Chapter 87: The Storm Continues! Ichiro Hashishita Is Going To Jump Into The River!
The July wind, carrying the scorching and restlessness unique to midsummer, blew through Tokyo, this steel forest as prosperous as blazing fire cooking oil.
Time passed like a white steed fleeting by the gap, quietly slipping into the second week.
And the ratings storm stirred up by《World of the Strange》, far from receding gradually after the initial explosion as all professionals expected, instead persisted steadily and stably in a terrifying high position that nearly defied the laws of physics, suffocating all competitors.
Monday, episode eight《Indisposable Garbage》, ratings: 20.88%.
Tuesday, episode nine《Suffocating Dinner》, ratings: 21.05%.
Wednesday, episode ten《Gift》, ratings: 21.03%.
When the final ratings report for Friday’s episode twelve《Intimate Family》 flew into the offices of various departments at Tokyo Television Station like snowflakes, everyone was completely stunned by the glaring number on it.
21.35%!
“It seems《World of the Strange》’s ratings have stabilized around 21%! This is… too terrifying!”
“This is simply a miracle! A sub-golden slot program creating ratings worthy of prime time slot!”
“Wait! If it weren’t for our prime time slot program this time being《Yesterday’s Cherry Blossom》, that first-class director, the god of romance dramas, Keiko Matsumoto’s heartfelt masterpiece polished over ten years, it’s hard to say who would win or lose!”
“Exactly! This is too terrifying! In the past,《World of the Strange》 would have been the highest ratings!”
Inside Tokyo Television Station, all film and television practitioners were now discussing the daily ratings of《World of the Strange》.
This had become a topic.
It had even become the hottest discussion phenomenon at Tokyo Television Station in recent years!
Some even said this was no longer simply ratings.
But rather…
A cultural phenomenon!
A cultural phenomenon formed by ‘Urban Legends’ that deeply penetrated the hearts and character of Japanese People!
After all, anyone could sense that ‘Urban Legends’ truly fit too well with Japanese cultural customs!
…
Saturday, 8:55 PM.
Tokyo Television Station, studio one backstage.
The production team for《Yesterday’s Cherry Blossom》 was shrouded in a low-pressure atmosphere.
As the ace of Tokyo Television Station’s prime 8 PM slot, this S-class era romance proposal personally helmed by first-class director “god of romance dramas” Keiko Matsumoto had once been the pride of the entire station.
It was also the benchmark for the Tokyo faction’s external promotion.
However now, this pride was being relentlessly devoured bit by bit by the aggressive monster from the neighboring sub-golden slot.
“Director Matsumoto, the ratings estimate is out…”
The assistant director’s voice trembled with a hint of unwillingness to meet her gaze.
“Speak.”
Keiko Matsumoto, a powerful woman over fifty yet still alluring, renowned for her dominance and perfectionism, stood with arms crossed against the wall, her usually meticulously made-up face now icy cold.
“Ours… this episode’s estimated ratings are… 21.50%.” The assistant director swallowed and replied.
“And the neighbor?” Keiko Matsumoto’s voice betrayed no emotion.
“…《World of the Strange》, episode thirteen,《Monkey’s Paw》’s estimated ratings are… 21.80%.” The assistant director’s voice grew smaller, almost inaudible by the end.
“…”
The entire backstage fell into dead silence.
Everyone stood frozen like quails, not daring to make a sound, their faces etched with incredulous horror.
Lost?
They, the ace of Tokyo Television Station, the overlord of prime time, were actually… going to lose to a sub-golden slot program?
And to a new program that had aired for less than two weeks?!
This was no mere failure; it was disgrace!
A humiliation severe enough to tarnish even “god of romance dramas” Keiko Matsumoto’s reputation!
“Impossible!”
Keiko Matsumoto jerked her head up, a flash of anger in her confident, proud eyes: “This is just an estimate! Final data isn’t out yet! Our drama’s climax is in the second half! Ratings will rebound!”
But her words rang hollow to the crowd.
Because they had all seen that《World of the Strange》.
They knew all too well how terrifying the urban legend crafted by that young man Hiroshi Nohara was.
It wasn’t mere horror or suspense.
It was a scalpel-precise dissection of the deepest human loneliness, desire, jealousy, and fear.
Like a mirror, it reflected the twisted, dark shadows in every ordinary person’s heart within this seemingly peaceful, prosperous society.
This soul-striking resonance was something their drama, filled with handsome men, beautiful women, and romantic tales, could never match.
Finally, at 10 PM, when the final ratings reports for both dramas reached Keiko Matsumoto.
《Yesterday’s Cherry Blossom》: 21.45%.
《World of the Strange》: 21.95%.
A 0.5% ratings gap.
A seemingly negligible number, yet an insurmountable chasm between two eras.
Keiko Matsumoto stared blankly at the report, her coffee cup tilting unnoticed, spilling hot liquid over her expensive Chanel suit.
The prideful face drained of all color in an instant.
“Truly… the young are formidable.” She tossed the coffee cup to the ground with a light clink.
She didn’t care about the spill on Tokyo TV’s carpet.
As a first-class director, she had that authority.
Yet she had absolute confidence in her peak masterpiece, the television drama《Yesterday’s Cherry Blossom》.
But that confidence was shattered by a young man’s raw ratings!
She felt exhausted.
…
This unprecedented “sub-golden slot overtakes prime time” event detonated like a hydrogen bomb across Neon Country’s television industry.
Osaka, Kansai Television Station.
“Found out yet?! What’s that Hiroshi Nohara’s background?!”
Director Hiroshi Yamauchi’s roar nearly lifted the office roof.
“D-Director…” The subordinate’s voice cracked: “W-We found him. H-He’s just a villager from Akita Prefecture, a fresh graduate in Tokyo less than a year…”
“…”
Yamauchi roared again: “And? Contacted him? A villager hasn’t seen real money! Throw money at him! Smash! Smash! Smash!”
He gnashed his teeth in fury at these dense subordinates.
…
Nagoya, Chukyo Television Station.
“Imitate? Imitate my ass!”
The head of production slammed the ratings report onto subordinates poring over《World of the Strange》 video tapes.
“They’ve evolved to crush prime time! You can’t even see their taillights! Drop all imitation now! Think! Create something new to surpass him! Fail, and get out!”
The subordinates hung their heads in grievance, silent.
After all, the leader was always right.
You said imitate.
You said plagiarism.
Now you say innovate—but is innovation that easy?
If they could innovate, would they be here getting reamed?
…
Amid this nationwide storm, local station bosses who once eyed Hiroshi Nohara sobered up.
Staring at the 21.95% report, only bitter smiles remained.
What a joke?
A monster who single-handedly made sub-golden slot outrate prime time—Tokyo TV would let him go?
That old fox Nobuhiko Sakata would treat him like a father!
All they could do was pray this young man kept his demonic hands off their turf.
Hope he showed no more miracles soon.
Otherwise…
This 23-year-old would dominate Neon Country’s film and television industry for decades!
Then they’d truly despair!
…
Unbeknownst to them, the “demon god” youth lounged in his spacious office, sipping top Blue Mountain coffee brewed by Yō Kitagawa.
While flipping through a file with interest.
Compiled overnight by Kenji Sato and Tsuyoshi Yamamoto: detailed data on this world’s major creative variety shows.
After all, he promised Deputy Director Asumi a variety show proposal.
Reviewing them one by one.
These creative variety shows had humor and quirks, but differed fundamentally from《Super Change Change Change》.
“About time.”
Hiroshi Nohara’s lips curved confidently.
With《World of the Strange》 a huge success, time to test Neon’s variety scene with a small flex!
He set down the cup, picked up the phone, and dialed Asumi’s extension.
“Deputy Director, it’s me.”
His voice calm: “I have new ideas to add to that《Super Change Change Change》 proposal.”
…
Unlike the upbeat Nohara Classroom, Iwata’s Classroom was deathly silent.
“Creak—”
Personnel Department door pushed open by a stone-faced female staffer, files in hand, high heels clicking coldly on the floor like death knells on every heart.
“Iwata Classroom,《An Shizhi》 Season 3 project failure, personnel penalty decisions.”
No nonsense, she distributed files like death notices, one per desk, in icy official tone.
Only the rustle of paper on desktops pierced the office.
Ichiro Hashishita trembled like a leaf in wind.
He reached out shakily; the thin A4 sheet felt like a thousand pounds, icy in his fingers.
His eyes scanned the fate-sealing text word by word.
“…After Production Bureau review, Ichiro Hashishita, as line producer fully responsible for《An Shizhi》 production, bears undeniable major responsibility for the project’s reputational collapse, ratings plunge, and severe damage to the station…”
“…Now decided: revoke deputy section chief position, reassign to… Kanto Television Station, as… Logistics Department data organizer.”
Reassign to… Kanto Television Station?
Logistics Department… data organizer?
“Boom—!”
The decision struck like thunder, shattering his despair-filled mind!
He froze, eyes boring into the cold black text, as if to pierce the paper.
Kanto Television Station!
The place he desperately fled!
Where he betrayed colleagues, mentor, Hiroshi Nohara for a Tokyo TV deputy section chief spot!
Now discarded like trash back there?!
As the lowliest logistics data organizer without a real post?!
No mere penalty!
Humiliation! Exile! Social death!
He could picture the cold, contemptuous stares upon return.
Former brothers-in-arms colleagues, hopeful seniors, and… the mentor Kiyoto Suzuki he betrayed…
How would they see him?
A turncoat kicked by his new master?
A schemer left with nothing, a stray dog?
No!
Unfair!
Rage of humiliation and unwillingness surged from soles to crown!
He snatched a colleague’s penalty list!
“Masao Iwata barred from promotion for three years…”
“Deduct half-year performance bonus from other team members…”
…
Penalties flashed before him.
No firings, demotions, even proper warnings!
Masao Iwata, project head culprit, just no promotion for three years!
While he, the “traitor” scapegoat, paid with his life!
“Why?! Why this?!”
He roared like a cornered beast, shrill with despair.
But ex-colleagues watched coldly, like he was a irrelevant clown’s final act.
“Shut up! Own your mistakes.”
“Yeah, if not for your guarantees, would we lose half-year bonuses?”
“Get lost, you bring bad luck.”
Poisoned knives of words shredded his battered heart.
He wanted to wreck the office, confront Toshihide Takada on the injustice!
But…
Visions of his wife’s worried gentle face, son’s innocent 8-year-old smile…
Monthly mortgage and car loan nooses…
All rage deflated like a punctured balloon.
Replaced by endless, devouring… despair.
“Sob…”
The 35-year-old man collapsed like a child, head in arms, sobbing painfully.
Tears seeped through fingers, staining the floor in dark despair blooms.
No one comforted him.
No one cared.
A forgotten ghost, tasting betrayal’s bitter fruit alone.
Finally, he rose slowly, wiped his face with sleeve, packed meager belongings into a prepared cardboard box.
Ichiro Hashishita seemed adjusted.
Clutching the heavy box bearing his failed life, he trudged out of the office that plunged him from heaven to hell.
Corridor bustled.
No one stopped for him.
No goodbyes.
A transparent specter, he passed familiar-yet-strange faces, vanishing behind the elevator’s cold doors.
A silver low-end Toyota sedan threaded Tokyo’s night.
Outside, the city’s garish ukiyo-e of neon mocked the city-abandoned loser.
Ichiro Hashishita didn’t want to go home.
How to face his wife’s worried eyes, explain to son why dad no longer went to that grand building?
He parked by a quiet Sumida River lane.
Time stretched endlessly.
Until the world hushed, only river lapping tirelessly at cold banks.
Slumped on the wheel, staring at the black abyss reflecting city lights, tempting a leap.
Maybe jump, and worry ends.
No loans, no sneers, no suffocating family guilt.
‘Just end it.’
‘Ended, all fine.’
So thinking, his hand reached uncontrollably for the door handle.
