Chapter 97: Black Humor! Turns Out Everyone Got Poached!
The last week of July, Tokyo’s midsummer scorched the entire city like a lit furnace, with heat waves rolling fiercely.
But hotter than the weather was the ratings frenzy for “Urban Legends” sweeping the entire Neon Country, ignited by the name Hiroshi Nohara.
《World of the Strange》’s ratings stood stably, even arrogantly, at the terrifying high of 21%, like an unshakable mountain.
It was no longer just a number; it had become a weekly ritual, a cultural phenomenon deeply embedded in the bones of Neon Country citizens.
Countless households, from Monday to Friday at nine in the evening, tuned unanimously to Tokyo Television Station, waiting for that mysterious man in sunglasses to open a door to a wondrous world.
Even more shocking to industry insiders was 《An Shizhi True Season 3》, a show already sentenced to death but miraculously reborn from the ashes.
After its first week’s kingly return at 8.35%, its ratings didn’t drop as audience novelty faded; instead, like a vine injected with divine nutrients, it climbed relentlessly in a near-mad posture.
9.12%!
9.58%!
When the seventh episode of 《An Shizhi True Season 3》, 《The Woman Behind》, aired on the last Sunday night of July, the fresh ratings report exploded like a real bomb.
10.01%!
“Broke… broke 10%?!”
“A late-night horror animation breaking 10% ratings?! This… this has to be a joke?!”
“Monster! That Hiroshi Nohara, he’s an utterly unreasonable monster!”
The entire Tokyo Television Production Bureau fell into stunned silence upon seeing this number.
Everyone felt an invisible hand choking their throats; their faces showed undisguised, bottomless awe.
“I get it…”
A senior analyst in the data analysis department stared at the two ratings curves advancing neck-and-neck like twin dragons emerging from the sea, murmuring with a shudder of insight: “This is… the bandwagon effect!”
“《World of the Strange》’s terrifying ratings stickiness has cultivated highly loyal viewers. After finishing that masterpiece at nine, still unsatisfied, they instinctively wait for ten-thirty, for 《An Shizhi》 from Hiroshi Nohara!”
“He… he used two works to forge an unassailable… ratings kingdom of his own in Tokyo Television Station’s evening slot!”
These words sent a chill from everyone’s tailbones straight to the crowns of their heads.
At the storm’s center, in the 【Hiroshi Nohara Special Production Team】 office, victory celebrations erupted.
“Section Chief! We won again!”
“10% in late-night slot! Unprecedented, and probably never to be matched!”
Everyone’s faces flushed with excitement, beaming with heartfelt pride and shared glory.
Hiroshi Nohara just calmly eyed the report, a satisfied arc on his lips.
Everything was as he expected.
In fact, not everything was as expected; some things still surprised Hiroshi Nohara.
Like this 10% ratings breakthrough.
“If I recall right, An Shizhi didn’t have ratings this high.” Hiroshi Nohara frowned slightly.
The success of An Shizhi Seasons 1 and 2 peaked at over 8% at Season 2’s climax finale, plus no work the next Saturday, which was expected.
Hitting over 8% at the top made sense.
But in his previous life, it performed poorly, ranking worst among the first five seasons.
In this parallel Neon Country world, it achieved the highest ratings.
“Truly surprising.” Hiroshi Nohara scratched his nape, feeling pleasantly shocked.
Thinking now, he could guess the reasons.
“Probably because Masao Iwata made An Shizhi Season 3 so awful, angering viewers into vengeful watching. Plus 《World of the Strange》 airing before, both urban legends unit dramas, creating a bandwagon effect.” Hiroshi Nohara analyzed.
Just then, the section chief’s office door eased open.
It was Ichiro Hashishita.
He had just received some message, stepped out to check his pager, and returned.
But everyone saw his face now mixed with excitement, gratitude, and a faint, hard-to-detect fear.
He skipped the cheering, head down, heavy steps taking him to Hiroshi Nohara’s office doorway.
“Section Chief Nohara.” He bowed deeply, voice hoarse with awe: “Please allow me to report something.”
“Mm.”
Hiroshi Nohara gestured for him to close the door, then to sit in the chair before him: “Go ahead, what is it?” His voice was mild.
Ichiro Hashishita sat, trembling slightly.
His face complex.
He gazed at this young man twelve years his junior, who now seemed to hold his entire fate; his heart, filled with regret and awe, pounded uncontrollably.
From his slightly worn suit’s inner pocket, he carefully drew expensive-looking gold-embossed business cards and… thin but weighty checks.
“Section Chief Nohara…” His voice cracked with tears: “These… these are from people who approached me today.”
“Osaka Television Station, Kansai Television Station, Nagoya Television Station…”
“They… they all want me to jump ship, to make an animation… similar to 《An Shizhi》 for them.”
“Their offers… are high, very high.” He presented the checks with both hands; figures starting at 500,000 yen, enough to drive any mortgage-burdened Tokyo middle-aged man mad.
“This… from Kansai Television Station. They said if I agree, this 500,000 yen check is my signing bonus. Then 300,000 yen monthly salary, plus project dividends.”
“This… from Nagoya. Even more direct: bring An Shizhi’s production process and core creativity to Nagoya Television Station with me, and this one-million-yen check cashes immediately…”
Hiroshi Nohara watched calmly, silent, his clear eyes like a bottomless lake, unmoving.
That calm weighed like an invisible mountain on Ichiro Hashishita’s heart, shattering his faltering resolve.
“Woo…”
He collapsed, this 35-year-old man kneeling childlike, head buried in arms, sobbing suppressed and pained.
“Teacher Nohara! I… I didn’t agree! I really didn’t!”
“I know, I’m a loser! I have no talent! Back in Iwata’s Classroom, I thought I’d learned, thought I could do it, but I ruined everything!”
“I… only now realize! An Shizhi’s success had nothing to do with me! It was all you! All your work alone! I… was just a ridiculous imitator trailing you!”
“I won’t betray you again! I swear! Never in my life!”
“I don’t want these! Not the business cards, not the checks! I just want to stay in your section chief’s office! Keep learning from you!”
Tears seeped through his fingers, staining the polished floor with messy spots.
Seeing him like this, Hiroshi Nohara’s lingering resentment from the betrayal vanished.
This was the effect he wanted.
He wanted a loyal executor, pride utterly crushed, truly knowing his own worth.
“Get up.”
He spoke slowly, voice calm yet stabilizing.
“Put these away. In future, report such things directly to me.”
He paused, approval flashing in his clear eyes.
“Hashishita, you did well. I’ll request double this month’s bonus for you from Deputy Director Asumi.”
“…Yes!”
Ichiro Hashishita kowtowed loudly to the floor, the thud heavy with survivor’s relief.
When he stood, wiped his tears, and exited, he faced not icy contempt but sparse yet kind applause.
“Hashishita, well done!”
“This time you didn’t disappoint us!”
The Kanto faction veterans in the office smiled knowingly.
Section Chief Nohara’s “private” office was just a thin plastic partition, not soundproof at all.
They had heard the whole conversation.
Watching the red-eyed man whose face regained radiance, their gazes finally held true colleague recognition.
“Not just Senior Hashishita.”
Then Tsuyoshi Yamamoto’s hoarse voice rose; he waved similar gold-embossed business cards, face bitterly amused: “I’ve gotten several calls too. Offers as high or higher than Hashishita’s.”
“Me too.”
“Same here, and one absurd: give me second-class director position if I jump.”
The office filled with echoing agreements, a black humor flood.
They realized those “sincere admirers” praising their talent started with crude poaching.
Not just one, but everyone targeted.
“These guys really think highly of us.” A veteran cinematographer self-mocked: “Forget who took us in when we were worse than dogs at Tokyo TV? Now they want to poach us from Section Chief Nohara? Dream on!”
“Exactly!” Another art colleague snorted: “Their money’s hot! If we flop there, we’d be screwed both ways—true doom!”
Some glanced sympathetically at the now-sad-faced Ichiro Hashishita, smiling kindly.
Wasn’t he the example?
“Bottom line, we’re not capable enough ourselves.”
Tsuyoshi Yamamoto exhaled deeply, with insightful resignation.
He eyed the closed office door, his sharp eyes full of heartfelt awe.
“Think about filming 《World of the Strange》—how much did we really contribute?”
“We were just decent craftsmen replicating a flawless blueprint, an already-designed artwork.”
“All our success, all glory, just a fraction of that young man’s radiance reflected.”
The office fell into prolonged silence.
All eyes turned instinctively to the closed door.
Pride gone, replaced by heartfelt awe for absolute genius after facing reality.
They knew, as long as the sun behind that door burned.
They planets orbiting it would never lose light.
Meanwhile, the young man they saw as sun had shut out the outside noise.
Before him lay a huge white paper.
In his hand, an ordinary pencil.
His eyes calm yet fervent, harboring a nascent new universe.
The white paper held no storyboards, no dialogue—just simple, childlike imaginative sketches.
At the top, in unique artistic font, magnetic bold words.
—《Super Change Change Change》 Season 1, Proposal Plan（Final Version）.
He knew it was time to add a blaze to this upended TV world, fierce enough to burn all old rules.
