Chapter 95: Director Sakata’s Banquet! Keiko Matsumoto’s Curiosity
Hiroshi Nohara dealt with those harassers, then picked up his briefcase and returned to the apartment housing his beloved.
“I’m back!”
“Welcome back!”
Accompanied by a burst of fragrant breeze, a delicate figure pounced over like a swallow returning to the forest.
Misae was still wearing that apron printed with a cute little bear pattern, with a few sparkling water droplets clinging to her hair tips, and on that always somewhat naive pretty face, there was now a mix of helplessness and sweetness in her complaint.
“Hiroshi-kun, you’re finally back!”
She extended her slender index finger and gently poked Hiroshi Nohara’s chest, her big watery eyes filled with helpless coquetry: “You have no idea how many guests came to the house today! The telephone was almost ringing off the hook! Some said they were from Nagoya, some from Osaka, and there was one from Fukuoka with a heavy accent—I only understood after listening for half a day—all looking for you!”
As she spoke, she tiptoed to help him undo the button at his collar, her posture like that of a dutiful little wife.
Extremely virtuous!
Hiroshi Nohara looked at her cute appearance, his heart softening, and smilingly pulled her into his arms, planting a gentle kiss on her smooth forehead.
“You’ve worked hard, my Mrs. Nohara.”
“Hmph, you know it.” Misae pouted, but the sweet smile in her eyes couldn’t be hidden no matter what.
She took his hand and seated him at the dining table, then like a little squirrel presenting treasure, she brought out several homemade side dishes from the kitchen.
No French escargot, no Saga wagyu beef that melted in the mouth.
Just a plate of freshly simmered tamagoyaki in high-stock broth, a refreshing cold salad of fresh dried small fish and radish mash, and a pot of potato stew still steaming with a rich soy sauce aroma.
Very ordinary, very homey.
But that aroma blending soy sauce, mirin, and the food’s own fragrance was like the gentlest hand, instantly soothing Hiroshi Nohara’s fatigue from a day of running around outside.
This was the taste of home.
After a satisfying meal and some passionate exercise, the two cuddled on the small sofa, watching a boring variety show on television, enjoying this tranquility unique to them.
Misae lay lazily like a cat, resting her little head on his lap, holding a fashion magazine and casually flipping through it, but her beautiful big eyes kept sneaking glances at him, her gaze like a lake brimming with starlight.
She had been stunning earlier.
She was still basking in the afterglow now.
Especially seeing the young, handsome, and capable Hiroshi Nohara as her boyfriend, her future husband.
Misae felt an unreal sense of illusion.
As if she were a thief in life.
Stealing… a wonderful life that didn’t belong to her.
“Hee hee.” Misae, who was actually only 17 years old, giggled with secret delight.
“Little glutton, are you craving again?” Hiroshi Nohara reached out, pulled her forcefully into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her hair scented with shampoo’s fresh fragrance, while pondering his own thoughts.
It was the bubble economy brought to mind by those three harassers just now, and whether he could escape the vortex.
He even had a 60-square-meter apartment awarded by Tokyo Television Station!
“The apartment…” he murmured softly.
On the eve of this bubble economy about to be mercilessly burst, an apartment in central Tokyo was less an asset and more a ticking time bomb about to explode.
Endure another two or three years, until desolation everywhere and housing prices cheaper than paper, and he would have plenty of chances to buy a larger, better house with a yard at one-tenth, even one-hundredth of the current price.
“Ah, speaking of the apartment!”
Misae, nestled in his arms, seemed triggered like a switch, suddenly sitting upright, her bright big eyes sparkling with excitement: “Hiroshi-kun, I asked at the agency today! Our apartment in Setagaya Ward has been listed!”
She counted on her slender fingers, like a little money-grubber, proudly reporting with a smug face:
“The uncle at the agency said our place has a great location, and being awarded by the television station gives it a prestigious name—lots of people are clamoring for it! He said, at the current market price of 380,000 yen per square meter, our 40-square-meter little apartment can sell for at least over 20 million yen!”
Over 20 million!
The number turned Misae’s eyes into money symbols; she cupped her face with both hands, her little face full of longing for the future: “Hiroshi-kun, are we really going to sell it? That’s a 20-million-yen apartment! It’d be such a pity to sell it!”
“Silly girl.”
Hiroshi Nohara looked at her money-obsessed cute look and couldn’t help laughing as he pinched her nose: “The apartment is dead, money is alive. Listen to me—if someone offers, sell it as soon as it’s no less than 20 million. Keep part of the cash, and use the other part to buy gold.”
“Buy gold?” Misae’s simple little head instantly filled with question marks.
“Mm.” Hiroshi Nohara nodded but didn’t explain further.
He couldn’t exactly tell her that in less than two years, the yen would plummet unprecedentedly, and gold would become the world’s most solid hard currency, could he?
“Listen to me, it won’t be wrong.” He just gently ruffled her hair with an unquestionable tenderness.
“Oh… alright.” Though Misae was still puzzled, she had long developed near-blind trust in this omnipotent man of hers.
She nodded obediently, like a kitten smoothed by its owner, and snuggled back into his arms.
But after a moment, she seemed to remember something, and a hint of expectation reappeared in her beautiful big eyes.
“Um… Hiroshi-kun.” Her voice was as soft as a mosquito’s, tentative: “Once the apartment sells, can I… go out to work? I don’t want to stay home all the time; I feel so useless.”
“Wait another two years.” Hiroshi Nohara answered almost without thinking.
He certainly couldn’t tell her that in two years, the economic crisis would erupt, countless companies would collapse, unemployment would soar, and a stable job would become more precious than gold.
He didn’t want her to go through that era’s pain.
He just wanted her to forever be carefree, as Mrs. Nohara, responsible only for being beautiful.
“Oh…” Misae pouted, a bit disappointed but didn’t persist.
‘Beep! Beep beep!’
At that moment, an urgent electronic beep rang from Hiroshi Nohara’s pager on the tea table, shattering the warm tranquility.
He picked up the small black square, glanced at the unfamiliar number and short message on the screen, and his always smiling eyes narrowed slightly: “Hm? This is!?”
【Nohara-kun, this is Director Sakata. Asumi gave me your number. If you have time, could you come to Ginza’s ‘Kikusaburo’ for a chat?】
Director Sakata?
Director Sakata!
The weight this name represented flashed instantly in Hiroshi Nohara’s mind.
Nobuhiko Sakata, Director of Tokyo Television Production Bureau, also serving as Executive Deputy Station Manager.
In this country where the Station Manager was just a government appointee more like an administrative official, this Executive Deputy Station Manager holding real power in the Production Bureau was, in a sense, the true, unquestionable emperor of the entire Tokyo Television Station!
Such a top-tier figure who normally only existed in legends actually… personally paged him?
Hiroshi Nohara didn’t reply immediately; he picked up the phone on the table and dialed a number he knew by heart.
“Hello, Deputy Director Asumi, it’s me.”
“Hahaha! Hiroshi-kun! You finally called!” From the other end came Asumi’s unrestrained, triumphant laughter: “Don’t hesitate! Come quick! Director Sakata is in a good mood today, he brought up your《World of the Strange》and《An Shizhi Season 3》, and specifically wants to meet you, the young genius!”
The excitement and pride in his tone practically overflowed the handset.
After all, everyone knew Hiroshi Nohara was his man, the rising star of their Kanto Faction.
Now even Director Sakata was inviting Hiroshi Nohara over.
Didn’t that mean their Kanto Faction’s rising star had received recognition from Director Sakata?
“I understand.”
Hanging up, Hiroshi Nohara turned to the girl watching him with curious and worried eyes, and his face broke into a gentle smile again.
“Work matter, a very important gathering—I have to go.”
“Mm, then go quickly, don’t keep the leader waiting.” Misae nodded obediently and got up to fetch his jacket.
……
Ginza, Kikusaburo.
This legendary top private club, where even a napkin was said to cost more than an ordinary salaryman’s daily wage, was brightly lit at the moment.
When Hiroshi Nohara, personally escorted by the club’s manager in a high-end custom kimono with a graceful figure, pushed open the heavy private room door carved from a whole piece of golden silk nanmu wood, a mix of thick premium cigar smoke, mellow aged whiskey, and… the suffocating aura of peak power hit him head-on.
Shadows of people flickered around the huge circular rosewood dining table.
Nearly twenty people.
Hiroshi Nohara’s peripheral vision swept over, finding every person present to be a film and television industry heavyweight in Tokyo Television Station or even the entire Neon Television Industry, someone who could trigger a minor earthquake with a stomp.
In the host seat sat the legendary Director of Production Bureau, Nobuhiko Sakata.
He appeared to be in his early fifties, slightly plump, always wearing a kindly Maitreya Buddha-like smile, but his occasionally narrowed eyes flashed with the sharp glint of a superior.
To his left and right were Kanto Faction’s Deputy Director Asumi and Tokyo Faction’s Executive Deputy Director Toshihide Takada.
Further down were several elusive first-class directors and a few of the most prominent second-class directors currently in the Production Bureau.
Keiko Matsumoto was prominently among them.
The entire private room was filled with clinking glasses and cheerful chatter, the atmosphere seemingly harmonious but actually sharply divided.
The Kanto Faction led by Asumi and Eiji Kurosawa versus the Tokyo Faction led by Toshihide Takada and Keiko Matsumoto, each occupying half the territory, their invisible stances and auras clashing fiercely in the air, stirring unseen ripples.
And in this top-tier dinner akin to gods battling, Hiroshi Nohara—this fourth-class director who wasn’t even a third-class one, merely holding the title of “Special Production Team Section Chief”—stood out so abruptly, so… out of place.
“Hm? Who’s this kid?”
A flushed-faced second-class director named Takashi Sato, with a shiny bald Mediterranean pate, was the first to frown.
Because of the dim light, he hadn’t seen clearly who it was, just that it was a young person.
He eyed sideways, in a boorish tone thick with alcohol, undisguised rudeness to his drunken long-faced companion beside him: “This is our Production Bureau’s core meeting—how can any tomcat or bobtail sneak in?”
“Who knows.” Second-class director Ken Tanaka, the long-faced one, curled his lip, his voice dripping with sour jealousy: “Probably that old guy Asumi promoting his faction’s newbie, bringing him to see the world. Hmph, kids these days are clueless, thinking one or two decently rated programs lets them soar to the top.”
Perhaps they had seen clearly who it was, or guessed.
But how could the Tokyo Faction admit it?
Their voices weren’t loud, but just clear enough for everyone present to hear distinctly.
The contemptuous and disdainful muttering was like two invisible needles, precisely stabbing at the young man who had just stepped into this fame and fortune arena.
Yet Hiroshi Nohara acted as if he hadn’t heard.
His expression unchanged, he calmly performed a standard bow toward Nobuhiko Sakata in the host seat.
“Director Sakata, seniors, good evening. Junior Hiroshi Nohara is late—please forgive me.”
His posture neither humble nor arrogant, composed and proper.
Dignified and upright.
“Hahaha! Not late, not late! Perfect timing!”
Before Nobuhiko Sakata could speak, Asumi stood first like a protective mother hen, striding to Hiroshi Nohara’s side, enthusiastically draping an arm around his shoulders and leading him to the seat beside his.
“Come, come, Hiroshi-kun, let me introduce you.”
He pointed at the chuckling fat man in the host seat, his tone full of heartfelt pride: “This is our Production Bureau’s patriarch, Director Nobuhiko Sakata.”
“Director, this is the one I’ve mentioned to you many times, our Kanto Faction’s—no, Tokyo Television Station’s future, highly talented… Hiroshi Nohara!”
Eiji Kurosawa also set down his glass at this moment, eyes showing an elder’s appreciation for a junior, and laughed loudly to Nobuhiko Sakata: “Director Sakata, this old man vouches for it—this young man’s future is limitless.”
“Oh?”
A glint imperceptible flashed in Nobuhiko Sakata’s narrowed eyes.
He had seen Hiroshi Nohara’s materials.
And knew his talent.
But he hadn’t expected his subordinate Asumi and the first-class director Eiji Kurosawa, whom he had always respected, to defend and value this young man so much—it indeed piqued his curiosity.
Nobuhiko Sakata sized up the young man before him carefully from top to bottom.
Handsome, upright, steady demeanor, clear eyes—facing this group who could decide his future fate, no trace of nervousness or fawning on his face, just calm composure.
What a young man.
Nobuhiko Sakata praised inwardly, his kindly smile growing even brighter.
“Hahaha! Good! What a limitless future!”
He raised his glass to Hiroshi Nohara in a distant toast, his voice booming with a superior’s approval: “Nohara-kun, your《World of the Strange》, I watched it. Very well done! Extremely well! Not just the ratings—more importantly, it opened a whole new field full of possibilities for our Tokyo Television Station, for our entire Neon Television Industry!”
“And your《An Shizhi Season 3》, stepping up in crisis, turning the tide—this responsibility, this ability, even makes this senior feel ashamed!”
“You brought huge honor to our Tokyo Television Station! This drink, to you!”
Finishing, he downed the expensive sake in his cup in one go, his posture bold and unchallengeable.
These words, this demeanor, landed like a bombshell on the hearts of all Tokyo Faction members present!
Toshihide Takada’s sullen face darkened another three shades.
Those two second-class directors who had just been snide were like throttled by an invisible hand, their flushed faces purpling like overripe pig livers.
And Keiko Matsumoto, the “Romance Drama Goddess” who had been quietly sitting in the corner as if detached, finally slowly lifted her head.
In her somewhat fatigued and proud eyes, a trace of curiosity toward the young man surrounded by everyone flickered.
“This is the director of《World of the Strange》?”
Keiko Matsumoto looked at the young man who, under Director Sakata’s highest praise, merely smiled calmly, unhurriedly raising his glass in composed return, surprised at his youth.
Seemingly just over twenty.
Uncontrollably, an absurd thought bubbled up in Keiko Matsumoto’s mind.
Perhaps…
This seemingly calm night would be the overture to a whole new era for Tokyo Television Station, even the entire Neon film and television industry, quietly unfolding.
And that young man stirring the storm might be this era’s protagonist.
Keiko Matsumoto looked at Hiroshi Nohara, a trace of excitement on her always proud face, unnoticed even by herself—like meeting a worthy opponent.
“Interesting.” She murmured to herself, gently swirling the expensive red wine in front of her.
