr. Nomizu’s sashimi.”
Ryuichi Koike smiled and said, “That would be wonderful! Our Chiba City will cooperate with the promotion, showing trailers at stations and in shopping malls. We must make Taste of Neon a hit!”
The group packed up their equipment and prepared to leave Chiba. Masayasu Nomizu stood by the wharf, waving and shouting, “Nohara-kun, next time you come to Chiba, I’ll treat you to freshly caught tuna!”
Hiroshi waved back, his heart filled with warmth.
He looked at the Chiba Fish Market outside the car window. The stalls in the morning light, the busy vendors, the distant fishing boats—all these scenes had become landscapes within the lens.
He knew that this episode of Taste of Neon had not only filmed Chiba’s seafood but also Chiba’s people, capturing the dedication and warmth hidden behind the seafood.
In the car, Yuichi Matsui flipped through the newly shot footage and couldn’t help but exclaim, “Hiroshi-kun, look at this shot. When Mr. Nomizu was hauling in the net, the morning light just fell on his face. It’s so evocative!”
Hiroshi leaned over to look. In the image, Masayasu Nomizu faced the morning light, his wrinkled face filled with a smile, his eyes holding reverence for the sea and joy for the catch.
“This shot can be used for the opening,” Hiroshi said, “accompanied by the sound of waves and Mr. Nomizu’s voice. It will capture the audience from the beginning.”
Honda-chan also opened her notebook, filled with Masayasu Nomizu’s words, “Mr. Nomizu said, ‘We eat whatever the sea gives us; we shouldn’t be greedy.’ That’s a great line. We can add it when editing.”
“Add it at the end,” Hiroshi nodded, “It will echo the theme of ‘The Freshness of the Seaside’ and give the film more depth.”
Asumi looked at the scene before him, a smile forming on his lips.
He remembered that when he was at Kanto Stage, filming always involved worries about equipment and funding, and it was never this smooth.
Now, with Hiroshi leading, the team cooperating, and the local government’s support, the reform at Kanto Stage seemed truly achievable.
“Hiroshi-kun,” Asumi suddenly said, “After we return to the station, I will report to Director Takada and have the editing department prioritize the first episode of ‘Taste of Neon,’ aiming to broadcast it as soon as possible.”
“Thank you for your trouble, Asumi-san,” Hiroshi nodded. He looked out the car window at the rapidly passing farmland and suddenly remembered the plum onigiri Misae had made for him that morning—food that was also filled with warmth and made one feel secure.
He knew that Taste of Neon had only just begun, with “The Warmth of the Streets” and “The Taste of Home” yet to be filmed. But as long as they filmed each shot with care, telling each person’s story, this documentary would surely be a hit.
After all, good stories never lack an audience.
The car drove away from Chiba, heading towards Tokyo.
Sunlight streamed through the car windows, illuminating everyone’s faces and the storyboards placed on the passenger seat—the stick figures on them seemed to come alive in the sunlight, becoming warm images.
…
The artist management office at Kirin Group Headquarters was decorated more ostentatiously than the meeting room at Tokyo City Stage.
Beige leather sofas were covered with golden-embroidered cushions. A giant poster of Shunsuke Kamiki hung on the wall—he was wearing a silver sequined jacket, making an exaggerated V-sign at the camera. The corner of the poster bore the words “Kirin Group Annual Featured Artist.”
A rosewood desk held a gilded coffee pot, with several entertainment magazines piled beside it. Most of the covers featured Shunsuke Kamiki’s gossip, but none mentioned his work.
Shunsuke Kamiki sat on the sofa with his legs crossed, his fingers idly twirling the latest model of a diamond-encrusted, gold-cased flip phone—a gift from Tokugawa Sato last month, unaffordable for very few people in all of Tokyo.
After listening to his agent, Keisuke Yamaguchi, he suddenly let out a sneer and tossed the phone onto the sofa, his voice filled with undisguised contempt, “Humanistic documentary? Has Hiroshi Nohara run out of ideas? Instead of filming movies and TV dramas, he’s going to film that kind of old junk that nobody watches?”
Keisuke Yamaguchi stood nearby, holding a folded Asahi Shimbun, with a small line in the entertainment section corner mentioning, “Tokyo TV is collaborating with Kanto Stage to prepare a food documentary, with Hiroshi Nohara as the chief director.”
He adjusted his black-rimmed glasses and said cautiously, “Shunsuke-san, you shouldn’t say that. Nohara-kun’s previous works… An Shizhi saved Tokyo TV’s late-night slot, and Seven Samurai’s box office exceeded 8.9 billion yen. Even Senior Kurosawa praised him. This time, filming a documentary, he might have his own ideas. We should be careful.”
“Careful?”
Shunsuke Kamiki suddenly sat up straight, grabbed the coffee cup from the table, and smashed it on the floor. The bone china cup shattered, and brown coffee splashed onto the carpet. “Yamaguchi-san, are you my agent or Nohara Hiroshi’s fan? It’s just a documentary, what kind of impact can it have? Last year, NHK filmed ‘Kyoto Ancient Temples Chronicle.’ It took half a year, and the ratings were only 2.8%! The advertisers almost stormed the station manager’s office! No matter how capable Nohara Hiroshi is, can he make a documentary into an idol drama?”
Keisuke Yamaguchi flinched back half a step, but still forced himself to continue, “But… but Nohara-kun excels at understanding the audience’s psychology. Look at Late-night Diner. No big stars, no grand scenes, yet it became popular, right? The ratings remained stable above 10%, and it even secured long-term sponsorship from Nissin Ramen. This food documentary, if it follows the path of ‘food + human relations,’ might actually attract family audiences—those housewives aged 35 and above are a demographic not covered by our ‘Tokyo Area Exploration’.”
“Family audience? Housewives?” Shunsuke Kamiki sneered, got up, and walked to the poster, poking his finger at his face, “Yamaguchi-san, who do you think my fans are? They are young girls aged 15-25! They follow my looks, my stage. Who would watch an old man cooking soba noodles or a fisherman hauling in a net? City Stage’s ‘Tokyo Area Exploration’ is set to premiere next week, and its pre-heating alone has secured thirty million in advertising sponsorship. Even if Nohara Hiroshi’s documentary is produced, it can only be broadcast in the late-night slot, not on the same scale as ours!”
He paused, his tone practically overflowing with jealousy: “Besides, Nohara Hiroshi just got lucky! The dark theater relied on the novelty of urban legends, and Seven Samurai relied on Kurosawa Eiji’s name. What real talent does he have himself? Just a newcomer who only knows how to copy and change things, and now he dares to fight me for resources—President Sato also said he’d make a movie for me, but after hearing that Nohara Hiroshi was making a documentary, he pushed my film project back, saying, ‘Support humanistic themes first’!”
Yamaguchi Keisuke knew what Kamiki Shunsuke was angry about—Tokugawa Sato had indeed been paying more attention to Nohara Hiroshi recently. Last month, he had specifically asked Shunsuke to go to Tokyo TV to discuss cooperation, wanting to poach Nohara to Kirin Group as an exclusive director, and had been quite indifferent to Kamiki instead.
But he didn’t dare to say it out loud, so he changed the subject: “Shunsuke-san, don’t be angry, let’s talk about the upcoming schedule. Tomorrow at 10 AM, we have a fan meeting at Senso-ji Temple, at 2 PM we’ll talk about advertising endorsements with the person in charge of Marui Soy Sauce, and at 7 PM… we have Mayor Mikami Tanaka’s private banquet. President Sato specifically instructed that this banquet is very important and we must perform well.”
Mentioning “Mayor Mikami Tanaka,” the anger on Kamiki Shunsuke’s face instantly subsided by more than half. He bent down to pick up his mobile phone from the floor, wiped it with a tissue, and his tone also became serious: “Mayor Tanaka’s banquet? Why didn’t President Sato tell me in advance?”
“It was just decided yesterday.” Yamaguchi Keisuke quickly handed over a gilded invitation. “Mayor Tanaka is currently promoting a real estate project in Tokyo Bay and wants to invite President Sato to invest, and incidentally, he’s invited a few entertainers to support the event. President Sato said that if you can establish a good relationship with Mayor Tanaka, the resources from City Stage will lean more towards us in the future—after all, City Stage was initiated by Mayor Tanaka, and Deputy Station Manager Takahashi is very close to him.”
Kamiki Shunsuke took the invitation and his fingertip traced the name “Mayor Mikami Tanaka,” a hint of apprehension flashing in his eyes. “I understand. We can’t offend Mayor Tanaka. Last time he came to watch my concert, I was ten minutes late and made him wait, and President Sato almost cursed me to death. I will perform well at this banquet.”
He paused and added, “By the way, how is the endorsement deal with Marui Soy Sauce going? They previously said they wanted to sign for two years, have they relented at all?”
“We’re still negotiating.” Yamaguchi Keisuke flipped open his notebook. “The person in charge at Marui Soy Sauce said they want you to film an advertisement with the theme of ‘traditional crafts’ to align with their century-old brand image. However, you previously preferred to film fashion-related advertisements, such as for cosmetics or sports brands, so I’m still coordinating…”
“Coordinating what?” Kamiki Shunsuke interrupted him, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Just follow Marui Soy Sauce’s requirements! Traditional crafts it is. As long as I can get the endorsement fee, I’ll film anything. Right now, City Stage is still observing. If we can secure Marui Soy Sauce’s annual endorsement, they will definitely give ‘Taste of Neon’ a prime time slot—I don’t want to be stuck in an unpopular weekend afternoon slot forever.”
Yamaguchi Keisuke nodded in agreement: “Okay, I’ll communicate with the person in charge at Marui Soy Sauce again tomorrow and strive to finalize the contract. Additionally, the day after tomorrow in the morning, there’s a magazine interview where the reporter will ask for your views on ‘Kanto local culture.’ Do you want to prepare some talking points in advance? After all, Nohara Hiroshi’s documentary is also addressing this theme. If you answer well, you can ride a wave of popularity.”
“Kanto local culture?” Kamiki Shunsuke frowned, then sneered. “What’s there to prepare? Just say ‘local culture needs the inheritance of young strength,’ and then mention that in ‘Taste of Neon,’ I will take the audience to experience the old streets and old shops of Kanto. Isn’t that more authentic than the documentary Nohara Hiroshi filmed? Those old artisans are almost retired, their skills are long outdated, and what they film is just selling sentimentality.”
Yamaguchi Keisuke, seeing that he no longer mentioned Nohara Hiroshi, breathed a sigh of relief. “Then I’ll go prepare tomorrow’s materials. If you have any other arrangements, feel free to call me anytime.”
“Wait.” Kamiki Shunsuke suddenly stopped him, his fingers tapping on the phone screen a few times. “I know. You can go, just come pick me up on time tomorrow.”
Yamaguchi Keisuke glanced at him with confusion but didn’t dare to ask further. He bowed and exited the office.
As soon as the door closed, the calmness on Kamiki Shunsuke’s face disappeared. He quickly walked behind the desk, took a black address book from the drawer, and flipped to the page “Tokugawa Sato’s Competitors,” finding a name—”Mitsui Fudosan’s Watanabe Toru.”
He picked up his mobile phone and quickly typed out the send button. The message was very short: “Tonight at 8 PM, ‘Kikusui’ restaurant in Ginza, urgent business to discuss.”
After the “sent successfully” notification popped up, Kamiki Shunsuke threw his phone onto the desk, leaned back in his chair, his eyes looking eerily sinister.
He recalled that last month, when he went to Tokugawa Sato’s office, he inadvertently overheard Sato on the phone with Watanabe Toru. They had a fierce argument over the real estate project in Tokyo Bay, and Watanabe Toru had been trying to snatch Sato’s resources but couldn’t find a breakthrough.
“Tokugawa Sato, you don’t value Nohara Hiroshi? Mayor Mikami Tanaka, you don’t think I’m just a shallow idol? City Stage, you don’t think I can carry prime time?”
Kamiki Shunsuke muttered to himself, his fingers clenching until they were white. “Just wait, I’ll show you all that I, Kamiki Shunsuke, am not just someone who relies on my looks to make a living—as long as I can get the resources, I don’t care about collaborating with Watanabe Toru.”
He remembered that when he first joined Kirin Group, Tokugawa Sato treated him like a “canary in a gilded cage,” giving him popularity but not good projects, only producing vapid idol dramas and commercials;
Takahashi Kazuo of City Stage, although he let him host ‘Taste of Neon,’ privately told others that “Kamiki Shunsuke only knows how to pose, lacking acting skills and substance”;
Even Mayor Mikami Tanaka, during their last meeting, only talked to him for a couple of sentences about his fan numbers and didn’t even mention his work.
And Nohara Hiroshi?
He’s only 23 years old, yet he has his own independent production department and every film he makes is a hit. High-level figures like Sakata Nobuhiko and Shimazu Yoshihiro treasure him, and Governor Koike Ryuichi even praised him for “changing the indifference of Neon.”
Why?
Why does Nohara Hiroshi get everyone’s approval through “humanity” and “sentiment,” while he can only maintain his popularity through his looks and fans?
“Nohara Hiroshi, your documentary had better not be a hit.”
Kamiki Shunsuke picked up the cigarette from the desk, lit it, and took a deep drag, the smoke blurring his face. “If it becomes a hit, I wouldn’t mind if it ‘had an accident’—for example, if negative news about the artisans in the documentary were to surface, or if the filming equipment were to be ‘accidentally’ damaged, delaying the broadcast.”
Just then, his phone vibrated. It was Watanabe Toru’s reply: “Be there at 8 PM sharp. Bring what you have.”
A cold smile curved Kamiki Shunsuke’s lips, and he put the phone into the inner pocket of his suit. He did indeed have what Watanabe Toru wanted in his hand—a recording he had secretly made last month when Tokugawa Sato was discussing the Tokyo Bay real estate project with Mayor Mikami Tanaka. It mentioned “privately transferring land approval rights.”
He hadn’t dared to use it before, fearing he would offend Tokugawa Sato, but now, he had nothing left to lose.
He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the bustling crowd below, his eyes filled with unwillingness and scheming.
The afterglow of the setting sun streamed in through the glass, casting a cold sheen on the gilded ornaments in the office, but failing to penetrate the darkness in his eyes.
“Just wait, everyone will see that I, Kamiki Shunsuke, am much stronger than Nohara Hiroshi,” he said in a low voice, with an almost crazy certainty.
Meanwhile, in the editing room of Tokyo TV’s Production Bureau, Nohara Hiroshi and Hashimoto Ichiro were watching the rough cut footage of the first episode of ‘Taste of Neon’.
On the screen, Nomizu Masayasu was sailing a wooden boat in the morning mist. The arc of the fishing net unfurling in the air was exceptionally beautiful, and the sound of the waves and the fishermen’s shouts were clearly audible.
“The pacing here can be a bit slower.”
Hiroshi pointed at the screen. “When Nomizu-san is hauling in the net, focus on close-ups of his calloused hands, then cut to a close-up of the tuna to emphasize the ‘freshness.’ Also, for the auction segment, amplify the bidding sounds to increase the tension.”
Hashimoto Ichiro nodded, his editing pen quickly marking the script. “Understood, I’ll adjust it shortly. By the way, Hiroshi-kun, Managing Director Asumi just said that Ishigami-san from Chiba Prefectural Government wants to see a sample film in advance, saying it will be shown at a tourism promotion conference. Should we send them a copy?”
“Yes.”
Hiroshi nodded. “Have the editing department make an extra copy and have someone deliver it tomorrow. Also, please inform Director Hattori Tadashi, and if the sample film is satisfactory, ask him to help promote it through Tokyo Metropolis’s publicity channels, such as subway advertisements and newspaper columns.”
Hashimoto Ichiro acknowledged, then suddenly remembered something and said with a smile, “Hiroshi-kun, I just heard that Kamiki Shunsuke smashed a coffee cup in Kirin Group’s office. It seems he was quite angry after hearing about your documentary filming.”
Hiroshi blinked for a moment, then smiled. “Don’t worry about him. Let’s just focus on making a good film. The audience wants to see good content, not a celebrity’s temper.”
Hashimoto Ichiro nodded and continued to focus on editing.
On the screen, Nomizu Masayasu was slicing sashimi. The sound of the blade cutting through the fish meat was crisp and pleasant. Slices as thin as cicada wings were placed on the bamboo mat, shimmering with a fresh pink color.
Hiroshi looked at the image and suddenly remembered the plum onigiri that Misae had made for him that morning—simple but warm, much like the stories in this documentary.
He knew that as long as he told these stories well with his heart, he would definitely move the audience. As for Kamiki Shunsuke’s jealousy and dissatisfaction, they were merely insignificant interludes.
The sky outside gradually darkened, and the lights in the editing room came on, illuminating the focused figures of the two men.
The rough cut of the first episode of ‘Taste of Neon’ was nearing its end, and it would be ready to meet the audience in a few days.
Hiroshi believed that this documentary, like ‘Late-night Diner,’ would bring warmth and emotion to the audience, and also bring Kanto Stage back on track.
At this moment, in the Kirin Group Artist Agency, Kamiki Shunsuke had already changed into his suit. He held an envelope containing the recording tape and was preparing to leave.
He adjusted his tie in front of the mirror, the sinister look in his eyes deliberately concealed, replaced by a sharp determination.
“Ginza ‘Kikusui’ restaurant, Watanabe Toru…” he murmured the address, a cold smile playing on his lips. “After tonight, everything will be different.”
He pushed the door open and quickly walked towards the elevator.
The lights in the corridor were bright, but they couldn’t illuminate the dark corners of his heart.
He didn’t know that the choice he was making at this moment would not only affect Nohara Hiroshi’s documentary, but also involve the interest entanglements between Tokugawa Sato and Mayor Mikami Tanaka, and even change the scope of the Tokyo City Mayoral Election.
The elevator doors slowly opened, and Kamiki Shunsuke stepped inside.
The numbers on the descending elevator jumped incessantly, like the calculations in his mind, moving step by step towards an unpredictable direction.
This seemingly simple “entertainer competition” had quietly turned into a gamble involving multiple parties’ interests, and Kamiki Shunsuke was merely a chess piece in this game, thinking he was clever.
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