novelraw Chapter 10: The Review Department
Chapter 10: The Review Department
Urban legends had truly become one of the most important subgenres to emerge from Japan's tradition of horror storytelling.
Unlike the terror derived from ancient ghosts and deities—
This kind of urban legend horror—
Was like something that could happen right beside you. In the normal rhythm of work, of school, of everyday life — tiny, almost imperceptible anomalies would creep in, blossoming into a dread that grew more terrifying the longer you thought about it.
At first glance, you might not feel much. But the more you watched, the more the horror sank in. The more you replayed it in your mind, the more frightening it became.
You might even start connecting it to vaguely similar things you'd experienced yourself.
Giving your brain the chilling sensation that maybe — just maybe — you'd lived through something like it!
And so—
Sitting there in the office, Suzuki Kiyoto exhaled slowly and uttered those two simple words: "It worked."
Around him, Hashishita Ichiro, Minamura Hoshi, Haseji Hashiru, and Kitagawa Yao all wore expressions of fear and relief, slowly emerging from the oppressive atmosphere of dread — and breaking into joy.It really had worked!
If even they — the creators themselves — had been startled, had felt that exhilarating newness of the terror, then how could audiences possibly remain unmoved?
"Excellent!" Suzuki Kiyoto sprang to his feet.
He picked up the freshly recorded videotape, cradling it as though it were a priceless treasure. "Let's go, Hiroshi-kun, Hashishita-kun. We're heading to the Review Department right now! I want those people to see exactly what our section has produced!"
He could barely contain his eagerness to showcase what his team had accomplished!
......
The corridors of TV Tokyo's headquarters building were long and hushed. White fluorescent light poured evenly from the ceiling, stretching their shadows into thin, elongated silhouettes.
The air carried the cold, sterile scent unique to central air conditioning — a blend of dust and the heat exhaust from electronic equipment.
Suzuki Kiyoto walked at the front, his back ramrod straight. Inside that fifty-year-old frame, the blood of a twenty-year-old seemed to be surging.
Hiroshi and Hashishita Ichiro followed behind — one calm, the other tense.
They looked like a lone expeditionary force.
Marching toward a heavily fortified checkpoint.
The Review Department was on the same floor as the Production Bureau, but the atmosphere was entirely different.
It was quieter here. Every passerby wore an expression of meticulous severity.
This was the first tribunal for every program — the place that decided whether a creative vision would make it to the screen or be buried forever in a filing cabinet.
But when they reached the entrance, they found a noisy cluster of people already gathered there — entirely at odds with the solemnity of the surroundings.
The man at the front was slightly pudgy, his hair slicked back with gel. He wore an expensive suit and an insufferably arrogant grin.
It was Iwata Masao.
Iwata Masao had clearly spotted them too. His smile widened, taking on a cat-toying-with-a-mouse quality.
"Section Chief Suzuki — what brings you to the Review Department? What a rare visitor." He tilted his chin upward, his voice pitched just loud enough for the entire corridor to hear. "Don't tell me you've got something to submit too? I heard your section didn't have anything presentable this quarter."
Suzuki Kiyoto's expression darkened instantly.
His cold gaze fixed on Iwata Masao. "What our section does or doesn't have, Iwata-kun, is none of your concern."
"Oh, don't be like that!" Iwata Masao waved his hand with theatrical nonchalance. His entourage snickered in support. "We're all colleagues here — nothing wrong with showing a little interest. I'm just here to submit my own project, after all."
He smugly held up a lavishly bound proposal in his hand. On its cover, in gleaming gold-embossed lettering, was the title — "Demon Boy Samurai."
Beside him sat a completed videotape, ready for submission.
"We hired the most famous horror novelist in the industry to write the script. We even went to Kyoto to shoot reference footage at ancient temples, and we commissioned a top animation team. The goal is to create an unprecedented period-drama horror masterpiece." Iwata Masao's gaze swept over Suzuki Kiyoto, then settled on Hiroshi standing behind him.
His eyes were filled with scrutiny and contempt.
"Oh? And who might this be... a newcomer?" He feigned surprise, then affected a look of sudden recollection. "Ah, now I remember — you're the manga artist, right? What was it... Nohara-kun?"
Hiroshi said nothing. He simply returned the man's stare with a calm, steady gaze.
"Heh heh." Iwata Masao chuckled — a laugh dripping with undisguised malice. "A manga artist who won't stay home and keep drawing his little pictures, but comes to a television station instead — what for? Decided there's no future in comics and figured you'd scrape by here at TV Tokyo as a failure?"
The words were vicious to the extreme.
They weren't merely insulting Hiroshi as a person — they were dismissing his entire identity and worth as a creator.
Hashishita Ichiro's fists clenched instantly. His face flushed crimson, his whole body shaking with rage.
"Iwata!" Suzuki Kiyoto barked, stepping forward like a provoked lion. "Watch your mouth!"
Insulting his subordinate to his face—
Was the same as insulting him!
If he failed to defend his own people, what authority would he have left? Workplace bullying was common enough in Japanese corporate culture. Intimidation between peers and colleagues was practically an everyday occurrence.
But when a junior was attacked by an outsider, and the senior didn't step up — that meant a total loss of credibility. It meant weakness. It meant you were worthless.
In Japan, that was a form of social death of the highest order!
Suzuki Kiyoto, of course, had to step up.
"What did I do?" Iwata Masao spread his hands wide, the picture of innocence. "I'm just looking out for the newcomer. After all, TV Tokyo isn't just any place — it's about real talent, real results. You can't just coast by on a few laughable drawings."
He bit down hard on the words "laughable drawings," his gaze slicing across Hiroshi's face like a blade.
The tension in the air was thick enough to ignite.
Just then, the Review Department's office door opened.
A woman stepped out — sharp in a tailored business suit, gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties, with refined features, but her expression carried the cool authority of someone long accustomed to command.
"What's all this commotion?" Her voice wasn't loud, yet it silenced the entire corridor instantly.
The arrogance on Iwata Masao's face dialed back by several degrees, replaced by an eager smile. "Ah, Section Chief Takeshita — it's nothing, nothing at all. We were just catching up with Section Chief Suzuki."
"Section Chief Takeshita." Suzuki Kiyoto also lowered his head slightly in a show of respect.
Hiroshi immediately placed the woman.
Takeshita Ai.
Section Chief of the Anime Review Section within the Review Department — a woman renowned throughout the station for her impartiality and razor-sharp judgment.
Her gaze swept across both groups. She gave Iwata Masao a barely perceptible look of distaste before speaking coolly. "If you want to chat, do it in the break room. This is a workplace. Hand over your review materials and you can leave."
Her tone brooked no argument.
Iwata Masao immediately adopted a beaming, sycophantic smile and presented the beautifully produced Demon Boy Samurai proposal. He added eagerly, "Section Chief Takeshita, this project was personally reviewed by Deputy Director Takada himself. Please give it your full consideration."
Takeshita Ai accepted it with a blank expression. The only reaction came when she heard "Deputy Director Takada" — the faintest twitch of one eyebrow, barely perceptible.
"Section Chief Takeshita, here are our materials — proposal and videotape."
Suzuki Kiyoto stepped forward and handed over his plain, unadorned videotape along with a few pages of straightforward documentation.
Compared to Iwata's thick, artbook-quality proposal, Suzuki's submission looked pitifully humble.
Takeshita Ai took the videotape, weighed it in her hand for a moment, then glanced at the handwritten title on the label — "Yamishibai."
She said nothing. She simply gave them both a nod, then turned and walked back into her office, closing the door on both sides' grievances and hopes alike.
The door clicked shut.
Iwata Masao shot Suzuki Kiyoto a triumphant sidelong glance and mouthed two words silently: "Garbage."
Then, with his entourage in tow, he strode off laughing down the corridor.
Suzuki Kiyoto's body trembled with barely contained fury. He stared daggers at Iwata Masao's retreating figure, his fists clenched so tight the knuckles had gone white.
"Section Chief." Hiroshi spoke softly. "Let's head back."
Suzuki Kiyoto turned and met Hiroshi's still-calm expression. Slowly, the towering inferno of rage was tamped down.
He let out a long sigh, patted Hiroshi on the shoulder, then glanced at the dejected Hashishita Ichiro. "Let's go," he said quietly.
But as Suzuki Kiyoto turned away, the chest he'd been holding high and proud in front of Iwata Masao — it suddenly caved in.
Especially when he thought about Iwata Masao's obviously exquisite proposal and polished demo tape.
Deep inside—
A seed of doubt had taken root.