Chapter 32: Breaking 4
“Huh?! Who’s speaking!?”
Father was suddenly startled, only then realizing that this elevator was somewhat off. The lighting was dim, the air filled with a stale rusty smell, and the floor indicator lights weren’t lit at all.
He looked at the elevator girl beside him. She was wearing a uniform and a hat, head bowed, completely motionless.
Father tremblingly reached out and gently touched her shoulder.
That touch was icy cold and hard.
It was plastic.
It was a mannequin.
Just as his scalp went numb, the elevator went “ding” and stopped.
The doors slowly opened.
Outside the doors was not any floor of the department store. It was an endless scene of dark red lava churning, like hell. Countless shadowy figures with indistinct faces sank and floated in the lava, wailing.
Father’s face was instantly overtaken by fear. He let out a choked, throat-strangled scream and abruptly turned his head.
He saw that the elevator, which should have been empty, was now somehow filled with people.
Those people were wearing suits like his, ties like his, and on their faces were expressions identical to his—numb and fatigued from overtime and life pressure.
They all stared at him expressionlessly, quietly.
Then, the end.
……
Friday morning, Suzuki’s Classroom.
When Ichiro Hashishita walked in with the latest ratings report, his hands were no longer trembling. On his face was the calm unique to one accustomed to miracles, mixed with pride and numbness.
“3.77%.” He placed the report on the table, his voice steady.
“Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!”
A suppressed, satisfied cheer rose in the office.
This time, Ichiro Hashishita had brought something else.
A copy of this morning’s freshly published《Nitto News》.
He spread the newspaper open and flipped to the entertainment section. In the most prominent spot, bold black letters printed a headline that would make all television professionals take notice.
—《An Shizhi: A gentle terror ritual offered to the modern city》.
Byline: Kato Shin.
“Kato Shin…” Kiyoto Suzuki read the name, his eyes suddenly lighting up. “That Kato Shin with the sharpest pen? He… he’s actually writing a review for us?”
He eagerly grabbed the newspaper and read it word by word.
“…It abandons cheap reliance on gore and ghosts and monsters, instead precisely stabbing the scalpel into the softest, most vulnerable nerves of modern city dwellers. Apartment, workplace, family, transportation… these everyday elements we depend on for survival all become abysses leading to the unknown under the lens of《An Shizhi》. It reminds us that true terror may not come from fanged demons, but from our day-to-day numbness, fatigue, and that desperate longing to ‘just have some peace’ suffocated by life…”
“…This is not a mere scare, but a gentle ritual. It gently tears open the facade of your habitual life, revealing the fine-thought terrifying cracks hidden beneath. It forces us in the most extreme way to reexamine our lives, to scrutinize those ignored, silent gazes from our surroundings…”
The article was short, yet every word was a gem.
After reading, Kiyoto Suzuki felt a surge of hot blood rushing from his heart to his head.
Soulmate!
This Kato Shin was simply their soulmate! He completely understood the core of《An Shizhi》, understood Hiroshi Nohara’s brilliantly ingenious concept!
“Great! Great! Great!” Kiyoto Suzuki slapped the table excitedly, his eyes burning with fierce fighting spirit. “Everyone! No rest this weekend! We’ll press the advantage! Bring out our best condition, our best work! Let everyone see just how far Suzuki’s Classroom can go!”
He looked at the group, his voice resounding powerfully.
“Overtime this weekend! Any problems?!”
“None!”
This time, no one felt it was exploitation. Everyone’s faces glowed with the hot-blooded fervor of devoting themselves to a great career.
……
Saturday morning, 12:20 a.m.
【An Shizhi · Luggage Rack】
Crowded, swaying train car.
A well-dressed man squeezed in the crowd, his face full of fatigue and annoyance.
“So tired… so noisy… when will we arrive…” He kept complaining in his mind.
Unintentionally, he looked up, his gaze falling on the luggage rack overhead.
There, something wrapped in white cloth sat, its contents unclear, but it was slightly, rhythmically wriggling.
The man frowned, thinking it was some passenger’s pet. He looked around but found everyone nearby ignoring it—they were either reading newspapers with heads down or resting with eyes closed, as if the wriggling thing didn’t exist.
At that moment, the train braked emergently, and people in the car stumbled around.
The man steadied himself and instinctively glanced at the luggage rack again.
The thing was gone.
He breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he’d seen wrong.
But just as he lowered his head, he felt something slowly dangling down from above his head.
He stiffly, bit by bit, raised his head.
There, the white cloth-wrapped, constantly wriggling thing was now hanging upside down right in front of him, less than ten centimeters from his face.
Beneath the white cloth, something seemed to be struggling to break free.
The man wanted to scream, to back away, but his body was frozen, unable to move.
In his ears rang the voice of his inner thoughts again.
“So tired… I just want to rest…”
“So noisy… I just want quiet…”
“Living… is so hard… I just want… release…”
As the negative, death-longing emotions in his heart grew stronger, the white cloth-wrapped thing in front of him wriggled more and more violently.
It seemed to be feeding on his despair.
Then, one corner of the white cloth was slowly, slowly lifted…
……
Saturday morning, as the sun once again lit up the city, a ratings report worthy of the Tokyo Television Station history books was delivered to every classroom in the production bureau.
“Late-night animation《An Shizhi》, sixth episode ratings: 4.07%.”
“Ratings level—phenomenal!”
The entire production bureau fell utterly silent.
Even in Toshihide Takada’s office, the secretary who had just delivered the briefing quietly retreated, moving very lightly as if terrified, sat back at her seat, not daring to make a sound.
Because she knew full well that Toshihide Takada, deputy director of Tokyo Television Station, was truly very angry.
