Chapter 30: Editor
Hiroshi Nohara walked out of the Tokyo Television Station building, which resembled a steel behemoth. The afternoon sunlight, with a just-right warmth, fell upon him. He took a deep breath of the Tokyo air, a mixture of exhaust fumes and dust, and felt an unprecedented sense of freedom and ease.
He didn’t go home directly but detoured to Ginza.
In the kaiseki cuisine restaurant, which he had long reserved, hidden deep in an alley, he saw the figure for whom he was willing to strive.
Misae was wearing a cream-colored dress today, her long hair tied back with a simple ribbon, revealing her smooth forehead and delicate collarbone. She wore no makeup, her face bare, yet her face, full of collagen, seemed to shine brighter than all the neon lights of Ginza combined.
Seeing Hiroshi Nohara push open the elegant wooden door, her large, watery eyes instantly curved into two beautiful crescent moons.
“Hiroshi-kun!”
She pounced like a joyful little bird, but stopped just before reaching him, her sparkling eyes fixed on him, as if she could never see enough.
“Have you been waiting long?” Hiroshi Nohara reached out and, as if it were natural, gently flicked her upturned nose tip, the touch as smooth and warm as jade.
“Not at all, not at all!” Misae shook her head, the curve of her smile impossible to suppress. “I just got here, really!”
Hiroshi Nohara simply smiled, took her hand, and led her into the private room prepared just for the two of them.
He had booked this restaurant with the first substantial manuscript fee he earned from Yu Yu Hakusho. It was not cheap, but seeing Misae’s adorable expression, caught between trying to maintain her composure and being unable to help but widen her eyes as dishes that looked like works of art were served, he felt it was all worth it.
“Wow… Is this top-grade Toro Tuna from Oma? It melts in your mouth… It’s so delicious!”
“Hiroshi-kun, try this matsutake mushroom clear soup, it’s so fresh!”
“This… is this live Ise Lobster? Its… its antennae are still moving!”
Misae, like a country girl stepping into heaven for the first time, let out a small gasp of surprise at every dish. That genuine joy enhanced the appetite more than any seasoning.
Hiroshi Nohara just watched her with a smile, occasionally picking out a piece of tempura for her, or removing the mushrooms she disliked from the simmered dish.
“Hiroshi-kun.” Misae ate a small piece of taro from which Hiroshi Nohara had removed the mushrooms, then suddenly looked up. In her eyes, further moistened by the steam from the food, was a mixture of worship and curiosity.
“Hm?” Hiroshi Nohara looked at her.
“Today on the train, I heard many people talking about An Shizhi! You’re really… amazing!”
By the end of her sentence, a subtle tremor in her voice revealed an undeniable pride.
“It’s alright.” Hiroshi Nohara chuckled softly, as if the 3.24% that stirred up the entire television station’s atmosphere was just an insignificant number. “It’s just the beginning.”
Standing on the shoulders of giants from a past life.
As for him now, he was simply in his element!
“It’s not ‘alright’ at all!” Misae puffed out her cheeks, like a little squirrel protecting its food, and protested with slight displeasure, “I heard the ladies next door talking! They said they’re afraid to go to the company pantry alone at night now, for fear a face might suddenly pop out of the copier! They also said the director of this animation must be a terrifying devil!”
As she spoke, she couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. A cunning light sparkled in her beautiful crescent eyes. “I wonder what their expressions would be if they knew that ‘devil’ was the Hiroshi-kun who makes me my loving breakfast?”
“Perhaps they’d think I’m a demon in human skin.” Hiroshi Nohara picked up the sake and took a sip. The spicy warmth slid down his throat.
Looking at the girl with her charming smile before him, the fatigue accumulated from days of hard work seemed to be completely washed away by that smile.
This was the meaning of his fight.
To protect this smile, so that she could forever be this carefree, exclaiming over a top-grade tuna toro, or laughing at a silly joke.
“Misae of the Nohara family.” Hiroshi Nohara smiled faintly. “Perhaps it’s time to have a Shin now.”
…
After dinner, they didn’t take a car but walked hand in hand, leisurely along the streets as the lights began to come on.
Tokyo’s night was a black brocade adorned with countless gems, luxurious and icy cold, yet inadvertently radiating the warmth of myriad households.
By the time they returned to their small apartment in Kasukabe, it was late into the night.
But as they reached their doorstep, they both froze.
By the apartment’s iron gate, a figure stood leaning against the wall, solitary. The person was wearing a suit riddled with wrinkles, their hair somewhat disheveled, clutching a briefcase that appeared to be quite heavy. The whole person exuded a pitiable aura, like a cat that had been rained on and then dried by the wind.
“Mr. Tadokoro?” Hiroshi Nohara raised an eyebrow in surprise.
He recognized this person.
Upon hearing the sound, the person abruptly looked up. Upon seeing that it was Hiroshi Nohara, their face, etched with anxiety, instantly erupted with a light akin to seeing a savior.
“Teacher Nohara! You’re finally back!” He practically lunged forward, his voice choked with emotion. “I’ve called you eight times! Do you know? I couldn’t wait at Shueisha any longer! It’s a great opportunity for Yu Yu Hakusho in Weekly Shonen Jump! I had to come and find you personally!”
The visitor was Hiroshi Nohara’s editor at Weekly Shonen Jump, Masato Tadokoro.
“Let’s come inside first.” Hiroshi Nohara opened the door with a hint of helplessness.
Misae eyed the uninvited guest curiously, then considerately went to the kitchen to make tea.
As soon as he entered the room, Masato Tadokoro could no longer hold back. He placed his briefcase on the floor and looked as if he were about to perform a dogezza before Hiroshi Nohara.
“Teacher Nohara, this is a great opportunity!” he sounded even more humble.
But there was no alternative.
Anyone who learned that a manga artist, without any creative block, could draw half a year’s worth of material in a single day before their eyes, would be this humble.
In his eyes, Hiroshi Nohara was a genuine genius manga artist!
“Mr. Tadokoro, please calm down.” Hiroshi Nohara pressed him onto the sofa and handed him a glass of barley tea that Misae had just brewed. “If I recall correctly, I just submitted a month’s worth of manuscripts to you last week. What’s wrong?”
“The manuscripts are enough, but… but the opportunity has arrived!” Masato Tadokoro took a large gulp of tea to catch his breath and said in a tone bordering on tragic: “You know our magazine’s pillar, Teacher Miyamoto, who has been drawing Bushido Spirit for fifteen years, right? He… he suddenly announced yesterday that he’s ending it!”
Hiroshi Nohara was slightly taken aback by this news.
Bushido Spirit, he knew, was the evergreen of this world’s Weekly Shonen Jump, holding a status comparable to Kochikame from his previous life. Although its popularity was no longer at its peak, it represented the sentiment of countless readers and was a stable pillar of the magazine’s sales.
“This… is too sudden.” Hiroshi Nohara raised an eyebrow.
“Who’s not saying that!” Masato Tadokoro looked utterly dejected. “Teacher Miyamoto said he’s going to travel the world to find new inspiration! But with his departure, our weekly magazine’s pillar is now vacant! The popularity of the few ongoing series that follow are all half-dead. The Editor-in-Chief’s face turned green at this morning’s meeting! He ordered that a work capable of filling the gap must be found immediately!”
As he spoke, he stared intently at Hiroshi Nohara with an incredibly eager and hopeful gaze.
“So, everyone in the editorial department thought of you! Teacher Nohara! Your Yu Yu Hakusho’s popularity is currently soaring at an unbelievable speed! Its ranking in the reader surveys has been in the top five for three consecutive weeks! And your drawing speed is fast, and the quality is high! Only you, only your Yu Yu Hakusho, can fill the void left by Teacher Miyamoto and become the new pillar of our Jump! You must seize this opportunity!”
Misae, who had come over with a fruit platter, couldn’t help but show a worried expression upon hearing this.
She sat down next to Hiroshi Nohara, gently tugged at his sleeve, and said softly, “Hiroshi-kun, but you’ve already been so busy with the television station lately… working overtime until so late every day, and then drawing manga on top of that, your body won’t be able to take it.”
Her voice was filled with unconcealed concern.
However, her words struck Masato Tadokoro like a thunderbolt.
“The… television station?” The eagerness on Masato Tadokoro’s face instantly froze. He stared blankly at Hiroshi Nohara, then at Misae, his voice changing in tone: “Teacher Nohara… you… you’re working at Tokyo Television Station?”
He felt his world crumble at that moment.
It’s over.
This was the only thought in his mind.
His greatest hope, the genius manga artist whom all his colleagues in the editorial department saw as a savior, the “Liver King” who could draw over ten pages of high-quality manuscript overnight, had actually… actually gone to find a “proper job”?
For an editor who relied on manga artists for a living, this was no less than a bolt from the blue.
Seeing Masato Tadokoro’s despondent expression, as if he had fallen from heaven to hell, Hiroshi Nohara simply smiled dismissively.
“It’s alright.” He patted Misae’s hand, signaling her to relax, and then said to Masato Tadokoro, “It’s just a part-time job, it won’t affect the manuscript. Coincidentally, I’ve also had some new ideas recently.”
He certainly had ideas.
The Dark Tournament Arc of Yu Yu Hakusho, those exhilarating battles, those vivid and charming characters, had already played out countless times in his mind.
For others, this was arduous creation.
For him, it was simply… copying.
Yes.
You could call it plagiarism. Anyway, that old thief couldn’t cross over and sue him, could he?
“Re… really?” A spark of hope rekindled in Masato Tadokoro’s dimming eyes.
“Mhm.” Hiroshi Nohara nodded, his tone calm but with an undeniable power. “Before this Sunday, I will hand you the manuscript for the next chapter, and the ones after that as well.”
“That’s great! That’s great!” Masato Tadokoro was so excited he almost stood up and bowed again. He looked at Hiroshi Nohara as if he were looking at a shining deity.
Before leaving, he seemed to remember something and asked curiously, “By the way, Teacher Nohara, if you don’t mind me asking, what kind of project are you involved in at Tokyo Television Station?”
“A horror animation called An Shizhi.” Hiroshi Nohara replied casually.
“An Shizhi…” Masato Tadokoro murmured the name, his brow furrowed. “I think I’ve heard… it somewhere. I seem to recall a colleague from another department mentioning that a late-night animation is currently very popular…”
He didn’t think much of it, but he noted the name in his heart.
“Then I won’t disturb you further! Teacher Nohara, please get some good rest! I’ll be waiting for your manuscript!”
Masato Tadokoro, holding his briefcase, left almost floating, his heart filled with joy and gratitude.
The room returned to quiet.
Misae leaned on Hiroshi Nohara’s shoulder, smelling his reassuring scent, and still said with some concern, “Hiroshi-kun, is it really okay? Don’t push yourself too hard.”
Hiroshi Nohara turned his head and gently kissed her smooth forehead.
“Don’t worry, Misae.”
His voice carried a smile that only he understood. “For me, the world has no shortage of stories.”
“Ah?” Misae tilted her head in confusion.
She didn’t understand.
“Alright, Misae, it’s okay if you don’t understand.” Hiroshi Nohara’s expression gradually became more inscrutable. “I’ll teach you.”
