Chapter 46: Conspiracy
In Iwata’s Classroom, the atmosphere was completely different from the discussions outside.
The desk that Masao Iwata had personally flipped over had been righted and wiped clean by the diligent assistant. The mess on the floor had also been completely cleared away, as if that rage had never happened.
Masao Iwata had changed into a brand-new suit, his hair combed meticulously, and his face once again wore that familiar smile with a touch of arrogance and haughtiness.
He held a glass of champagne, proudly accepting the “congratulations” from his subordinates.
“Section Chief! I knew it! Ichiban is absolutely ours!” That confidant named Anren had a fawning expression more than ever: “What An Shizhi, just a clown who got lucky! In front of your true epic masterpiece, it ultimately revealed its true colors!”
“That’s right! Rules are rules! Average ratings are the way! This proves that our Oni-bō Samurai won the audience’s love from the start—it’s a true powerhouse!”
“Section Chief is brilliant! Deputy Director Takada is brilliant!”
Various voices of praise filled the office again, refilling it with a joyful air.
Masao Iwata leisurely swirled the golden liquid in his glass, savoring this victory. He seemed to have returned to being that omnipotent Section Chief Iwata who planned strategies.
This was a victory bought with power and shamelessness.
He relished it all the same.
However, behind those fawning smiles hid a few pairs of eyes that couldn’t conceal their guilty conscience.
They knew better than anyone what the cost of this “victory” was.
Just yesterday, the finance department had officially issued a notice: the production budget for Oni-bō Samurai’s follow-up had been… cut.
This meant that their so-called “epic masterpiece” would have no second season.
It was like an epiphyllum forced to bloom with money—gloriously brilliant for a moment, fulfilling its role as a tool in political struggle, then ruthlessly discarded like worn-out shoes.
They won face but lost the substance, lost the future.
Masao Iwata certainly knew this too, but at this moment, he could only numb his heart—already riddled with holes from fear and humiliation—with alcohol and flattery.
……
As night deepened, Masao Iwata ended a celebratory banquet, reeking of alcohol but not heading straight home. He detoured to Ginza’s most upscale jewelry store and used the bonus from his recent “ichiban” win to buy an expensive diamond necklace.
Then, like a prisoner about to mount the guillotine, clutching a last shred of hope, he drove to Toshihide Takada’s mansion in Minato Ward.
The door was opened by Deputy Director Takada’s wife, Megumi. She was also Masao Iwata’s cousin.
A woman nearing forty, yet well-maintained and still alluring.
She wore silk loungewear, exuding a mix of expensive perfume and laziness.
“Oh, it’s Masao. Come in quickly.” Seeing Masao Iwata, Megumi’s face lit up with an enthusiastic smile: “Your brother-in-law is in a bad mood today. You came at the right time—help me talk him around.”
As she spoke, she ushered Iwata into the living room.
“Cousin, a small token—not much, but with respect.” Masao Iwata hurriedly handed over the exquisite jewelry box, his posture humbly like a poor relative visiting a benefactor.
Of course, the reality was about the same.
“Oh my, you child, you come and even bring a gift.” Megumi demurred with words, but her hands were straightforward.
She deftly opened the box, and upon seeing the diamond necklace sparkling brilliantly under the lights, her shrewd, calculating eyes burst with undisguised surprise and greed.
“Wow… so beautiful! Masao, your taste is getting better and better! This necklace pairs perfectly with that Dior evening gown I bought last week!”
She clasped the necklace around her still-fair neck, rushed to the mirror, admired herself from all angles, utterly delighted, completely forgetting her husband’s “bad mood.”
At that moment, the study room door opened.
Toshihide Takada emerged wearing a dark robe.
His face showed no expression, just a faint glance at his wife preening before the mirror and the glaring diamond necklace, before he said flatly: “Megumi, go back to the room first. I need to talk to Masao.”
“Okay~” Megumi threw a flirtatious glance at her husband and cousin, then sauntered upstairs contentedly.
The living room held only the two men.
Toshihide Takada went to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a whiskey, but offered none to Masao Iwata. He sat on the sofa with his glass, silent for a long time before slowly speaking.
“You’re… getting better at handling people.”
His tone held no hint of praise or criticism.
“Yes!” Masao Iwata’s heart leaped to his throat; he hurriedly bowed ninety degrees: “It’s all thanks to your guidance, brother-in-law.”
“Hmph!” Toshihide Takada snorted lightly, took a sip of his drink; the amber liquid seemed to ease his mood somewhat.
“Sit.” He pointed to the sofa opposite.
Only then did Masao Iwata cautiously sit on half the sofa, back ramrod straight.
“Have you watched that An Shizhi of yours these past few days?” Toshihide Takada suddenly asked an unrelated question.
Masao Iwata froze, then quickly replied: “I… I have.”
“What did you think?”
“The production… is crude, but… the creativity does have… some good points.” Masao Iwata painfully forced out this insincere truth through gritted teeth.
“More than just ‘some good points.'”
A cold arc hooked the corner of Toshihide Takada’s mouth: “I hear those self-important guys in the bureau are holding classroom seminars privately, discussing nothing but that so-called ‘urban legends.’ Even a few first-class directors are praising that ‘psychological horror’ approach. They say it’s a new direction for the horror genre.”
His words stabbed like poisoned knives into Masao Iwata’s heart, making his already pallid face even whiter.
This was high praise.
First-class directors at Tokyo Television Station were pillar-level directors, and they called An Shizhi a new direction for horror themes.
If this spread to society.
It would be quite a disturbance!
Flames of jealousy burned wildly in his chest, nearly incinerating him to ashes.
He clenched his fists tightly, nails digging deep into his palm.
“Deputy Director, what about… Suzuki and them…”
“They won’t bounce around much longer.” A ruthless glint flashed in Toshihide Takada’s eyes; knowing what Masao Iwata meant, he took a sip and gritted out: “I’ve got a plan. Once this blows over, I’ll find an excuse to bundle him and his whole classroom together and ship them to Hokkaido! Without his most capable dog, let’s see how Asumi fights me!”
He paused, his bottomless eyes fixing on Masao Iwata, tone solemn:
“But before they get the boot, you have one more thing to do.”
“Please instruct me!”
“Suzuki’s Classroom is full of losers, but there seem to be one or two diamonds in the rough.”
Toshihide Takada’s knuckles tapped lightly on the glass cup: “Especially that young person named Hiroshi Nohara. I checked—he’s not only the original creator of An Shizhi but also the hottest newcomer on Shonen JUMP right now. Letting talent like that go to Hokkaido with Suzuki to feed the bears would be a waste.”
He looked at Masao Iwata, his gaze like a master hunter teaching his hound how to catch the slyest prey.
“You go, make contact with them. Tell them Suzuki’s fate is sealed. Smart people know to choose a ship that won’t sink. Especially Hiroshi Nohara—if I can use him…”
A meaningful smile curved Toshihide Takada’s lips.
“Then we’ll not only remove one of Asumi’s chess pieces but turn that piece into the sharpest knife in our hand.”
“Yes!” Masao Iwata swallowed hard; though still resentful and burning with jealousy, he bowed deeply once more: “I’ll do it!”
