Chapter 51: Myth
For Hiroshi Nohara, this was really just a beginning.
On Tuesday night, after the third episode internal and fourth episode Barrier Girl of An Shizhi aired, the ratings curve soared like a giant dragon breaking free from gravity, rearing its head toward the sky in an almost barbarically incomprehensible posture!
Wednesday morning, ratings 5.54%.
Thursday morning, ratings 5.98%.
Friday morning, ratings 6.44%.
Saturday morning, ratings 6.87%!
The numbers, at this moment, seemed to lose their original icy cold meaning.
It was no longer data.
But war drums, a horn.
A triumphant song proclaiming that an old era was being ruthlessly crushed and a new king was rising!
The entire Tokyo Television Production Bureau fell silent.
Those gazes once filled with sympathy and pity had all turned to astonishment.
The astonishment turned into shock.
At the end of the shock was respect for the strong person.
“That Suzuki’s Classroom… no, that Hiroshi Nohara, what kind of monster is he?”
“He’s not making animation; he’s conducting a large-scale psychological experiment on the entire Tokyo audience!”
“I heard that now all the taxi drivers in Tokyo don’t dare to take late-night fares to remote places at night, afraid of encountering something bad, they’re all scared to death!”
“Not just taxi drivers, my older sister doesn’t dare to work overtime at the company now; she gets a creepy feeling at the slightest sign of something bad!”
All sorts of discussions quietly spread in the pantry, in the corridor, in every corner.
The name Hiroshi Nohara, like a mysterious urban legend, alongside the ghosts and monsters from his stories, became the most fascinating and chilling protagonist in this city’s nighttime tales.
……
Finally, Saturday night arrived.
This was the finale of An Shizhi Season 1, and also the final judgment of this two-week ratings war.
The television station unprecedentedly arranged a historic three-episode consecutive broadcast for this late-night animation.
When that familiar nursery rhyme and drumbeat rang out for the last time, all of Tokyo seemed to hold its breath.
【Twist Egg】, 【Farewell】, 【Drum Delivery】.
Three stories, like three poison-quenched scalpels, precisely and mercilessly dissected the most hidden greed, indifference, and ignorance in human nature.
When the final image froze and the words “The End” coldly appeared on the screen, all the audience huddled in front of their televisions felt an ultimate shiver of being completely hollowed out… and emptiness.
Because they were all terrified.
Because these three episodes were themselves a terrorization of human nature and the human heart, an urban legend’s dissection of humanity and assault on the heart!
So any audience who watched these last three episodes of the day would experience that brand-new urban legend sensation.
The brand-new terror it brought.
It would completely shatter the terror of ancient myths and legends.
Making them tremble from body and soul!
And then…
Came the emptiness of the finale arriving, with nothing left to watch afterward.
Anyone would involuntarily miss An Shizhi Season 2, and anyone with a chance would want to watch the replay.
Just like everyone watching the replay of An Shizhi Season 1.
Fascinated by it.
Involuntarily wanting to savor it again!
……
Then, on Sunday morning, when the first ray of sunlight of the new week illuminated the city like divine revelation, a ratings report worthy of the Tokyo Television Station history books was delivered to every desk in the Production Bureau classrooms.
“Late-night Animation An Shizhi, final cumulative ratings: 8.12%!”
“Ratings level—Myth!”
Myth.
When this word appeared on that official report in an irrefutable posture, the entire Tokyo Television Station was completely shaken.
This was no longer a simple victory.
This was a total, resounding subversion launched by an unknown intern leading a guerrilla team of “old, weak, and disabled” that everyone saw as such, against the industry’s entrenched rules, resources, and power.
In Suzuki’s Classroom, a strange silence fell.
No one cheered, no one shed tears.
Everyone just stared dazedly at that number, like a group of mortals gazing up at a monument they had built with their own hands yet surpassed their imagination, their hearts filled with awe and pride.
Hiroshi Nohara stood by the window, looking down at the city below, still tiny as ants and flowing ceaselessly, his gaze calm and profound.
He knew that from today on, he was no longer the intern who needed to borrow Kiyoto Suzuki’s name to navigate this television station.
He, Hiroshi Nohara, had already carved his own first profound mark on this city’s power map with his own name.
And this was still just a beginning.
……
The birth of a myth often does not come with earth-shattering roars, but in countless ordinary mornings, when sunlight falls on this massive steel forest called Tokyo at an angle no different from yesterday, people belatedly realize that certain unbreakable orders have already developed their first profound crack.
Tokyo Television Production Bureau Headquarters Building.
This building, usually wrapped in efficiency and rules like a precision instrument, was today filled with an air of scorching excitement unique to being struck by high-voltage current.
In the pantry, the monotonous hum of the coffee machine was subdued, replaced by whispers.
Those directors who usually looked down on others, discussing prime time ratings and ten-million-level production budgets, were now like inland boys seeing the ocean for the first time, crowding around a thin report, their eyes gleaming with disbelief.
“8.12%… I confirmed it three times, and a friend in the Statistics Department told me this number is correct.” A second-class director known for his rigor spoke in a dreamlike daze: “This is no longer late-night slot ratings; this… this is declaring war on the prime time slot.”
“More than declaring war.”
An old planner pushed up his glasses, his gaze profound behind the lenses: “I specially watched that finale’s three-episode consecutive broadcast last night. Did you notice? It has completely broken away from traditional horror films. It’s toying with hearts, deconstructing the audience’s psychological safety zone. That young person named Hiroshi Nohara isn’t telling ghost stories; he’s using the cheapest cost to give all us television professionals a masterclass on ‘what is creativity’.”
These words plunged the surroundings into even deeper silence.
It was a complex emotion mixing jealousy, awe, and a touch of helplessness.
They were all elites in this industry, accustomed to building works’ barriers with resources, connections, and money.
But now, an unknown young person had effortlessly crossed all their barriers with just a pen and a few sheets of paper, planting his own flag on the territory they were most proud of.
The wind had indeed changed direction.
