Chapter 36: Kiyoto Suzuki’s Resolve
Sunday night quietly faded away, and the morning light of the new week, like diluted lemon juice, sprinkled into the headquarters building of the Tokyo Television Production Bureau.
Some invisible atmosphere was permeating.
Staff who met in the corridor, upon making eye contact, no longer exchanged formulaic nods of greeting, but added a bit of probing and speculation, as if a shared unspoken secret was floating in the air—
《An Shizhi》’s final ratings!
Now, the ratings of this program, which had repeatedly set records even in what could be called garbage time, were soaring.
Even on Saturday, the 4.22% ratings had almost caught up to the ratings of some minor hot time slots during the day!
Who could not be surprised and curious?
Thus, when the report card for episode seven 《Contradiction》 was brought back to Suzuki’s Classroom by Ichiro Hashishita in a posture almost like sleepwalking, that thin piece of paper bore a number enough to make all late-night slot program producers doubt their lives—4.89%.
Only one step away from the mythical 5% threshold!
The office no longer had the clamor of the previous days; everyone seemed to have entered a strange post-nut clarity after being repeatedly washed over by a massive sense of happiness.
They just surrounded that report, gazing at it like artwork, quietly longing for a beautiful future.
Their minds were completely blank.
Not knowing what to say.
Because this 4.89%, just 0.11% short of breaking 5% ratings, could simply be said to have thoroughly swept away all doubt.
One must know that this ratings achievement that was nearly breaking 5%.
Even some minor programs in the golden slot.
Were about the same achievement!
And what An Shizhi broadcast was the worst, most garbage early morning slot since the birth of television programs!
Yet it had achieved such results.
Yet it had achieved such ratings.
It could even be said that this was a ratings achievement they hadn’t thought of, nor dared to think of, at the beginning of the 《An Shizhi》 proposal!
“Hoo—”
Kiyoto Suzuki did not join the young people’s celebration; under everyone’s gaze, he only straightened his suit that hadn’t been ironed smooth in a long time, then exhaled a stifled breath, and alone, walked toward the end of that corridor which he once felt was endlessly long but now seemed within reach.
He took the elevator to the top floor.
Deputy Director Asumi’s office.
The door was open.
The secretary at the doorway respectfully invited Kiyoto Suzuki to go in.
Then Kiyoto Suzuki saw sunlight slanting in from the huge floor-to-ceiling window, illuminating the fine dust in the air as wondrous as golden sands in paradise.
And he also saw Deputy Director Asumi sitting on the sofa.
“Deputy Director!” Kiyoto Suzuki walked over and bowed deeply.
“Mm.”
Asumi had a broad jaw, giving him a square face that appeared very solemn. But at this moment, sitting on the sofa with a cup of green tea in hand, upon seeing Kiyoto Suzuki enter, he broke into a brilliant smile, pointed to the seat opposite, and said: “Sit, Kiyoto.”
His voice was gentle, yet carried the steady authority of long-time superiority that brooked no argument.
Kiyoto Suzuki sat before him, posture respectful, back straight as a rod. He knew that from today, he had the qualification and confidence to sit a bit straighter before this former benefactor and current direct leader.
“You did very well with the 《An Shizhi》 matter.” Asumi set down his tea cup and got straight to the point: “The entire production bureau—no, probably the entire Tokyo television scene—hasn’t seen such a spectacle in many years. You’ve earned tremendous face for us ‘Kanto Stage’ folks.”
“I dare not claim credit.” There was a trace of irrepressible excitement in Kiyoto Suzuki’s voice: “This is all… Nohara-kun’s achievement.”
Without the slightest hesitation, he recounted in detail how Hiroshi Nohara had come to him with the manuscript, proposed that astonishing slideshow-style concept, stabilized morale during the lowest ratings slump, and in just one short week, produced all subsequent high-quality manuscripts as if divinely inspired.
He spoke very calmly, as if stating a fact unrelated to himself.
But that heartfelt admiration and esteem for a young person could not be concealed no matter what.
Asumi listened quietly, a thick interest gradually rising in those deep eyes like an ancient well.
He had learned about Hiroshi Nohara before during a meal together.
He had thought it was just Kiyoto Suzuki, after years of suppression, combined with this young person’s whimsical ideas, achieving a breakthrough.
Yet he hadn’t expected that behind it was such a near-demonic young person.
“You mean.” Asumi’s knuckles tapped lightly on the sofa armrest, producing a rhythmic light sound: “In this battle, the true general is that intern named Hiroshi Nohara?”
“Yes.” Kiyoto Suzuki nodded without hesitation: “I’m just a lucky old soldier chosen by him.”
This sentence made the primary and secondary status between them clear.
Hearing this, Asumi couldn’t help but laugh, the smile carrying a bit of playfulness and a bit of incomprehension: “Kiyoto, you don’t seem like someone who would hand over achievements ripe for the taking. Are you saying this to pave the way for him?”
Kiyoto Suzuki met Asumi’s gaze, a candid even somewhat self-mocking smile appearing on that old face etched with countless ravines by the years.
“Deputy Director, you’re forty-five this year, in your prime. And I’m already fifty-three.”
He said slowly, his voice carrying a calmness of having seen through the ways of the world: “A second-class director position might just be the peak of my mountain. Going higher, I lack the ambition and the energy to fight for it. Thinking that in a few more years, I should probably consider retirement, go home to tend flowers, and spend time with my grandchildren.”
He paused, a glint of sincerity flashing in his eyes:
“But that young person is different. I can feel his mountain isn’t ordinary— it should be Mount Fuji, Everest. Using my minor achievements as a stepping stone for his climb isn’t a loss.”
The office fell quiet, with only the sunlight quietly shifting.
After a long while, Asumi laughed again, shaking his head, the smile now thicker with appreciation.
“Kiyoto, Kiyoto, you’re still the same—seemingly stubborn, but more perceptive than anyone.” He picked up his tea cup and gestured: “Don’t rush to talk about retirement; the war has only just begun.”
He gently pushed a document in front of Kiyoto Suzuki.
“That old fox Takada won’t let it rest like this. His 《Oni-bō Samurai》 airs tonight, and I hear he’s mobilized all resources to crush our ratings.”
Kiyoto Suzuki’s expression grew solemn.
“But that’s just small-scale.” A meaningful arc curved Asumi’s lips: “The station’s top brass is recently evaluating an S-level proposal, also horror theme, but live-action drama. Budget, promotion, broadcast slot—all the station’s top resources.”
His gaze, like a sharp knife, stared straight at Kiyoto Suzuki.
“Originally, this project was practically pre-allocated by Takada to Iwata. But now, the emergence of 《An Shizhi》 has introduced variables. Among the top brass, more than one director has taken great interest in your ‘urban legends’ mode.”
Kiyoto Suzuki’s breathing instantly quickened.
“Deputy Director, you mean…”
“My meaning is…” Asumi’s eyes sharpened: “Have you and your genius intern put in more effort. Use 《An Shizhi》’s second week’s results to tell everyone that your success isn’t accidental, but inevitable. Then, take those results and snatch that S-level project from Takada’s hands for me!”
Boom!
In Kiyoto Suzuki’s mind, it was as if something exploded.
Looking at Asumi’s eyes burning with flame, he felt his long-dormant creator’s heart reignited in this moment.
He abruptly stood up and deeply, deeply bowed to Asumi.
“Hai!”
……
When Kiyoto Suzuki returned to that small office with lingering gunpowder and battle intent, he did not gather everyone.
Instead, he went straight to that corner, to the young person still quietly drawing something.
And he relayed Asumi’s words verbatim to Hiroshi Nohara.
He thought he would see the familiar confident smile on the young person’s face.
However, Hiroshi Nohara just set down his pen, lifted his head, and for the first time, a sharp glint like an unsheathed sword gleamed in those always calm-as-an-ancient-well eyes.
“S-level proposal? Live-action horror drama?”
He said softly, his voice carrying a sense of delight at finally being able to go all out.
“Interesting.”
