Chapter 246: Shock! Excitement! Everyone’s Attention! 《taste Of Neon》 Filming Techniques Go Viral!
At seven fifty in the evening, the studio of Future Manga Company was lit up like daytime.
On the long table were freshly delivered sashimi bento boxes and chilled beer, with seven or eight young manga artists gathered around the television, Misae standing at the very front, gripping the remote control so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
“Everyone, wait just ten more minutes! Hiroshi-kun’s new film is about to start!” Misae turned her head and shouted, her voice full of excitement, with blue paint from drawing manga that afternoon still smeared on her cheeks.
Sitting on the far left, Rina Sato was applying lipstick in front of a mirror, and upon hearing this, she looked up with a smile: “President Misae, you’re more nervous than we are! Didn’t you say yesterday that Hiroshi-kun’s film would definitely be great?”
“That’s different!” Misae immediately retorted, but she couldn’t help glancing at the TV screen, “This is Hiroshi-kun’s first documentary. I’m afraid that if no one appreciates it…”
“How could that be!”
Next to her, manga artist Keisuke Yamada put down his beer can, his tone confident, “Hiroshi-kun can even draw 《Doraemon》 into stories that both kids and adults love, so this documentary will surely be just as good! Did you forget last time when 《Late-night Diner》 aired, and the whole club watched together—you even cried!”
Misae’s face instantly turned red, and she quickly picked up a bento box to cover it up: “That was because the oden in it was just like my mother’s… Oh right, look! There’s a trailer for 《Taste of Neon》 on TV!”
Everyone immediately looked at the screen—the image showed Masayasu Nomizu’s hands untying ropes in the morning mist, the bidding voices at the tuna auction mixing with the sound of waves, finally freezing on the subtitle “October 15th at eight PM.”
“Wow! This footage is shot so beautifully!” Rina Sato couldn’t help exclaiming, “Look at the color of that seawater—brighter than in our manga! Hiroshi-kun is too good at filming!”
“I think Mr. Nomizu’s hands have such a story feel.” Keisuke Yamada rested his chin on his hand, “Way more interesting than idol stars’ faces—last time Shunsuke Kamiki shot that ad, his hands were even finer than a girl’s, clearly never done any real work.”
Misae nodded immediately: “Exactly! Hiroshi-kun said that when filming people, you have to capture the details. The calluses on Mr. Nomizu’s hands say more about his hard work than any dialogue.”
As she spoke, the wall clock pointed to eight, the TV screen suddenly went dark, followed by the clear sound of waves.
Misae instinctively held her breath, and the studio fell silent instantly, with only the sounds from the television remaining.
When Masayasu Nomizu set out to sea in his fishing boat, and the fishing net unfurled in the air, Rina Sato couldn’t help whispering: “Oh my god! This image is so spectacular! Even more beautiful than what I saw on my seaside trip!”
Keisuke Yamada leaned over too, pointing at the screen: “Look at the texture of this morning mist—it must be Mr. Saito’s lighting! Last time Hiroshi-kun said Mr. Saito is the best at shooting atmospheric shots like this.”
Misae didn’t speak, her eyes fixed on the screen. When she saw the slow-motion shot of Masayasu Nomizu slicing sashimi, with the tuna’s texture clearly visible under the lights, she couldn’t help swallowing, whispering: “I shouldn’t have ordered the sashimi bento… The ones in the film look fresher…”
Everyone in the studio laughed, but the atmosphere remained focused.
At the end of the film, when Masayasu Nomizu said “The sea gives what it gives, and we eat that—we can’t be greedy,” Misae’s eyes suddenly reddened—she remembered her grandfather was also a fisherman, and every time he returned from sea, he would tell her “to cherish the sea’s gifts,” exactly like what Mr. Nomizu said.
“It’s so good…” Misae sniffed, her voice a bit choked, “Hiroshi-kun really understands the stories of ordinary people. He didn’t shoot flashy things, but captured the most real warmth.”
Rina Sato handed over a tissue, smiling: “Don’t just cry! There’s a second episode next, about soba noodle shops in Gunma—maybe even warmer than this one!”
Misae took the tissue, wiped her tears, and looked back at the screen.
The studio lights were soft, illuminating everyone’s focused faces, the piano piece from the TV mixing with the occasional sound of passing cars outside, exceptionally warm—this was their first time watching a documentary together, yet it felt like a grand movie, their hearts full of emotion and anticipation.
……
In a high-end restaurant in Ginza, Tokyo, Akira Saeki and several other senior film critics sat in a private room, with exquisite kaiseki cuisine on the table, but the TV deliberately tuned to Kanto Stage.
Akira Saeki held a sake cup, but his eyes never left the screen, his fingers tapping lightly on the table, clearly taking serious notes.
“I originally thought documentaries only shot dull processes, but I didn’t expect Hiroshi Nohara to create such delicate footage.”
The film critic Kiyoshi Sato sitting beside him put down his chopsticks, his tone full of surprise, “Look at Masayasu Nomizu’s eyes when hauling in the net—fatigue, persistence, and awe of the sea. That depth is richer than some TV drama protagonists!”
Akira Saeki nodded, sipping sake: “That’s what makes Hiroshi Nohara great. He never shoots ‘events,’ only ‘people.’ In last 《Seven Samurai》, he captured farmers’ cowardice and samurai pride to the bone. This time with fishermen, it’s just as delicate. Did you notice? When Mr. Nomizu unties the ropes, his finger movements are skilled but a bit slow—that’s the mark of years of labor. Directors generally wouldn’t notice such details.”
Another film critic, Keisuke Yamada, pushed up his glasses, pointing at the screen: “And the music! This piano piece matches the waves perfectly—neither stealing the show nor just background, but enhancing the atmosphere. I saw a sample from City Stage before, Shunsuke Kamiki’s variety show used explosive pop music that didn’t match the food at all, just made it feel restless.”
“Speaking of City Stage,”
Kiyoshi Sato suddenly laughed, “This afternoon at the press conference, Shunsuke Kamiki said he’d make Hiroshi Nohara taste failure. Now it looks like he’ll taste it himself. Hiroshi Nohara’s films win hearts with content, while Shunsuke Kamiki relies on fan support—this isn’t even the same league.”
Akira Saeki put down his sake cup, picked up his notebook, and wrote quickly: “In my review, I’ll focus on two points: the delicacy of the cinematic language, and the warmth of humanistic care. Masayasu Nomizu’s line ‘The sea gives what it gives, and we eat that’ is not just fishermen’s survival philosophy, but a reflection on modern society’s ‘greed’—this depth is something idol variety shows can never reach.”
Keisuke Yamada added: “I’ll also mention Shigeru Saito’s lighting! The backlighting in the auction area is perfect—no overexposure, highlights the figures’ outlines, maxes out the tension. NHK’s tuna auction was all gray and hazy, no atmosphere at all—way behind this.”
As they spoke, the TV cut to a close-up of Masayasu Nomizu slicing sashimi, the fish meat’s texture glistening pink and fresh under the lights.
Akira Saeki couldn’t help praising: “This shot is so tempting! Tomorrow I must go to Chiba to try Mr. Nomizu’s sashimi—more appealing than this kaiseki in front of me!”
Kiyoshi Sato nodded with a smile: “Me too! We can go together, and interview Mr. Nomizu about filming anecdotes. Hiroshi Nohara can make such a great documentary because he deeply understands his subjects—this is the attitude content should have, not making up stories in an office, but entering ordinary people’s lives and hearing their stories.”
The kaiseki in the private room gradually cooled, but the critics paid no attention.
Their gazes were fixed on the TV screen, pens flying across notebooks, occasionally exchanging quiet words, their tones full of recognition and praise for 《Taste of Neon》—
They had come just to “assess professionalism,” but were deeply moved by the film’s warmth—this unexpected shock satisfied them more than any exquisite dish.
……
In an office building in Shinjuku, Tokyo, 28-year-old office worker Ichiro Yamada had just returned from overtime, still holding his briefcase, but sat on the sofa without changing clothes and turned on the TV.
His wife Hanako Suzuki brought over a bowl of freshly made miso soup, placed it on the tea table, and smiled: “Why are you in such a hurry today? You usually shower first after overtime.”
“Today is different,” Ichiro Yamada stared at the TV, his tone excited, “Hiroshi Nohara’s new documentary is airing! Last time I watched 《Late-night Diner》, I was moved by his stories—this one will surely be great too.”
Hanako Suzuki sat beside him, took a sip of miso soup, and looked at the screen too.
When she saw Masayasu Nomizu heading out to sea at dawn, she suddenly said: “This reminds me of my grandfather. He was a fisherman in Chiba too, setting out before dawn every day, coming back wet and cold, but still smiling as he brought me fresh sea fish.”
Ichiro Yamada held his wife’s hand, his tone gentle: “My father told me too, that as a kid he went with grandpa to the seafood market and loved watching tuna auctions—felt so lively. The auction scenes in the film are exactly like he described—Hiroshi Nohara is great at capturing that nostalgic feel, bringing back childhood memories.”
On TV, as Masayasu Nomizu gently pressed the tuna to check freshness, Hanako Suzuki sighed: “Look how serious Mr. Nomizu is! So many shops now just chase money, ignoring ingredient freshness. Last time at that Shinjuku sushi place, the sashimi wasn’t fresh and was super expensive.”
“That’s why Hiroshi Nohara’s films matter,”
Ichiro Yamada nodded, “He shows us how much effort goes into good sashimi. Fishermen head out at dawn, auctioneers price accurately, chefs handle carefully—these people treat food seriously, and we should cherish it.”
At the film’s end, as Masayasu Nomizu stood at the wharf saying “The sea gives what it gives, and we eat that,” Hanako Suzuki’s eyes reddened: “That’s exactly what my grandfather said. He always said the sea is generous, but don’t be greedy or you’ll be punished. So many forget now, overfishing and ruining the ocean—Hiroshi Nohara made this to remind everyone, right?”
Ichiro Yamada nodded, picked up the remote to turn up the volume: “Next weekend, let’s go to Chiba, visit Mr. Nomizu’s fish shop, try fresh sashimi. Hiroshi Nohara’s films aren’t just great—they remind us of forgotten truths. That’s what good works should do.”
Hanako Suzuki nodded with a smile, leaning on her husband’s shoulder. The living room lights were warm, the TV’s waves and piano mixing with miso soup aroma, exceptionally cozy.
They rarely watched documentaries together, but because of 《Taste of Neon》, they not only enjoyed precious time but recalled childhood stories—this resonance satisfied them more than any entertainment show.
……
In an old apartment in Setagaya Ward, Tokyo Metropolis, 72-year-old Grandmother Sumie Tanaka sat on the sofa, holding a magnifying glass, seriously watching the TV screen.
Her grandson Kenta Sato sat beside her, playing a game console, but glancing at the TV now and then, clearly drawn in by the images.
“Isn’t this Kanto Stage’s old footage style?” Grandmother Tanaka suddenly spoke, her tone full of surprise, “Look at this morning mist texture—exactly like 《Kanto Fishing Song》 from before! I thought after Kanto Stage was acquired, they’d never make such flavorful films again.”
Kenta Sato put down the game console, leaned over: “Grandma, how do you know? Have you seen 《Kanto Fishing Song》 before?”
“Of course!”
Grandmother Tanaka nodded with a smile, her eyes full of memories, “That was thirty years ago, about Chiba fishermen too. Your grandpa and I watched it weekly on TV. Watching 《Taste of Neon》 now feels like being back then—Kanto Stage always captures ordinary life so real and warm.”
On TV, as Masayasu Nomizu’s hands untying ropes appeared, Grandmother Tanaka pointed: “Look at those hands—just like your grandpa’s! He was a fisherman too, hands full of calluses, thick finger joints, but so nimble—untied ropes faster than young people. Now he’s gone, but seeing Mr. Nomizu’s hands is like seeing him.”
Kenta Sato’s gaze softened, he put down the game console and watched seriously: “Grandma, Mr. Nomizu seems amazing, heading out at dawn and judging tuna freshness accurately.”
“Of course,”
Grandmother Tanaka nodded, “Fishermen have their skills. Your grandpa could spot fish schools by seawater color, always returning full. Young people now avoid fishing, thinking it’s hard—Hiroshi Nohara made this to show more people fishermen’s toil and persistence, right?”
On TV, as the tuna auction scene appeared, Grandmother Tanaka’s eyes lit up: “That auctioneer’s voice is just like the old ones at the seafood market! I used to go with your grandpa, loved hearing the bidding—felt so vibrant. The scenes now are like those market days—Kanto Stage always shoots that sense of belonging.”
Kenta Sato smiled at his grandma’s excitement: “Grandma, let’s watch 《Taste of Neon》 every week from now on—I’ll watch with you.”
Grandmother Tanaka nodded, a happy smile on her face. The old living room clock ticked, TV waves and bidding mixing with their laughter, exceptionally warm.
For Grandmother Tanaka, 《Taste of Neon》 was more than a documentary—it was a recall of past years, a long-missed sense of belonging for old Kanto Stage viewers—more precious than any new variety show.
……
In Yomiuri TV Osaka’s production department meeting room, Department Head Kiyoshi Matsumoto and several directors sat around the TV, with ratings monitoring equipment on the table, screens showing Kanto Stage and City Stage simultaneously.
Kiyoshi Matsumoto held a teacup, but his eyes were fixed on Kanto Stage, fingers quickly noting in his notebook.
“Hiroshi Nohara’s cinematic language is so delicate,”
Kiyoshi Matsumoto put down the teacup, his tone full of praise, “Look at Masayasu Nomizu hauling the net—the shot slowly zooms from wide to close-up, showing the sea’s vastness and highlighting details—this rhythm control is way better than our young directors.”
Director Keisuke Yamada beside him nodded, pointing: “And the music! This piano with waves is perfect—not overpowering, but atmospheric. Our last 《Osaka Food Journey》 used traditional shamisen—local flavor, but lacked modernity, far behind this.”
“Even rarer is the humanistic care,”
Another director Takashi Sato added, “Masayasu Nomizu’s ‘The sea gives what it gives, and we eat that’ is fishermen’s philosophy, but also hints at environmental thinking—this depth we rarely consider in food shows.”
Kiyoshi Matsumoto nodded, picking up the ratings report: “Kanto Stage’s live ratings have broken 5%, City Stage at 2.3%—gap widening. Hiroshi Nohara’s win isn’t luck—he knows what audiences want, how to touch hearts with details. Our food shows must learn: not just processes, but people and real stories behind.”
Keisuke Yamada added: “We should contact Tokyo TV, see if we can get 《Taste of Neon》 broadcasting rights. Osaka audiences love warm content—could boost our ratings. Plus, we can mimic the 《Taste of Neon》 mode for a 《Osaka Food Stories》, highlighting Osaka specialties and ordinary people.”
Kiyoshi Matsumoto nodded firmly: “Do it! Tomorrow I’ll contact Managing Director Asumi at Tokyo TV for rights. Meanwhile, have planning start 《Osaka Food Stories》 proposal, reference 《Taste of Neon》 techniques, focus on artisans behind okonomiyaki and takoyaki—sure to be popular.”
The directors in the meeting room nodded in agreement, eyes full of expectation.
For them, 《Taste of Neon》 was not just an excellent documentary, but a professional learning opportunity—it showed new directions for food shows and filled them with confidence for future creations.
……
In Tokyo Metropolitan Government meeting room, Governor Ryuichi Koike, Department Head Tadashi Hattori, and officials from Ministry of Education and Publicity Department sat around the dining table with exquisite dishes, TV tuned to Kanto Stage.
Ryuichi Koike put down his chopsticks, eyes full of praise, saying to everyone: “Hiroshi Nohara’s documentary is very meaningful—not only showcasing Japanese food culture, but conveying correct values.”
Tadashi Hattori nodded, fully agreeing: “You’re right. Masayasu Nomizu’s ‘The sea gives what it gives, and we eat that’ embodies Japanese awe of nature and adherence to tradition—this is the idea we want to promote. Ministry of Education can recommend it to schools as local culture material, teaching kids about fishermen’s toil and cherishing food.”
The Ministry of Education official nodded immediately: “We’ll notify schools tomorrow to organize viewings of 《Taste of Neon》 and discussions. We can also partner with Tokyo TV for an educational version, adding ocean protection and cultural inheritance—highlighting educational value.”
Publicity Department official added: “We can leverage 《Taste of Neon》 buzz for ‘Local Food Culture Promotion,’ partnering Chiba, Gunma, Saitama for ‘Taste Journey’ tourism routes—boost local economy and spread Japanese food culture. Hiroshi Nohara’s Kumamon mascot boosted Kumamoto tourism; 《Taste of Neon》 can do the same.”
Ryuichi Koike nodded with a smile: “Hiroshi Nohara is a talented young man who gets content creation and using it for social value. His 《Super Change Change Change》 promoted neighborly exchange, 《Late-night Diner》 evoked family flavors, now 《Taste of Neon》 advances local culture and tourism—we should support such talent more.”
Tadashi Hattori nodded firmly: “We’ll continue partnering with Tokyo TV, support 《Taste of Neon》 sequels. We’ll also enter it in international documentary festivals, letting more countries know Japanese food culture and spirit. Hiroshi Nohara’s works are Japan’s pride and bridges for cultural exchange.”
The meeting room atmosphere was heated, officials watching 《Taste of Neon》 on TV while discussing using its influence for work.
For them, 《Taste of Neon》 was more than an excellent documentary—it was a key carrier for cultural values and social progress—more meaningful than any entertainment show.
……
Seven fifty-five PM, in the top-floor monitoring meeting room of Tokyo City Television, the air smelled of instant coffee bitterness and lingering tobacco.
Over a dozen people sat around the long table, ratings reports and 《Shunsuke’s Tokyo Roaming》 brochures scattered, TV playing their own variety show—Shunsuke Kamiki in a sequined jacket making hearts at a trendy restaurant, exaggerated smile with blasting music, exceptionally noisy.
Kazuo Takahashi sat at the head, fingers sliding quickly over reports, brows furrowing tighter.
“Why hasn’t live ratings broken 3%?” He looked up at the Head of Technical Department, tone suppressed anger, “Wasn’t Shunsuke’s fan support full coverage? How’s Shinjuku District only at 2.8%?”
Head of Technical Department wiped sweat from his temple, whispering: “Deputy Station Manager Takahashi, data shows Kanto Stage live ratings hit 5.2%—many young viewers switched…”
“Switched?”
Shunsuke Kamiki slammed down his coffee cup, silver spoon clinking harshly, his smile vanishing, eyes full of disdain, “What do they know? Hiroshi Nohara’s crappy documentary is all poor old fishermen—nothing to see? Once my singing segment airs, ratings will surge back!”
Takashi Sato sat in the corner, gripping his steel pen, tip hovering over notebook without writing.
He sneaked a glance at Shunsuke Kamiki on TV—for the “making sushi by hand” shot, Shunsuke couldn’t distinguish sushi vinegar from soy sauce, NGed over ten times, barely passed, needed editing to cover clumsiness—compared to Masayasu Nomizu’s skilled moves in 《Taste of Neon》, it was a joke.
Just then, the meeting room door burst open, secretary rushing in trembling: “D-Deputy Station Manager Takahashi, M-Mikami Tanaka Mayor is here! Already in the corridor!”
Everyone froze, Kazuo Takahashi shot up, chair scraping sharply.
“Why no advance notice?” He straightened his suit collar, striding to the door, “Quick! Lower TV volume, prepare tea!”
Everyone scrambled to tidy the table, Shunsuke Kamiki reapplied lipstick, forcing a standard smile.
But before they finished, a man in dark suit, slightly plump, entered—Tokyo City Mayor Mikami Tanaka. Two city government officials followed, his sharp gaze sweeping the room, air freezing instantly.
“Mayor Tanaka, why the sudden visit?” Kazuo Takahashi bowed deeply, tone full of respect, “If you’d said ahead, we could’ve prepared…”
Mikami Tanaka ignored pleasantries, went straight to TV, eyes on Shunsuke Kamiki’s image, brows subtly furrowing.
“This is the variety show you spent thirty million budget on?” His tone flat but authoritative, “Switch to Kanto Stage. I want to see Hiroshi Nohara’s 《Taste of Neon》.”
The words were a bomb, stunning everyone.
Kazuo Takahashi’s smile froze, blurting: “Mayor Tanaka, this is our prime time slot, and… Hiroshi Nohara’s documentary has no appeal, all rustic stuff…”
“I said, switch to Kanto Stage.” Mikami Tanaka repeated, voice rising, icy gaze silencing Kazuo Takahashi.
An official behind stepped forward, eyed Head of Technical Department, who hurriedly grabbed the remote.
Shunsuke Kamiki stood by, face darkening.
He clenched fists, nails digging into palms—his carefully prepped singing segment was next, but Mayor Tanaka wanted Hiroshi Nohara’s crappy documentary?
This was utter humiliation!
“Mayor, no need for that film.”
Shunsuke Kamiki breathed deep, forced a smile, approached Mikami Tanaka with feigned intimacy, “Hiroshi Nohara’s documentary is just old fishermen drying nets, old men grinding flour—’humanistic care’ at best, no entertainment. Our variety has food, interaction, music performances—what audiences really want.”
Jun Yamada chimed in: “Yes, Mayor Tanaka. Hiroshi’s documentary has decent rep, but ‘critic-pleaser not crowd-pleaser.’ NHK food docs peaked at 3.5%, can’t compare to our variety.”
“Exactly!”
City Stage planning director added, “Our show has Kirin Group investment, eight million promo alone, Shunsuke’s fanbase huge—singing segment will surge ratings!”
Takashi Sato in corner smirked inwardly.
He recalled yesterday’s call with old Kanto Stage colleague: “《Taste of Neon》’s net-hauling with Mr. Saito’s side lighting and slow-mo even captured seawater particles—that raw power beats posed variety a hundredfold.”
But he dared not speak—Mayor and Takahashi backed Shunsuke; contradicting would backfire.
Mikami Tanaka ignored defenses, eyes on TV.
Head of Technical Department switched, screen showing 《Taste of Neon》 trailer—Chiba Pier in morning mist, Masayasu Nomizu gripping ropes, rough skin bronze in dawn light, waves and soft piano overwhelming prior variety noise.
“Quiet.”
Mikami Tanaka spoke softly but silenced the room. He pulled a chair, leaned forward, eyes locked: “It’s starting.”
Takahashi and others exchanged looks, sat down.
Shunsuke Kamiki sat nearby, smile rigid as a mask.
Eight PM sharp, trailer ended, 《Taste of Neon》 officially aired.
Waves rose slowly, shot zooming from vast sea to clear Chiba Pier in mist—wooden fishing boats docked, nets swaying in wind, Masayasu Nomizu in dark blue fishing trousers bending to untie ropes, calluses and sea salt in nail gaps visible.
“This shot…” Head of Technical Department muttered, eyes surprised, “Light and shadow perfect! Mist layers, skin texture—finer than our variety…”
Takahashi glared; he shut up but sneaked peeks.
Shot to Masayasu Nomizu at sea—sun rising over horizon, golden light on waves, boat cutting through, net arcing gracefully like flowing oil painting; room silent, only TV waves and narrator’s low voice.
Shunsuke Kamiki gripped pants, face paling.
He’d thought 《Taste of Neon》 dull records, but images full of tension—no filters, no poses, yet more infectious than his designs.
Especially Masayasu Nomizu’s net-haul close-up, muscles taut in sun, eyes awed by sea—unactable.
Takashi Sato watched, glad he’d not trashed 《Taste of Neon》 with Takahashi.
Hiroshi Nohara captured details masterfully: Nomizu pressing tuna, auction rhythm, shop banter with old customers—real, vivid like tight movie, not dry doc.
As slow-mo of Nomizu slicing sashimi played, room went dead quiet.
Tuna texture pink-fresh under lights, blade-through-flesh sound clear; even Mikami Tanaka leaned in, gaze focused.
“This isn’t a documentary…” Jun Yamada muttered disbelievingly, “It’s movie techniques! Editing has buildup, climax, emotional resonance—way more watchable than our variety…”
Takahashi’s temples sweated, glancing at Mayor’s calm face—fingers tapping table edge, clearly hooked.
Ominous premonition rose—he feared they’d truly lost.
Eight fifty PM, 《Taste of Neon》 episode one ended.
On screen, Masayasu Nomizu at wharf against sunset: “The sea gives what it gives, and we eat that—we can’t be greedy.”
Soft piano rose, credits rolled; room pin-drop silent, breaths audible.
Seconds later, Mikami Tanaka looked up, gaze sweeping room icily, no one daring eye contact.
“This is your ‘no appeal’?”
He grabbed ratings report, slammed before Takahashi, papers scattering, “Kanto Stage live over 10%! Yours? 4.7%! Not even half!”
Takahashi trembled, bowed: “Mayor Tanaka, we underestimated Hiroshi Nohara, didn’t expect audiences to love the documentary… We’ll adjust next time, pull ratings back!”
“Next time?”
Mikami Tanaka sneered, furious, “You get a next time? Just heard Yoshihiro Shimazu’s team is at Chiba Seafood Market! Riding 《Taste of Neon》 buzz, interviewing with Nomizu, pledging more fishery support—what have you done besides Shunsuke’s fake smiles?”
Words hammered hearts.
Shunsuke Kamiki’s face liver-red, wanted retort but swallowed under icy glare.
He never imagined Hiroshi Nohara’s doc not only high-rated but election boost for Shimazu—worse than his low ratings.
Takashi Sato eyed floor reports, clear: City Stage lost ratings and political chips.
Mayor wanted City Stage shows to boost support; now 《Taste of Neon》 aided rival—furious inevitable.
“Mayor Tanaka, we didn’t expect Hiroshi Nohara to direct documentary like TV drama.”
Jun Yamada stood panicked: “See 《Taste of Neon》 plots—Nomizu-fishermen interactions, auction tension, final line like drama script: suspense, ups, emotional peaks—not traditional doc!”
“Yes!”
Another director: “Our surveys showed Japanese audiences low on docs—who knew Hiroshi Nohara could make it so unique? Blended ‘humanism’ and ‘story’ perfectly—irresistible…”
Shunsuke Kamiki gritted teeth, defended: “Mayor, Hiroshi Nohara just lucky with topics. Nostalgic rustic stuff—once novelty fades, ratings drop. I have fan meets ahead; more promo will pull viewers!”
“Lucky?”
Mikami Tanaka glanced scornfully: “Luck for such delicate shots? Grabbing audience psyche? Your stuff—Shunsuke NGed sashimi ten times, edited over clumsiness—clown next to Nomizu’s realness!”
Shunsuke Kamiki paled, mouth agape, speechless.
He knew it true, but pride forbade admitting—Kirin-pushed idol losing to doc director?
Takahashi eyed chaos, powerless.
He’d banked on Shunsuke’s fans, forgot “good content” retains viewers.
《Taste of Neon》 no stars, no blast music—real stories, delicate shots moved audiences; unachievable by poses and traffic.
Mikami Tanaka breathed deep, calming rage, eyes on Takahashi: “No excuses now. Three days: solution—crush 《Taste of Neon》 ratings or better show—or submit resignations!”
Takahashi jolted, bowed: “Yes! Scheme soon, won’t fail your expectations!”
“Better be.”
Mikami Tanaka rose, adjusted jacket: “Shimazu’s campaigning off 《Taste of Neon》—if you fail, City Stage hurt, my campaign too—you can’t bear that.”
He exited, officials following.
Door closed, room somber, TV on 《Taste of Neon》 credits, Nomizu’s smile glaring under lights.
“What now?”
Head of Technical Department whispered panicked: “Three days for better than 《Taste of Neon》?”
Takahashi slumped, pressing temples. Eyed 《Shunsuke’s Tokyo Roaming》 brochure, TV 《Taste of Neon》 end—ironic: big idol/promo spend lost to starless, gimmickless doc—City Stage disgrace, his career stain.
Shunsuke Kamiki nearby, eyes vicious.
He pulled phone, dialed agent venomously: “Get Toru Watanabe to release the ‘dirt’ we prepped! Whatever means—make Mr. Nomizu’s fish shop trouble, tank 《Taste of Neon》 rep!”
Takashi Sato sighed inwardly at Shunsuke.
He knew Shunsuke’s dirty tricks, unaware—true good content unbeatable by smears.
《Taste of Neon》 success from real respect, human understanding—City Stage unlearnable.
Tokyo nightscape brilliant outside, but City TV meeting room full of oppression, despair.
They knew: prime time battle lost ratings and content heart—irrecoverable failure.
And now, they just hoped not to truly get kicked out.
Tokyo City Television newly established.
If really kicked out.
It would affect a lifetime!
