Chapter 92: Rave Reviews! 《an Shizhi Season 3》 Released!
The third Monday in July, nightfall draped over Tokyo like a vast velvet soaked in ink, gently enveloping the city.
This sleepless city, after enduring the suffocating noise of the daytime, finally shed some of its irritability, donning a seductive and hazy mask woven from countless neon lights.
And behind this mask, countless pairs of eyes were unanimously focused on the same small glowing box that could make them temporarily forget their real-life troubles.
Shinjuku, Kabukicho, Late-night Diner.
Boss Xiang Shuishang was slowly wiping a freshly heated sake pot with a clean white towel, and on that face always carrying a hint of alienation, there was now, unusually, a faint smile of keen interest.
His gaze was fixed on the small television in the corner of the bar counter.
On the television, the fifteenth episode of World of the Strange, “The Lover Who Came Too Late,” was playing.
In front of the bar counter, several men in black suits who looked menacing but had long been worn smooth by life—the nightclub guards—were now staring intently at the screen, forgetting even to drink the ice-cold beer in front of them, frosted with chill.
“…Tch, this male protagonist is too tragic, isn’t he? He finally mustered the courage to confess, only to find out the other person is a ghost who’s been dead for years.”
A crew-cut strongman with a glimpse of a fierce goddess tattoo on his neck smacked his lips, his voice tinged with a bit of lament.
“Who says otherwise.”
A companion with a shallow scar on his face beside him chugged a big gulp of beer and let out a loud burp: “But Teacher Nohara’s stories are all in this vein, aren’t they? Just when you think it’s going to be sweet, he stabs you with the harshest betrayal. That first episode of ‘Terrifying Touch,’ I still get chills down my back thinking about it.”
“Hey, what do you know!”
The crew-cut strongman immediately retorted, his posture like that of a fanatic fan defending his idol: “This is depth! This is an analysis of humanity! Teacher Nohara’s works are art that makes people think! They’re not on the same level as those gangster movies that are just about fighting and killing!”
These words made the people around him subconsciously touch their noses, not daring to respond.
Who could match this guy’s fighting prowess, after all.
Boss Xiang Shuishang listened to their discussion, the smile at the corner of his mouth growing even wider.
He recalled that a month ago, this bunch was still cursing the garbage made by that guy Masao Iwata, and now they had become loyal fans of that young man.
This young man named Hiroshi Nohara truly had some kind of magic.
“But speaking of which,” the Scar-faced Man glanced at his watch, a look of expectation on his face: “Tonight at 10:30, Teacher Nohara’s restarted An Shizhi Season 3 is about to air, right?”
“Oh oh oh! Right right right! I almost forgot!”
“So exciting! Just wondering if it can be as scary as the first two seasons.”
“It might… be a bit iffy?” A slightly older-looking guard hesitated as he said: “I read in the newspaper that this restart was Teacher Nohara rushing to produce it temporarily to appease the audience. He even said himself not to have too high expectations.”
These words instantly cooled the atmosphere in front of the bar counter by a few degrees.
Yeah, how good could a rushed production be?
Though they had near-blind trust in Hiroshi Nohara, reason was subtly reminding them not to set expectations too high, lest the disappointment hit even harder later.
……
Similar conversations were unfolding simultaneously in countless corners of Tokyo.
In the break room of a taxi operations center, a group of drivers who had just come off shift were gathered around the television, smoking and chattering animatedly.
“Sigh, honestly, I really admire that guy Hiroshi Nohara. He has responsibility. If it were me, I wouldn’t bother cleaning up that mess.”
“Who says otherwise, but a rushed production will definitely compromise quality. Hope… it doesn’t fool people like the last one.”
In the male dormitory at University of Tokyo, the over-energetic academic stars were even more optimistic.
“What’s there to fear! That’s Teacher Nohara! Even if he drew the storyboard with his feet, it’d be a hundred times better than anything that idiot Iwata could come up with using his brain!”
“Exactly! I believe in the teacher! He’s just being modest saying that! Who knows, maybe he’s been holding back a big move this time to scare our eyeballs right out!”
Expectation and worry.
Trust and doubt.
These two diametrically opposed emotions, like two invisible ropes, tightly entwined around the hearts of every An Shizhi veteran fan.
They both yearned for the return of that familiar horror world that could send a chill through summer nights, yet feared that this hard-won hope would ultimately turn into another disappointing farce.
……
10:25 p.m.
The office of Hiroshi Nohara’s Special Production Team was brightly lit.
But the atmosphere was starkly different from the noise outside—quiet, even oppressively so.
All core members were gathered in front of that massive Sony Trinitron Television.
But this time, their gazes were all fixed on the man sitting ramrod straight, his body tensed like a fully drawn bowstring.
Ichiro Hashishita.
Fine beads of sweat covered his forehead, his bloodshot eyes stared fixedly at the black screen, his lips pale from tension, and his hands on his knees clenched tightly into fists.
For him, this was not a simple premiere.
This was a public judgment deciding whether the world would accept him again.
Hoshi Minamimura, Roji Hase, and Yō Kitagawa sat behind him, complex expressions on their young faces.
They still couldn’t fully forgive this man’s betrayal, but seeing his desperate attempt at atonement, the resentment in their hearts inexplicably dissipated a bit.
Kenji Sato and Tsuyoshi Yamamoto, the two veterans of the Kanto Faction, watched him calmly like proctors, their eyes holding both scrutiny and a subtle recognition of a fellow colleague.
They had all seen Ichiro Hashishita’s hard work during this time.
Hearts are made of flesh, after all.
Sometimes…
A few sighs are all it takes.
Only Hiroshi Nohara remained the detached outsider.
He didn’t even watch the television, just holding a cup of warm black tea, leaning against his desk, his gaze keenly observing the micro-expressions of everyone in the office.
Like a master chess player, after making his move, he no longer cared about the battle on the board but enjoyed watching the chess pieces whose destinies he had stirred reveal their most authentic and fascinating humanity.
This gave Hiroshi Nohara a great sense of accomplishment!
10:30 arrived right on time.
The familiar classic opening, carrying a sense of eeriness and antiquity, arrived as promised.
Everyone’s hearts jumped to their throats at that moment.
The screen lit up.
Still the Kamishibai Uncle with the ominous mask, still the rickety bicycle parked under the dusk, still that familiar opening line.
“Come one, come all, take a look—An Shizhi time is here again…”
Just this vibe!
In the office, everyone subconsciously breathed a sigh of relief.
Ichiro Hashishita’s tensed body also relaxed slightly.
He knew that at least for the opening, he had perfectly recreated Hiroshi Nohara’s requirements.
The story officially began.
Season 3 Episode 1—”Lend Me.”
Late at night, in an ordinary apartment bathroom.
A young white-collar worker just off work was preparing to wash away his fatigue.
Steam filled the air, the lighting dim and yellow—everything seemed so everyday, so… normal.
However, just as he undressed and reached to turn on the shower, the bathroom door creaked open a crack.
Then a voice came through that gap.
A woman’s voice, toneless.
“Um…” Her voice seemed to come from an ancient well, carrying a chill not of the living: “Could you lend me your towel…?”
The man was startled but, seeing the pitiful tone in her voice, hesitated and handed over the towel hanging nearby.
“Thank you.” The woman took the towel and vanished behind the door.
The man breathed a sigh of relief, thinking it was just a prank.
But the next second, new words probed from the door crack.
“Um… could you lend me your soap too…?”
“…”
The man began to feel something off, but still handed over the soap.
“Could you lend me your shampoo…?”
“Could you lend me your body wash…?”
The woman’s requests grew more excessive and expensive each time.
Something was also squeezing in bit by bit through the door crack with every “loan.”
The man finally felt bone-deep terror; he wanted to flee, but his legs were like lead, immobile.
Finally, the “Melting Woman” that had fully squeezed into the bathroom revealed a eerie smile on her face.
She extended her similarly bloated, shapeless hands, pointing at the man’s body, and in a near-dreamlike tone, softly said:
“Um… could you lend me yours too…?”
She pointed at his arm, his leg, his… head.
As her sticky fingers touched his skin, the man’s body began melting and deforming like a candle, bit by bit, ultimately absorbed and integrated completely by the woman…
The screen cut to black.
“…”
The office fell into dead silence.
Everyone felt a chill rising from their tailbone straight to the crown of their head.
“…My god.”
After an unknown time, Hoshi Minamimura finally squeezed this word from his throat, best expressing his current mood.
He subconsciously touched his arm, feeling the skin there still faintly numb.
“This… this story…” Roji Hase’s face was somewhat pale: “It’s not about ghosts; it’s about us city dwellers and that cheap goodwill that could bring deadly disaster.”
“Exactly.” Tsuyoshi Yamamoto exhaled deeply: “In a cold city like Tokyo, we’re taught to be kind to others. But who knows if the helping hand you extend will be taken by a monster lurking in the shadows as something it can demand at will?”
“It’s questioning us: in urban survival, is the rule to stay cold and self-protective, or… kind to the point of self-destruction?”
These words plunged everyone present into contemplation.
They finally understood.
Hiroshi Nohara’s restarted An Shizhi Season 3 was no longer just about sensory scares.
Beneath that familiar Japanese horror atmosphere, it injected a deeper layer of philosophical reflection that could resonate with all city dwellers.
This was no longer simple horror animation.
This was a modern urban fable wrapped in ghost stories.
And Ichiro Hashishita, seeing the shocked or thoughtful expressions on everyone’s faces, felt his heart, which had sunk to the bottom, slowly rise again.
He knew he had bet right.
No, Section Chief Nohara had bet right again.
He was just a faithful executor.
……
The fresh shock brought by An Shizhi Season 3 swept through the entire Neon Television Industry again in just minutes.
In the Late-night Diner, those nightclub guards who had just been worrying about quality were now frozen like statues, faces pale, hands holding their beer mugs trembling slightly.
“…From now on, if anyone asks to borrow something from me in a public bath, I’ll… I’ll call the cops right away!”
In the university dorm, after a brief silence, those fearless guys erupted into even more intense discussion than when watching World of the Strange.
“Damn! Damn! Damn! The Melting Woman’s concept is too badass! This is true psychological horror!”
“Teacher Nohara… he… he’s not human! How could he come up with such a twisted yet profound story?!”
“I take back what I said! This isn’t some rushed job—this is Teacher Nohara dropping a big move, giving us a public lesson on humanity!”
“Apologize! I must apologize to Teacher Nohara! I shouldn’t have doubted him!”
This fervor turned from shock into mad fandom, bringing a new wave of calls to Tokyo Television Station’s audience hotline.
But this time, instead of angry curses, it was voices filled with excitement and guilt… apologies.
“…Sorry! I was wrong! I shouldn’t have doubted Teacher Nohara! Please tell him he’s the eternal god in our hearts!”
The next morning, when the final ratings report for the first episode of An Shizhi Season 3 arrived at Hiroshi Nohara’s Special Production Team.
Everyone was stunned again by the number on it.
8.35%!
Though compared to World of the Strange’s terrifying scores often breaking 20%, this seemed modest.
But everyone knew what it meant.
It meant that after the catastrophic failure of Iwata’s Classroom and with reputation nearly collapsed, Hiroshi Nohara had pulled this IP’s ratings back to the peak of Season 2 with just one episode!
Even slightly surpassing it!
This was no longer just turning the tide—this was a miracle!
A miracle only that man could create, uniquely in Hiroshi Nohara’s style!
The office erupted in thunderous cheers again.
Hiroshi Nohara just calmly looked at the report, a faint smile on his lips.
He knew this was just the beginning.
The two real ace bombs he had long planted—An Shizhi Season 4 and Season 5—had yet to detonate.
Meanwhile, the new battlefield of Super Change Change Change, enough to upend the entire variety show landscape, had already opened its doors for him.
This war of his to conquer the entire Neon Television Industry had only just pulled back the curtain.
“Looking forward to it,” Hiroshi Nohara thought with pleasure.
