Chapter 245: 《taste Of Neon》! Finally Airing Amid Massive Anticipation!
As the morning light of October 15th just brushed over Tokyo’s rooftops, Hiroshi Nohara stepped into “Future Manga Company” amidst the shallow golden rays.
Misae’s hand-drawn Kumamon stickers were still on the glass door, with paw prints crookedly gesturing a “Welcome.” Upon pushing the door open, the scent of marker pens filled the room.
Misae was hunched over the long table, coloring the draft for Doraemon. The blue robot cat’s belly was exceptionally bright. Seeing Hiroshi enter, she immediately jumped up, a yellow marker still clutched in her hand, “Hiroshi-kun! You’ve come at the perfect time! I’ve finished drawing the new Kumamon manga draft, come and take a look!”
Hiroshi walked over and picked up the draft. On the paper, Kumamon was holding a bowl of soba noodles, with “Kanto Region Only” written next to it. The lines were considerably smoother than last time.
He pointed at Kumamon’s paws, “Make the curvature here a bit rounder. It will look more naive, and the audience will like it more.”
“Okay!” Misae immediately picked up her pencil to make revisions, the tip scratching softly on the paper. Suddenly, she looked up and blinked, “Hiroshi-kun, can you take me to the screening tonight? I want to see what Mr. Nomizu’s sashimi looks like on screen!”
“I have to coordinate with Kanto Television tonight. Next time there’s a public screening, I’ll definitely take you.” Hiroshi ruffled her hair, a hint of helplessness in his tone, “Remember to submit the manga drafts to Shueisha on time, and don’t always think about running off.”
Misae’s face immediately fell, but she still nodded obediently, “I know… Then Hiroshi-kun, be careful on your way. Call me when you’re done tonight!”
She followed Hiroshi to the doorway, waving until his car turned the corner before retreating back inside. She then turned to the other manga artists and shouted, “Tonight, we’ll watch TV together in the company! Watch Hiroshi-kun’s new film! And we can order food delivery! I’ll pay!”
“Hooray!” Cheers of delight instantly erupted within Future Manga Company.
As Hiroshi’s car pulled into the Tokyo TV parking lot, he saw a group of people standing at the entrance—Ichiro Hashimoto holding the edited film, Tsuyoshi Yamamoto and Kei Tanaka huddled together chatting, and even the usually silent Shigeru Saito standing nearby, camera bag in hand.
Even more surprising to him were Toshihide Takada and Asumi, both dressed in formal suits, clearly waiting for him.
“Hiroshi-kun, we’ve finally been waiting for you!” Kei Tanaka was the first to rush forward, his tone full of energy, “Let’s not go upstairs. Let’s go directly to Kanto TV—Mr. Suzuki and the others have been waiting for a long time. The screening room and reporters are all arranged!”
Hiroshi was taken aback. Asumi smiled and explained, “I spoke with Mr. Suzuki yesterday. He said the old employees of Kanto TV wanted to witness the broadcast of the film with their own eyes and even specifically cleared out the largest meeting room for a press conference. Let’s head over there now, we’ll be there just before 3 PM.”
Toshihide Takada adjusted his glasses, his tone much gentler than usual, “The person in charge of Marui Soy Sauce will also be at Kanto TV, wanting to finalize the follow-up sponsorship details during the press conference. You can think about cooperation plans on the way.”
“Okay,” Hiroshi nodded.
The atmosphere in the car was particularly lively as the convoy drove towards Kanto TV.
Tsuyoshi Yamamoto flipped through the brochure for “Taste of Neon,” pointing at Masayasu Nomizu’s photo of hauling in a net, “I chatted with the screenwriter of ‘World of the Strange’ yesterday. They all said they wanted to borrow this kind of ‘ordinary person, extraordinary story’ technique. Perhaps we could collaborate with Hiroshi-kun on a food-themed unit drama next time.”
Kei Tanaka immediately chimed in, “‘Super Change Change Change’ viewers are also asking if we can do a ‘food imitation’ special, letting everyone imitate tuna auctions or slicing sashimi—if Hiroshi-kun agrees, I’ll write the proposal right now!”
Shigeru Saito, sitting in the back, suddenly spoke, “I’ve pre-tested the screening equipment at Kanto TV. It’s much easier to use than when we filmed ‘An Shizhi’ last time. The images tonight will definitely be clear.”
Toshihide Takada listened to their conversation, a slight smile appearing on his lips. He whispered to Asumi, “I used to worry that the Tokyo Faction and the Kanto Faction wouldn’t be able to work together. But now, it seems with Hiroshi-kun here, these aren’t problems.”
Asumi nodded, his gaze falling on Hiroshi’s back in front of them, “He never relied on his position to pressure people; he earned everyone’s respect with his genuine talent. Look at Mr. Hashimoto; he betrayed him before, yet now he’s still wholeheartedly following him?”
As the car turned into the Kanto TV parking lot, they saw Kiyoto Suzuki standing at the entrance, leaning on his black wooden cane. Around him were Ryuji Yamada, Ken Fujishita, and other senior executives. Yuichi Matsui was even shouldering a camera bag, clearly intending to document this moment.
“Hiroshi-kun! Takada-kun! Asumi-kun!” Kiyoto Suzuki strode forward quickly, his cane tapping a crisp rhythm on the ground, “Come with me quickly. The meeting room and screening room are ready. The reporters have already signed in downstairs. The press conference will start precisely at 3 o’clock.”
He led the group into the building. On the poster boards lining the corridor, old posters for “An Shizhi” and “Seven Samurai” were still displayed. Kiyoto Suzuki pointed to one of them, “This was posted when Kanto TV was at its most difficult last year, to inspire young people like Hiroshi Nohara to fully utilize their talent. Who would have thought back then that we could now produce a film like ‘Taste of Neon’?”
Ryuji Yamada followed behind, adding with a smile, “Exactly! Last time NHK came to film a documentary, they spent three days without achieving much. Hiroshi-kun finished it in a week, and filmed it so meticulously—our Kanto TV’s reputation has finally been restored!”
Upon entering the largest meeting room, a long table was already set up, with cups printed with “Taste of Neon” placed on it. A camera was set up in the corner, facing the podium in the center.
Ken Fujishita sidled up to Toshihide Takada and patted his arm, “Takada-kun, don’t worry about the writing fee. Although Kanto TV isn’t as rich as it used to be, the red envelopes for reporters and film critics will definitely be generous, much better than the superficial ‘travel expenses’ from City Stage!”
Toshihide Takada raised an eyebrow, “Oh? I was worried your budget might not be enough, as I heard City Stage gave every reporter a high-end cosmetic set for Shunsuke Kamiki.”
“What’s the use of that?” Kiyoto Suzuki sat at the head of the table, sipping his tea, a hint of arrogance in his tone, “We rely on connections! Mr. Yamada is university classmates with the editor-in-chief of the film review section of ‘Asahi Shimbun.’ Ken Fujishita has shared drinks with a reporter from ‘Tokyo Entertainment Weekly.’ These people understand content; they won’t write nonsense for small favors—besides, with the quality of our film, do we need to buy good reviews with money?”
Hiroshi Kimura pushed up his round-rimmed glasses and took out a list from his briefcase, “I’ve already spoken with all the attending reporters. When they ask questions later, they will prioritize the humanistic details in the film, such as Mr. Nomizu’s fishery inheritance and Mr. Sato’s soba noodle craftsmanship. We should try not to mention City Stage, to avoid demeaning ourselves.”
“Demeaning ourselves?” Ken Fujishita stroked his beer belly and scoffed, “City Stage is the one demeaning itself! They don’t film good local culture and instead boost idols like Shunsuke Kamiki—last time he filmed a soy sauce commercial, he couldn’t even distinguish between ‘brewing’ and ‘mixing,’ and said ‘it’s all salty anyway.’ Variety shows filmed by someone like him only fool young girls!”
Yuichi Matsui, shouldering his camera, couldn’t help but interject, “Last time I went to Gunma to film a soba noodle shop, I heard people from City Stage telling Mr. Sato to cooperate with Shunsuke Kamiki in a staged ‘father-son reconciliation’ scene. Mr. Sato directly kicked them out—we’re filming a true story, they’re filming fake sentimentality, how can they be the same?”
Asumi watched everyone talking, and smiled at Hiroshi, “See, now the people at Kanto TV treat ‘Taste of’ as their own child, more invested than our Tokyo TV.”
Hiroshi nodded, his gaze falling out the window—the Kanto TV building was old but exuded a vibrant, lively atmosphere. He could still see old employees greeting each other in the corridors, unlike Tokyo TV which exuded workplace alienation everywhere. He suddenly understood that what Kiyoto Suzuki meant by “regaining enthusiasm” wasn’t about equipment or budget, but about everyone’s obsession with “good content.”
“Everyone, the reporters are almost all here,” Ryuji Yamada glanced at his watch and stood up, “Let’s go to the screening room next door. We’ll let the reporters watch the film first, and then hold the press conference. This way, they’ll have something to write about.”
Everyone followed him to the screening room. As they pushed the door open, they saw quite a few people already seated—reporters from “Asahi Shimbun” and “Yomiuri Shimbun,” as well as several familiar film critics. Akira Saeki was also there, and smiled and raised his glass as Hiroshi entered. The screen in the screening room was already down, and tea and sweets were laid out on the table next to it, clearly prepared with care.
Kiyoto Suzuki walked to the front and cleared his throat, “Thank you all for attending the advance screening of ‘Taste of Neon’ today. This film was initiated by Hiroshi Nohara-kun, and was jointly produced by us at Kanto TV and Tokyo TV. It depicts the stories of ordinary people in Japan, and we hope everyone will enjoy it.”
After he finished speaking, he nodded to the projectionist, and the lights instantly dimmed. The sound of waves first filled the entire screening room—the Chiba pier in the morning mist, Masayasu Nomizu’s hands untying the boat ropes, the bidding sounds during the tuna auction, scene after scene unfolded on the screen. The reporters, who had been conversing in low voices, gradually quieted down, even the sound of pens falling on notebooks became much softer.
When the scene switched to a slow-motion shot of Masayasu Nomizu slicing sashimi, Akira Saeki couldn’t help but exclaim, “This shot is brilliant! You can clearly see the texture of the tuna, it’s even more appetizing than what I ate at that sushi restaurant in Ginza last time!”
The reporter next to him immediately looked up at him, but he was oblivious, his eyes fixed on the screen. When the film ended with Masayasu Nomizu saying, “We eat what the sea gives us; we cannot be greedy,” a few seconds of silence filled the screening room, followed by thunderous applause.
When the lights came back on, Toshihide Takada walked to the front and said with a smile, “Now it’s time for questions. Please feel free to ask anything you’d like to ask.”
A reporter from “Asahi Shimbun” was the first to stand up, “Nohara-kun, what was your initial intention in filming this documentary? And why did you choose to start with the seafood from Chiba?”
“The initial intention was to show people behind the food,” Hiroshi took the microphone, his tone steady, “Many people eat sashimi and only think of freshness, but they don’t know that fishermen have to go out to sea at dawn, and auctioneers have to wake up early to set prices. The efforts of these people give the food its warmth. I chose Chiba because the fishery here preserves many traditional methods. Mr. Nomizu uses wooden boats to fish and selects tuna according to old customs; these are things worth documenting.”
Another reporter asked, “I heard that Shunsuke Kamiki from City Stage also has a new variety show airing tonight. Do you think your documentary can beat him?”
As soon as this question was asked, the atmosphere in the screening room became a bit stiff. Kiyoto Suzuki was about to speak, but Hiroshi took the microphone first, “I don’t think it’s a matter of ‘beating’ him. Kamiki-san’s variety show has its audience, and my documentary has its viewers. As long as everyone can produce content that satisfies the audience, it’s a good thing.”
Akira Saeki immediately stood up and said to the reporters, “Let me say something fair! I’ve seen sample footage of Shunsuke Kamiki’s variety show; it’s all staged interactions, and they even had ten NG takes for eating a bowl of ramen. How can that compare to the realism of ‘Taste of’? The look in Mr. Nomizu’s eyes when hauling in the net, Mr. Sato’s focus while grinding buckwheat flour—these are things that can’t be acted! My review tonight will definitely give ‘Taste of’ a perfect score!”
His words drew laughter from everyone, and the somewhat tense atmosphere instantly eased. The subsequent questions all revolved around the details within the film, and no one mentioned City Stage again.
After the press conference, the representative from Marui Soy Sauce approached Hiroshi and handed him a cooperation proposal, “Nohara-kun, we’d like to sponsor your upcoming filming. Not only will we have product placement in the film, but we also want to collaborate with Mr. Nomizu to launch a ‘Taste of Limited Edition’ soy sauce. What do you think?”
“Certainly,” Hiroshi took the proposal and quickly flipped through a few pages, “but the advertisements cannot affect the rhythm of the film. They should be naturally integrated, for example, placing a bottle of soy sauce in Mr. Nomizu’s fish shop, without any special close-ups.”
“No problem!” the representative immediately agreed, “We’ll coordinate with Mr. Nomizu tomorrow and aim to launch the product next week!”
As everyone was packing up to leave, Kiyoto Suzuki grabbed Hiroshi’s hand, his tone full of emotion, “Hiroshi-kun, thank you. It’s been a long time since Kanto TV has been this lively. The last time we had such a scene was twenty years ago when we filmed ‘Kanto Fishermen’s Song.'”
“It’s the result of everyone’s hard work,” Hiroshi said with a smile, “Next time we film Kyoto’s Japanese sweets shops, we’ll need the help of the Kanto TV people.”
“Call us anytime!” Ryuji Yamada immediately patted his chest, “Feel free to use Saito-san’s lighting and Matsui-san’s filming! We at Kanto TV have plenty of reliable old employees!”
As the sun began to set, everyone left the press conference venue and headed outside Kanto Television Station, intending to grab something to eat.
Asumi looked at the streetlights gradually lighting up outside the window and said to Hiroshi, “We won’t go back to Tokyo TV tonight. Let everyone at home know we’re working overtime, so we can see what the ratings are tonight. And we can have a celebration banquet afterward!”
Hiroshi smiled and nodded, “Alright.”
“Hooray!” The others also cheered.
After all, they too wanted to know how their efforts tonight would turn out, especially for Hiroshi Nohara’s first documentary film, they were quite curious about what the final ratings would be.
Especially those who knew Hiroshi Nohara, they were even more eager to see how far Hiroshi Nohara’s talent could go!
…
Just past 7 o’clock, the streets of Tokyo gradually quieted down.
Usually at this time, the Shinjuku intersection would still be crowded with office workers returning home, and the department stores in Ginza would be bustling, but tonight, many people quickened their pace, clutching freshly bought bento boxes, their eyes full of urgency—they wanted to get home before 8 o’clock, turn on the TV, and wait for “Taste of Neon” to begin.
The offices of Tokyo TV’s Production Bureau were brightly lit.
Ichiro Hashimoto was sitting in the meeting room.
He occasionally looked up at the wall clock, his brow furrowed, muttering, “Check the subtitles again, absolutely no mistakes…”
Tsuyoshi Yamamoto and Kei Tanaka also hadn’t left. They sat on the sofa nearby, holding cans of coffee, but with no inclination to drink them.
“Do you think the audience will like Mr. Nomizu’s story?”
Kei Tanaka suddenly spoke, his tone carrying a hint of nervousness, “I told my wife this morning that ‘Taste of’ was airing tonight, and she specifically bought tuna sashimi, saying she’d eat it along with the program.”
Tsuyoshi Yamamoto smiled but still couldn’t help but look at the clock on the wall, “Don’t worry, what Hiroshi-kun films never disappoints. Last time ‘World of the Strange’ aired the episode ‘Late-night Bakery,’ my mother cried for a long time after watching it, saying it reminded her of the old street she lived on as a child—’Taste of’ is even warmer than that episode, it’s sure to move the audience.”
As they were speaking, Hiroshi pushed the door open and walked in, holding a newly printed ratings forecast report.
“Everyone, don’t be nervous,” he placed the report on the table, his tone still steady, “Just received news that the pre-recorded ratings in the Kanto region have already surpassed 4%, which is higher than our expectations.”
Ichiro Hashimoto immediately leaned over, picked up the report, and flipped through a few pages, his eyes instantly lighting up, “Really? Then we might break 5%! Higher than the premiere ratings of ‘Late-night Diner’!”
Hiroshi nodded with a smile, but still cautioned, “Don’t let your guard down. What we need to do now is ensure that tonight’s broadcast goes flawlessly.
Saito-san has already gone to Kanto TV to oversee the equipment, and Matsui-san is at Mr. Nomizu’s fish shop, filming the audience’s reactions—we just need to wait for good news here.”
Meanwhile, in the Kanto TV screening room, Shigeru Saito was squatting on the floor, a screwdriver in hand, meticulously adjusting the projector’s gears.
Kiyoto Suzuki stood by, leaning on his cane, his eyes full of anticipation, asking from time to time, “Saito-kun, are the equipment okay? Don’t mess up at the critical moment.”
Shigeru Saito stood up, wiping the sweat from his forehead, his tone affirmative, “Don’t worry, Suzuki-san, I’ve checked it five times already. The film has been warmed up, and both the sound and image are fine.”
The screening room door suddenly opened, and Ryuji Yamada and Ken Fujishita walked in, carrying several insulated boxes.
“You’ve all worked hard!” Ken Fujishita smiled and placed the insulated boxes on the table, “This is tuna sushi specially sent by Mr. Nomizu with the help of the fishermen. It’s still warm, let’s eat while we wait for the broadcast.”
Kiyoto Suzuki picked up a piece of sushi and put it in his mouth, his eyes instantly lighting up, “Mr. Nomizu’s craftsmanship is still the best! It’s exactly like it was filmed in the movie, so fresh!”
Ryuji Yamada also picked one up and said while eating, “I just called Mr. Ishigami from Chiba Prefectural Government. He said the staff at the Prefectural Government aren’t working overtime tonight; they’re going home to watch ‘Taste of.’ He also said they’re organizing schools in the prefecture to discuss the local culture in the film tomorrow—this film is becoming increasingly meaningful.”
Shigeru Saito looked at everyone’s lively scene and a rare smile appeared on his lips.
He picked up a piece of sushi and slowly put it in his mouth, suddenly feeling that since he started filming “Taste of” with Hiroshi, he had rediscovered his passion for technology—no longer filming those dry local news, but filming content with warmth and meaning. This feeling satisfied him more than any honor.
At the same time, in the seafood market of Chiba Prefecture, Masayasu Nomizu’s fish shop was brightly lit.
The shop was crowded with people: fishermen from the neighborhood, regular customers, and many diners who had specially traveled from Tokyo. Masayasu Nomizu, wearing dark blue fishing trousers, was wiping the counter with a rag, his face unable to hide his excitement.
“Mr. Nomizu, tonight’s film is definitely going to be a hit!” an old customer said with a smile, “I saw ‘Asahi Shimbun’ this morning, and it said the pre-recorded ratings for ‘Taste of’ were very high, even higher than City Stage’s idol variety show!”
Masayasu Nomizu nodded with a smile, his eyes full of gratitude, “It’s all thanks to Hiroshi-kun. Without him, how would the story of an old fisherman like me reach so many people?”
As he spoke, Yuichi Matsui walked in, shouldering his camera, with Sakurako Honda following behind.
“Mr. Nomizu, we’re here to film the audience’s reactions!” Yuichi Matsui said with a smile, “Hiroshi-kun specifically asked us to capture everyone’s expressions while watching the film. It might even be used in future promotions.”
The early morning light of October 15th just brushed over Tokyo’s rooftops, Hiroshi Nohara stepped into “Future Manga Company” amidst the shallow golden rays.
Misae’s hand-drawn Kumamon stickers were still on the glass door, with paw prints crookedly gesturing a “Welcome.” Upon pushing the door open, the scent of marker pens filled the room.
Misae was hunched over the long table, coloring the draft for Doraemon. The blue robot cat’s belly was exceptionally bright. Seeing Hiroshi enter, she immediately jumped up, a yellow marker still clutched in her hand, “Hiroshi-kun! You’ve come at the perfect time! I’ve finished drawing the new Kumamon manga draft, come and take a look!”
Hiroshi walked over and picked up the draft. On the paper, Kumamon was holding a bowl of soba noodles, with “Kanto Region Only” written next to it. The lines were considerably smoother than last time.
He pointed at Kumamon’s paws, “Make the curvature here a bit rounder. It will look more naive, and the audience will like it more.”
“Okay!” Misae immediately picked up her pencil to make revisions, the tip scratching softly on the paper. Suddenly, she looked up and blinked, “Hiroshi-kun, can you take me to the screening tonight? I want to see what Mr. Nomizu’s sashimi looks like on screen!”
“I have to coordinate with Kanto Television tonight. Next time there’s a public screening, I’ll definitely take you.” Hiroshi ruffled her hair, a hint of helplessness in his tone, “Remember to submit the manga drafts to Shueisha on time, and don’t always think about running off.”
Misae’s face immediately fell, but she still nodded obediently, “I know… Then Hiroshi-kun, be careful on your way. Call me when you’re done tonight!”
She followed Hiroshi to the doorway, waving until his car turned the corner before retreating back inside. She then turned to the other manga artists and shouted, “Tonight, we’ll watch TV together in the company! Watch Hiroshi-kun’s new film! And we can order food delivery! I’ll pay!”
“Hooray!” Cheers of delight instantly erupted within Future Manga Company.
As Hiroshi’s car pulled into the Tokyo TV parking lot, he saw a group of people standing at the entrance—Ichiro Hashimoto holding the edited film, Tsuyoshi Yamamoto and Kei Tanaka huddled together chatting, and even the usually silent Shigeru Saito standing nearby, camera bag in hand.
Even more surprising to him were Toshihide Takada and Asumi, both dressed in formal suits, clearly waiting for him.
“Hiroshi-kun, we’ve finally been waiting for you!” Kei Tanaka was the first to rush forward, his tone full of energy, “Let’s not go upstairs. Let’s go directly to Kanto TV—Mr. Suzuki and the others have been waiting for a long time. The screening room and reporters are all arranged!”
Hiroshi was taken aback. Asumi smiled and explained, “I spoke with Mr. Suzuki yesterday. He said the old employees of Kanto TV wanted to witness the broadcast of the film with their own eyes and even specifically cleared out the largest meeting room for a press conference. Let’s head over there now, we’ll be there just before 3 PM.”
Toshihide Takada adjusted his glasses, his tone much gentler than usual, “The person in charge of Marui Soy Sauce will also be at Kanto TV, wanting to finalize the follow-up sponsorship details during the press conference. You can think about cooperation plans on the way.”
“Okay,” Hiroshi nodded.
The atmosphere in the car was particularly lively as the convoy drove towards Kanto TV.
Tsuyoshi Yamamoto flipped through the brochure for “Taste of Neon,” pointing at Masayasu Nomizu’s photo of hauling in a net, “I chatted with the screenwriter of ‘World of the Strange’ yesterday. They all said they wanted to borrow this kind of ‘ordinary person, extraordinary story’ technique. Perhaps we could collaborate with Hiroshi-kun on a food-themed unit drama next time.”
Kei Tanaka immediately chimed in, “‘Super Change Change Change’ viewers are also asking if we can do a ‘food imitation’ special, letting everyone imitate tuna auctions or slicing sashimi—if Hiroshi-kun agrees, I’ll write the proposal right now!”
Shigeru Saito, sitting in the back, suddenly spoke, “I’ve pre-tested the screening equipment at Kanto TV. It’s much easier to use than when we filmed ‘An Shizhi’ last time. The images tonight will definitely be clear.”
Toshihide Takada listened to their conversation, a slight smile appearing on his lips. He whispered to Asumi, “I used to worry that the Tokyo Faction and the Kanto Faction wouldn’t be able to work together. But now, it seems with Hiroshi-kun here, these aren’t problems.”
Asumi nodded, his gaze falling on Hiroshi’s back in front of them, “He never relied on his position to pressure people; he earned everyone’s respect with his genuine talent. Look at Mr. Hashimoto; he betrayed him before, yet now he’s still wholeheartedly following him?”
As the car turned into the Kanto TV parking lot, they saw Kiyoto Suzuki standing at the entrance, leaning on his black wooden cane. Around him were Ryuji Yamada, Ken Fujishita, and other senior executives. Yuichi Matsui was even shouldering a camera bag, clearly intending to document this moment.
“Hiroshi-kun! Takada-kun! Asumi-kun!” Kiyoto Suzuki strode forward quickly, his cane tapping a crisp rhythm on the ground, “Come with me quickly. The meeting room and screening room are ready. The reporters have already signed in downstairs. The press conference will start precisely at 3 o’clock.”
He led the group into the building. On the poster boards lining the corridor, old posters for “An Shizhi” and “Seven Samurai” were still displayed. Kiyoto Suzuki pointed to one of them, “This was posted when Kanto TV was at its most difficult last year, to inspire young people like Hiroshi Nohara to fully utilize their talent. Who would have thought back then that we could now produce a film like ‘Taste of Neon’?”
Ryuji Yamada followed behind, adding with a smile, “Exactly! Last time NHK came to film a documentary, they spent three days without achieving much. Hiroshi-kun finished it in a week, and filmed it so meticulously—our Kanto TV’s reputation has finally been restored!”
Upon entering the largest meeting room, a long table was already set up, with cups printed with “Taste of Neon” placed on it. A camera was set up in the corner, facing the podium in the center.
Ken Fujishita sidled up to Toshihide Takada and patted his arm, “Takada-kun, don’t worry about the writing fee. Although Kanto TV isn’t as rich as it used to be, the red envelopes for reporters and film critics will definitely be generous, much better than the superficial ‘travel expenses’ from City Stage!”
Toshihide Takada raised an eyebrow, “Oh? I was worried your budget might not be enough, as I heard City Stage gave every reporter a high-end cosmetic set for Shunsuke Kamiki.”
“What’s the use of that?” Kiyoto Suzuki sat at the head of the table, sipping his tea, a hint of arrogance in his tone, “We rely on connections! Mr. Yamada is university classmates with the editor-in-chief of the film review section of ‘Asahi Shimbun.’ Ken Fujishita has shared drinks with a reporter from ‘Tokyo Entertainment Weekly.’ These people understand content; they won’t write nonsense for small favors—besides, with the quality of our film, do we need to buy good reviews with money?”
Hiroshi Kimura pushed up his round-rimmed glasses and took out a list from his briefcase, “I’ve already spoken with all the attending reporters. When they ask questions later, they will prioritize the humanistic details in the film, such as Mr. Nomizu’s fishery inheritance and Mr. Sato’s soba noodle craftsmanship. We should try not to mention City Stage, to avoid demeaning ourselves.”
“Demeaning ourselves?” Ken Fujishita stroked his beer belly and scoffed, “City Stage is the one demeaning itself! They don’t film good local culture and instead boost idols like Shunsuke Kamiki—last time he filmed a soy sauce commercial, he couldn’t even distinguish between ‘brewing’ and ‘mixing,’ and said ‘it’s all salty anyway.’ Variety shows filmed by someone like him only fool young girls!”
Yuichi Matsui, shouldering his camera, couldn’t help but interject, “Last time I went to Gunma to film a soba noodle shop, I heard people from City Stage telling Mr. Sato to cooperate with Shunsuke Kamiki in a staged ‘father-son reconciliation’ scene. Mr. Sato directly kicked them out—we’re filming a true story, they’re filming fake sentimentality, how can they be the same?”
Asumi watched everyone talking, and smiled at Hiroshi, “See, now the people at Kanto TV treat ‘Taste of’ as their own child, more invested than our Tokyo TV.”
Hiroshi nodded, his gaze falling out the window—the Kanto TV building was old but exuded a vibrant, lively atmosphere. He could still see old employees greeting each other in the corridors, unlike Tokyo TV which exuded workplace alienation everywhere. He suddenly understood that what Kiyoto Suzuki meant by “regaining enthusiasm” wasn’t about equipment or budget, but about everyone’s obsession with “good content.”
“Everyone, the reporters are almost all here,” Ryuji Yamada glanced at his watch and stood up, “Let’s go to the screening room next door. We’ll let the reporters watch the film first, and then hold the press conference. This way, they’ll have something to write about.”
Everyone followed him to the screening room. As they pushed the door open, they saw quite a few people already seated—reporters from “Asahi Shimbun” and “Yomiuri Shimbun,” as well as several familiar film critics. Akira Saeki was also there, and smiled and raised his glass as Hiroshi entered. The screen in the screening room was already down, and tea and sweets were laid out on the table next to it, clearly prepared with care.
Kiyoto Suzuki walked to the front and cleared his throat, “Thank you all for attending the advance screening of ‘Taste of Neon’ today. This film was initiated by Hiroshi Nohara-kun, and was jointly produced by us at Kanto TV and Tokyo TV. It depicts the stories of ordinary people in Japan, and we hope everyone will enjoy it.”
After he finished speaking, he nodded to the projectionist, and the lights instantly dimmed. The sound of waves first filled the entire screening room—the Chiba pier in the morning mist, Masayasu Nomizu’s hands untying the boat ropes, the bidding sounds during the tuna auction, scene after scene unfolded on the screen. The reporters, who had been conversing in low voices, gradually quieted down, even the sound of pens falling on notebooks became much softer.
When the scene switched to a slow-motion shot of Masayasu Nomizu slicing sashimi, Akira Saeki couldn’t help but exclaim, “This shot is brilliant! You can clearly see the texture of the tuna, it’s even more appetizing than what I ate at that sushi restaurant in Ginza last time!”
The reporter next to him immediately looked up at him, but he was oblivious, his eyes fixed on the screen. When the film ended with Masayasu Nomizu saying, “We eat what the sea gives us; we cannot be greedy,” a few seconds of silence filled the screening room, followed by thunderous applause.
When the lights came back on, Toshihide Takada walked to the front and said with a smile, “Now it’s time for questions. Please feel free to ask anything you’d like to ask.”
A reporter from “Asahi Shimbun” was the first to stand up, “Nohara-kun, what was your initial intention in filming this documentary? And why did you choose to start with the seafood from Chiba?”
“The initial intention was to show people behind the food,” Hiroshi took the microphone, his tone steady, “Many people eat sashimi and only think of freshness, but they don’t know that fishermen have to go out to sea at dawn, and auctioneers have to wake up early to set prices. The efforts of these people give the food its warmth. I chose Chiba because the fishery here preserves many traditional methods. Mr. Nomizu uses wooden boats to fish and selects tuna according to old customs; these are things worth documenting.”
Another reporter asked, “I heard that Shunsuke Kamiki from City Stage also has a new variety show airing tonight. Do you think your documentary can beat him?”
As soon as this question was asked, the atmosphere in the screening room became a bit stiff. Kiyoto Suzuki was about to speak, but Hiroshi took the microphone first, “I don’t think it’s a matter of ‘beating’ him. Kam [Truncated: Max tokens]
Kiyoto Suzuki stood by, leaning on his cane, his eyes full of expectation, and occasionally asked, “Mr. Saito, is the equipment okay? Don’t let us down at the crucial moment.”
Shigeru Saito stood up, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and said with affirmation, “Don’t worry, Mr. Suzuki. I’ve checked it five times, the film is warmed up, and there are no problems with the sound or image.”
The door of the projection room was suddenly pushed open, and Ryuji Yamada and Ken Fujishita walked in, carrying several insulated boxes.
“Good work, everyone!” Ken Fujishita said with a smile, placing the insulated box on the desk. “This is tuna sushi that Mr. Nomizu specifically had fishermen deliver. It’s still warm, so let’s eat while we wait for the broadcast to start.”
Kiyoto Suzuki picked up a piece of sushi, put it in his mouth, and his eyes lit up instantly: “Mr. Nomizu’s cooking is still the best! It’s exactly like what’s shown in the films, so fresh!”
Ryuji Yamada picked one up too and said while eating, “I just called Mr. Ishigami at the Chiba Prefectural Government. He said the prefectural staff aren’t working overtime tonight and are going home to watch 《 Taste of Neon 》. He also said he’s organizing a discussion for the schools in the prefecture tomorrow about the local culture in the film—our film is really becoming more and more meaningful.”
Shigeru Saito watched everyone’s lively scene, and a rare smile also appeared at the corner of his mouth.
He picked up a sushi and slowly put it in his mouth. Suddenly, he felt that since following Hiroshi in filming 《Taste of Neon》, he had rediscovered his initial passion for the craft – no longer filming dull local news, but content with warmth and meaning. This feeling was more satisfying to him than any honor.
Meanwhile, at the fish shop of Masayasu Nomizu in Chiba Prefecture’s fish market, the lights were bright.
The shop was packed with people, including local fishermen, regular customers, and many diners who had traveled especially from Tokyo. Masayasu Nomizu, wearing dark blue fishing trousers and holding a rag, was wiping the counter, his face unable to hide his excitement.
“Mr. Nomizu, tonight’s film is definitely going to be a hit!” a regular customer said with a smile. “This morning I saw the 《Asahi Shimbun》, it said the advance ratings for 《Taste of Neon》 were especially high, even higher than the City Stage’s idol variety show!”
Masayasu Nomizu nodded with a smile, his eyes full of gratitude, “It’s all thanks to Hiroshi-kun. If it weren’t for him, how would the story of this old fisherman reach so many people?”
As he spoke, Yuichi Matsui entered with a camera, followed by Sakurako Honda.
“Mr. Nomizu, let’s film the audience reaction!” Yuichi Matsui said with a smile. “Hiroshi-kun specifically asked us to capture everyone’s expressions while watching the film, saying it might be useful for later promotion.”
Masayasu Nomizu immediately called out to everyone, “Everyone sit properly, don’t be shy, just watch like you normally would—we’re going to show all of Neon what the spirit of us Chiba fishermen is like!”
The people in the shop immediately sat down, their eyes fixed on the television set on the wall. Sakurako Honda took out her notebook and recorded, “7:50 PM, thirty people gathered at Nomizu Fish Shop, all local fishermen and regular customers, with extremely high expectations…”
And in the old streets of Gunma Prefecture, Kosuke Sato’s soba noodle shop was also crowded with people.
Kenta Sato stood beside his father, holding the newly printed “Sato-ya” flyer, a slight embarrassment on his face, “Dad, I took leave from work today specifically to come back and watch the show with you.”
Kosuke Sato was stunned for a moment, then patted his son’s shoulder, his eyes a little red, “Okay, okay, we’ll watch it together, father and son.”
Regular customers in the shop also smiled and said, “Mr. Sato, your son has grown up! After watching the show tonight, our old street’s soba noodles are sure to be a hit, you’ll have to hire a few more people to help then!”
Kosuke Sato smiled and nodded, but his eyes were glued to the TV screen. He remembered what Hiroshi had said when filming, “Mr. Sato, your persistence will let more people know the value of traditional crafts.”
Now, he was finally going to see his own story brought to television, and he felt both nervous and expectant.
At the Takahashi family’s home in Saitama Prefecture, the atmosphere was also exceptionally warm.
Keiko Takahashi brought out freshly made oden and placed it on the tea table in the living room. Kenta Takahashi and his father sat on the sofa, holding beer mugs, their eyes fixed on the television.
“Mom, will our family be in tonight’s show?” Kenta Takahashi asked curiously.
Keiko Takahashi smiled and nodded, “Hiroshi-kun said that the third episode will broadcast our family’s New Year’s Eve Dinner, and then people all over the country will be able to see Mom’s cooking!”
Kenta Takahashi immediately became excited, “That’s great! I’m going to tell my classmates to watch it! Our family is going to be famous!”
Father Takahashi smiled and stroked his son’s head, his eyes full of warmth, “It’s not our family that will be famous, but the lives of ordinary families that will be known to more people. Hiroshi-kun is a good director; he understands the hard work of ordinary people and our happiness.”
Time ticked by, and the hands of the wall clock slowly pointed to eight o’clock.
On the streets of Tokyo, from almost every lit window, the sound of televisions could be heard.
In a Shinjuku izakaya, the boss had deliberately turned the TV to Kanto Stage, and customers put down their beer mugs, their eyes fixed on the screen; in a Ginza department store, staff also gathered in the break area, waiting for Taste of Neon to begin.
In the office of Tokyo City Television, Kazuo Takahashi sat at his desk, holding a ratings monitoring report, but his expression grew increasingly grim.
“What’s going on? Why are the pre-recorded ratings so much lower than Kanto Stage?” he roared into the telephone, “Where are Shunsuke Kamiki’s fans? Weren’t they supposed to be glued to their televisions?”
The voice of a staff member came from the other end of the line, “Deputy Station Manager Takahashi, according to monitoring, many young viewers have switched to Kanto Stage, saying they want to see if Taste of Neon is really that good…”
Kazuo Takahashi abruptly hung up the phone, slammed the report onto the desk, his eyes filled with anger.
He recalled what Shunsuke Kamiki had said during the day and felt a sudden unease—had he truly underestimated Hiroshi Nohara, underestimated the power of this documentary?
And in Tokyo TV’s meeting room, the wall clock finally pointed to eight o’clock.
Hiroshi, Ichiro Hashimoto, Tsuyoshi Yamamoto, and Kei Tanaka all stood up, their eyes fixed on the projection screen.
As the opening theme song began, the sound of waves slowly drifted in, and the screen showed the Chiba Fish Market in the morning mist—Masayasu Nomizu’s hand untying the boat ropes slowly appeared on the screen.
The meeting room instantly fell silent, everyone holding their breath, watching the screen. Ichiro Hashimoto clutched his notebook, his fingers trembling slightly.
Tsuyoshi Yamamoto and Kei Tanaka also forgot about the coffee in their hands, their eyes intently fixed on the image.
Hiroshi stood at the front, watching the scene of Masayasu Nomizu hauling in the net on the screen, and suddenly felt very peaceful.
From this moment on, those stories filled with warmth, the persistence of ordinary people, would be seen by audiences all over Neon.
And this, this was his original intention in creating content—not for ratings, not for fame or fortune, but to let more people know that the warmth in ordinary life is the most precious thing.
On the screen, Masayasu Nomizu’s voice slowly came through, “Whatever the sea gives us, we eat; we cannot be greedy.”
In the meeting room, no one spoke, but everyone’s eyes shone with light.
The Tokyo night view outside the window was exceptionally brilliant, yet the beam of light in the screening room was warmer than any lighting—it illuminated the stories of ordinary people, and it also illuminated the future of Neon’s film and television industry.
Taste of Neon, finally, amidst everyone’s anticipation, premiered.
PS: Still asking for recommendation votes!
