Chapter 91: Restarting 《an Shizhi Season 3》! Audience Expectations!
“Good… good! We’ll do exactly as you say!”
Deputy Director Asumi approved it without the slightest hesitation: “For the Personnel Department, I’ll immediately restore Ichiro Hashishita’s position. I’ll approve the restart of the An Shizhi third season project right away! Budget, personnel, equipment, you… you just name it!”
He paused, looking at the young person who was still smiling calmly, a wry bitterness appearing on his face.
“However, Hiroshi-kun, that… Super Change Change Change variety show proposal of yours, could we… wait until things settle down a bit, then have a good talk? My heart can’t take another round of your bombardment.”
“Of course.” Hiroshi Nohara smiled and nodded: “We’ll follow the deputy director’s arrangement.”
He was growing fonder and fonder of Deputy Director Asumi now.
It made sense, thinking about it.
No wonder Deputy Director Asumi, even after coming from Kanto Television Station to Tokyo Television Station, had always been suppressed and unable to effectively wield power to help those old brothers from the Kanto Faction.
Yet the people from the Kanto Faction still gathered around Asumi, operating by his commands and instructions.
Tremendous trust.
The reason lay in Asumi’s personal charisma and leadership charisma, which were truly admirable.
Even he, Hiroshi Nohara, had come to like this leader, Asumi.
……
The second week of July, Tokyo, even the entire Neon, seemed enveloped by a hurricane named ‘Hiroshi Nohara’.
The ratings of World of the Strange, like an ancient behemoth that had broken free from all restraints, with a posture nearly barbaric, steadily and stably occupied that terrifying high position at the 21% figure, enough to suffocate all competitors.
This was no longer just simple ratings.
It was truly a cultural phenomenon.
A national carnival that, in just two short weeks, had rapidly permeated every pore of Neon society.
The entertainment sections of major newspapers were almost daily using the most exaggerated headlines to report on this ratings miracle sparked by a young person.
Tokyo Film and Television Drama Report: “From 20.3% to 21.95%! World of the Strange ratings skyrocket, sub-golden slot overlord officially crowned!”
Senior film critic “Blade Pen” from Yomiuri Shimbun was even lavish with praise:
“…I’ve been in film criticism for thirty years and have seen countless films. But never has a work like World of the Strange kept me glued to the television for two straight weeks, like a child encountering the world of images for the first time, shocked sleepless by those bizarre stories.”
“Its most terrifying aspect lies not in those jaw-dropping twists, nor in the production quality rivaling movies. But in how it uses scalpel-like precision to slice open the glossy surface of our seemingly peaceful and prosperous modern society, revealing underneath those utterly real souls filled with loneliness, desire, jealousy, and fear.”
“It is like a mirror in which each of us can see our own distorted, struggling, pathetic, or ridiculous reflection. This is no longer just a simple television drama; it is a ukiyo-e of our era.”
Of course, with praise came another voice inevitably.
Only this time, that voice was no longer doubt, but a kind of… complaint born from love turned to hate.
The reader mail section of Weekly Modern was inundated with letters like snowflakes, and surprisingly, their themes were all consistent.
“—Dear Teacher Hiroshi Nohara, greetings. First, allow me to express my sincerest respect. World of the Strange is the greatest television drama I’ve ever seen, bar none. But as a loyal fan who followed you from the first season of An Shizhi, I still want to ask: Do you… really have the heart to watch that An Shizhi, ruined beyond recognition by the likes of Masao Iwata, just sink away like this?”
“—We know you’re very busy now. But we also know that you alone are the one and only ‘father’ of An Shizhi! Please, save that child! We don’t want to see that mismatched onmyoji or that evil spirit looking like a comedy entertainer anymore! We want to see the kamishibai uncle with the mask, and those true urban legends that keep us from going to the bathroom alone at night!”
This wave of petitions spontaneously raised by the audience to ‘save An Shizhi’, under the media’s fanning the flames, grew ever more intense.
For a time, “Hiroshi Nohara saves An Shizhi!” even became a slogan.
The Tokyo Television Station audience service hotline was once again overwhelmed.
And those snowflake-like petition letters piled up directly from the storage room all the way to the office doorway of Production Bureau Director Nobuhiko Sakata.
Faced with this surging public opinion, the higher-ups at Tokyo Television Station finally couldn’t sit still.
……
So, after some time, Tokyo Television Station and its cooperating newspaper media simultaneously published a bombshell announcement that would drive all An Shizhi fans crazy.
Father of An Shizhi, Hiroshi Nohara, at the earnest request of the broad audience, officially announces: Restarting production of An Shizhi third season! True urban legends are about to return!
This news was like a depth charge exploding the entire fish pond.
The internet instantly boiled over.
“Oh oh oh oh oh! My An Shizhi is back!”
“Teacher Nohara forever! This is truly what the people want!”
“Great! Finally no more of that brainless onmyoji! I can’t wait to be scared sleepless!”
Amid this national carnival, Hiroshi Nohara also gave exclusive interviews to several mainstream media outlets.
Facing the reporters’ questions full of expectation, he appeared unusually humble and low-key.
“…Thank you very much for the audience’s love. Honestly, I didn’t expect everyone’s feelings for An Shizhi to run so deep.”
“However, I must candidly tell everyone that since the World of the Strange project is still ongoing, my personal energy is indeed limited. So, for this restarted third season, my previous team will handle most of the execution. I’ll only provide some high-level oversight on the script and storyboard.”
“Therefore, please don’t have overly high expectations. I can only guarantee it will continue the style of the first two seasons, telling a few authentic urban legends. As for whether it can surpass the previous works, honestly, I… don’t have much confidence.”
These words were truly watertight.
They soothed the audience, left him plenty of leeway, and conveniently pushed his newly integrated team into the spotlight.
This “sincere” statement earned him thunderous applause.
A commentator in Nikkan Kogyo Shimbun wrote: “…In this impetuous era, we’ve seen too many geniuses who become arrogant overnight. But Hiroshi Nohara, with his humility and responsibility, redefines ‘master’ for us. He claims no credit, is not arrogant, and always holds the audience in awe. For someone like him, we have every reason to anticipate his works.”
All the groundwork, all the hype, was complete.
The eyes of all Neon were focused on that upcoming Monday night.
……
And at the center of that storm, in the office of the Hiroshi Nohara Special Production Team, the atmosphere was one of orderly calm.
Hiroshi Nohara had already handed over the complete storyboard draft for the true third season, transcribed from his past life memories, to Ichiro Hashishita and the trio.
“Hashishita-senpai.”
Hiroshi Nohara’s voice was calm, yet carried an unquestionable authority: “The manuscript, the script, it’s all here. How to shoot it, how to edit it—I believe you know better than I do. I have only one requirement: restore it faithfully, without any unnecessary changes.”
“Yes! Section Chief Nohara!”
Ichiro Hashishita took the stack of manuscripts still emanating the fresh scent of ink, his hands trembling uncontrollably.
He looked at those familiar rough lines full of the ‘kamishibai’ pull sensation on the paper, at those eerie stories brimming with Japanese horror aesthetics, and in those eyes long occupied by despair and regret, gratitude and emotion welled up once more.
He knew this was his last chance.
His only chance at redemption.
He threw himself into this production with a near-masochistic frenzy.
He locked himself in the editing room for three days and nights straight, splashing cold water on his face when sleepy, gnawing on dry hard bread when hungry.
He meticulously polished every shot, adjusted every sound effect against the storyboard draft from Hiroshi Nohara, time and again—his focus and dedication ten times more intense than back in Iwata’s Classroom.
And Hoshi Minamimura, Roji Hase, and Yō Kitagawa—these three young people who once hated him to the bone—watching him give it his all, their gazes gradually shifted from icy contempt to something more complex.
Slowly, recognition grew.
Though they still wouldn’t initiate conversation with him, occasionally, when passing the editing room, Yō Kitagawa would quietly place a steaming cup of coffee on his desk.
And Hoshi Minamimura and Roji Hase, seeing his deathly pale face from staying up all night, would frown and leave him a tuna onigiri.
This awkward care was like a warm current, quietly melting a corner of Ichiro Hashishita’s long-frozen heart.
He knew he was being gradually accepted back by the group.
And this hard-won forgiveness only strengthened his resolve to atone.
Friday, 5 p.m.
When the master tape of the first episode of An Shizhi True Third Season, embodying the team’s every effort, was delivered on time to the Audit Department.
Everyone subconsciously breathed a sigh of relief.
The Audit Department’s process went unusually smoothly.
When Aiai Takeshita and her colleagues finished watching that sample film full of authentic, familiar terror.
Everyone revealed knowing smiles.
“That’s more like it.” Aiai Takeshita firmly stamped the approval seal on the review report.
“This is the An Shizhi we wanted to see.”
That very evening, Tokyo Television Station officially announced that An Shizhi True Third Season would air at 10:30 p.m. next Monday.
The news sent fans into merriment.
……
Ginza, late night.
In a serene Japanese-style private room, the air was filled with the rich rice aroma of top-grade sake ‘Juyondai’ mingled with the subtle fragrance of premium incense—a place that should soothe the soul, yet now oppressively cold as an ice cellar.
On the low table, exquisite kaiseki cuisine still steamed faintly; the tender tuna belly, the wagyu beef textured like snowflakes, sat untouched, like two expensive decorations.
Toshihide Takada and Masao Iwata sat facing each other; the elegantly dressed accompany ladies in fine kimonos, at the signal from their icy gazes cold enough to freeze, silently bowed and retreated.
The door closed gently, shutting out the outside noise and fully exposing the thick, palpable gloom in this small space.
“Bang.”
Masao Iwata slammed his sake cup onto the table; that face usually carrying arrogance now showed only alcohol-flushed redness and unwilling ferocity.
“That traitor! That turncoat Ichiro Hashishita!” He spat toward the pristine tatami edge, heedless of decorum, his voice thick with malice: “He actually has the face to return to Nohara Classroom! Deputy Director, do you think he might be a spy planted by that Hiroshi Nohara from the start? Deliberately making us fail?!”
Toshihide Takada said nothing.
He merely gazed calmly with those bottomless eyes at the clear sake in his cup, his posture like admiring a painting unrelated to himself.
Only after a long while did he slowly speak, his voice flat, betraying no emotion.
“Spy?” He chuckled lightly, the laugh carrying icy mockery: “Iwata-kun, you’re thinking too highly of yourself. Would they need to send a spy to deal with you?”
Masao Iwata’s face instantly turned liver-red; he opened his mouth but couldn’t utter a word.
“Perhaps it’s not that Ichiro Hashishita was too incompetent, nor that you were too careless.”
Toshihide Takada raised his head, his icy eyes stabbing like knives, enunciating each word: “Perhaps… that young person named Hiroshi Nohara is just that formidable.”
These words landed like an invisible slap across Masao Iwata’s face, stinging hotly.
Admitting the opponent’s strength was admitting his own incompetence.
Toshihide Takada ignored this now-useless subordinate, turning his gaze to the deep night sky outside the window, shifting topics with a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Hiroshi Nohara really restarted production of An Shizhi third season. Do you think… he can save it?”
Though asking, his gaze fell back on Masao Iwata, icy cold.
After all, Executive Deputy Director Toshihide Takada had been thoroughly berated at the board of directors meeting.
With his face and pride.
He could hardly accept it now!
And Masao Iwata was the culprit!
Masao Iwata’s body shuddered violently; he instantly grasped the implication.
He quickly forced a fawning smile, his posture like a dog eagerly proving loyalty to its master.
“Impossible! Deputy Director!”
He vowed confidently: “An Shizhi’s reputation has been thoroughly tarnished by us… no, by that waste Ichiro Hashishita! Now when audiences hear the name, they think of that mismatched onmyoji! Fraud! Garbage!”
“Even if Hiroshi Nohara has heaven-defying skills, cleaning up this mess in such a short time and winning back all the audience’s hearts is a pipe dream! I bet this restart will at best pull ratings back to around 3%; it won’t stir any waves!”
These words were both his judgment and his hope.
He desperately needed Hiroshi Nohara’s failure to prove his own wasn’t unforgivable.
“Is that so?”
Toshihide Takada raised an eyebrow noncommittally, withdrew his gaze, said no more, and simply drained his cup of icy cold sake.
“Let’s hope so.”
He murmured to himself, his tone lacking much of its earlier confidence.
