Chapter 38: So Who Won?
Tuesday’s morning light sprinkled over Tokyo Metropolis, making this prosperous, massive international metropolis seem bathed in a layer of holy light.
Production Bureau Headquarters Building.
Hiroshi Nohara arrived earliest.
“Hmm, this smell is really helpless.” He frowned slightly, his face also showing a bit of helplessness.
Because the office still lingered with the faint aftertaste of alcohol and food mixed from last night’s celebration banquet, like the lingering warmth after a grand festival ends, with the deities departed and the worldly life not yet dispersed.
He walked to the window and opened it.
While at it, he looked at the traffic weaving below like threads, pedestrians like ants, the entire city like a precision giant beast that had just awakened, beginning a new day’s monotonous and regular breathing.
He knew that today, this breathing rhythm would have a few different trembles.
Soon, the classroom door was pushed open, Hoshi Minamimura and Roji Hase entered almost simultaneously, the two young people with a fatigue after a hangover on their faces, and a mental exhilaration, their dark circles like the smoky color smoked out by glory after their heroic battle last night.
“Teacher Nohara, good morning!”
Their greeting carried a sincerity from the depths of their lungs, almost like devotees.
“Morning.” Hiroshi Nohara nodded to them.
Not long after, Kiyoto Suzuki and Ichiro Hashishita also arrived, but Ichiro Hashishita greeted and left.
Looking hurried.
But everyone knew Ichiro Hashishita’s job.
“Good morning everyone! Come eat breakfast!”
Then, the last to arrive, Yō Kitagawa, came in carrying breakfast, placing warm coffee and sandwiches one by one on everyone’s desk.
As the office assistant, during the previous busy times, she had already gotten used to bringing breakfast for everyone.
“Thanks.” Hiroshi Nohara also took an egg sandwich and started eating.
But while eating, they seemed to follow some tacit understanding, sitting around that largest conference table, their gazes occasionally drifting toward the doorway.
They were waiting.
Waiting for Ichiro Hashishita, who had just left to get the verdict document.
“To be honest.” Hoshi Minamimura took a sip of coffee, trying to suppress that nervousness with caffeine, but his voice was still a bit floating: “Last night, when I got home, I watched that 《Oni-bō Samurai》 again…”
“So what did you think?” Roji Hase immediately followed up, everyone’s gazes concentrated over.
“Production… really beyond words.”
Hoshi Minamimura’s tone carried a technician’s admiration: “Fūsha Studio lives up to being top in the industry, that animation, those effects, every frame like burned with money. I dare say, in neon these past few years, few TV animations reach this level.”
His words made the bit of relaxed atmosphere that had just risen in the office sink again.
Even Yō Kitagawa echoed softly: “Yeah… the image is really beautiful, that samurai’s art style is also handsome. My older sister watched and said the image is much better looking than our animation.”
At these words, Roji Hase frowned, somewhat unconvinced as he retorted: “Good looking is good looking, but… but it always feels like something’s missing. That story is too clichéd. Wrongly accused samurai seeks revenge, finally enlightened by a high monk… This kind of story, I heard in rakugo back in elementary school. Far inferior to our 《An Shizhi》, after watching, that lingering aftertaste… Last night I dreamed the elevator door opened, outside was hell.”
“Exactly!”
Hoshi Minamimura nodded vigorously too, quite unconvinced as he said, “《Oni-bō Samurai》’s terror is out in the open, telling you ‘I’m going to scare you.’ While Teacher Nohara’s terror sneaks quietly into your brain, and when you think it’s safe, suddenly hits you. This… this is a difference in realm!”
The two young people got more and more excited, as if belittling the opponent would add confidence to their side.
“Enough.”
Kiyoto Suzuki, who had been silent, slowly spoke at this moment. He held a cup of hot tea, steam curling, making his weather-beaten face somewhat blurred.
His voice wasn’t loud, yet carried an unquestionable steadiness:
“Don’t casually judge the opponent. Section Chief Iwata may not be great as a person, but his ability and resources in this industry are real. Integrating so many top talents and resources to make such a work is a skill in itself. Before the final numbers come out, any judgment is premature.”
His words like a basin of warm water, gently cooling the two young people’s overheated hot-bloodedness.
They exchanged a glance, pursed their lips as if wanting to say something. But thinking of Section Chief Suzuki’s care for them, they sighed and said nothing.
The office returned to tense quietness.
At that moment, the door opened.
‘Click!’
Ichiro Hashishita walked in.
Everyone’s breathing stopped at this instant.
“It’s here!”
Ichiro Hashishita excitedly walked to the table, placing that paper in the center of the table.
“How is it? How is it?!”
“It should have broken 5, right?”
“But yesterday was Tuesday, normally no big ratings boost.”
“Look at the results, look at the results!”
Everyone crowded over, like observing a meteor just fallen from outer space.
“Late-night animation 《An Shizhi》, eighth episode ratings: 4.97%.”
“Ratings level—top-tier!”
“Oh!”
A burst of irrepressible cheers erupted.
Though it didn’t break the 5% mark as expected, this number was enough for them to hold their heads high and accept everyone’s salutes.
This was equally a score worthy of entering the history books!
“Look here.” But Ichiro Hashishita took out another report, smiling mysteriously: “There’s a secret!”
“What?” Everyone looked over, including Kiyoto Suzuki, their faces instantly slightly stunned.
That was 《Oni-bō Samurai》’s ratings report!
“Evening animation 《Oni-bō Samurai》, premiere ratings: 5.03%.”
The office instantly fell silent.
5.03%.
This number like a small mountain peak blocking before them, they looked at this score, ultimately just a tiny bit short.
A barely noticeable disappointment began quietly spreading in the air.
“Everyone.”
Hiroshi Nohara’s voice calmly sounded at this moment.
He had at some unknown time stood behind the crowd, his gaze on the second report, that look like looking at an interesting game opponent.
“What are you disappointed about?”
The crowd was stunned, looking toward him.
Hiroshi Nohara reached out his finger, lightly tapping the two reports.
“One at 12:20 a.m., one at 11:00 p.m. One is the ‘death slot’ everyone thinks is trash time, the other is the ‘late-night slot prime broadcast time’ all advertisers fight to get into.”
The corner of his mouth hooked a faint arc, yet carrying endless sarcasm.
“Thirty minutes broadcast time, countless times the promotional resources, industry’s top production team, in exchange for 0.06% lead.”
He raised his head, his gaze sweeping over every face gradually turning from stunned to enlightened, his voice not loud, yet like a resounding slap, fiercely striking the invisible opponent’s face.
“Tell me, who really won?”
