novelraw Chapter 204: Information Cocoons! Identity Politics! Political Correctness! Go Big or Go Home!
Chapter 204: Information Cocoons! Identity Politics! Political Correctness! Go Big or Go Home!
"What about you? You, the monster — what are your thoughts?"
The air in the conference room seemed to collapse into vacuum the instant President Shimazu's question fell.
Sakata Nobuhiko, Asumi, and Takada Toshihide's hearts simultaneously skipped a beat.
They whipped their heads around, three gazes — shock, disbelief, and a not-so-subtle plea of "for the love of god, don't say anything reckless" — converging on the young man who had been silent throughout.
Was this a joke?!
President Shimazu was actually... actually seeking the opinion of a twenty-three-year-old on a matter that would determine the next mayor of Tokyo City, TV Tokyo's future, and the very fate of the Greater Tokyo Faction?!
This went beyond mere confidence in a subordinate — this bordered on recklessness!
Nohara Hiroshi felt those three piercing gazes and allowed a smile of perfectly calibrated embarrassment and helplessness to cross his face.
He rose slowly from his seat, first bowing respectfully to President Shimazu, then spreading his hands with a rueful smile.
"President Shimazu, you truly overestimate me."His clear voice echoed through the room, his modesty forming a curiously amusing contrast with the tense atmosphere. "Governor Koike's successful reelection was entirely the result of years of cultivated political reputation and his populist governance philosophy winning public trust. I merely happened to make a movie about an Akita dog. I wouldn't dare claim any credit."
"Exactly! President!" Asumi was the first to react, shooting to his feet. His usually cheerful face was now etched with the urgency of a father terrified his child might blurt out something disastrous. "Hiroshi is still young! He doesn't understand politics at all! Please don't put him on the spot!"
"Indeed, President." Takada Toshihide chimed in, a rare "protective" expression breaking through his usually guarded features. "Elections are labyrinthine — pull one thread and the entire web moves. Hiroshi is ultimately just a producer. Asking him to tackle these questions is rather unfair."
Sakata Nobuhiko went so far as to walk directly to President Shimazu's side. Looking at this man who was simultaneously his mentor and his friend, his eyes brimmed with sincere concern.
"President, please rest first." His voice was warm yet firm, like an unyielding shield placed between Shimazu and Nohara Hiroshi. "Let's discuss the election at length. Your health is what matters most — we can't afford another setback. Even if we won the election, none of us subordinates would rest easy knowing it cost your wellbeing."
Yet facing the coordinated appeals of his three most trusted lieutenants, President Shimazu slowly shook his head.
He exhaled a long breath — tinged with inexpressible fatigue, and with a volcanic fury and defiance on the verge of eruption.
"I truly... cannot accept this." He murmured, the flames reigniting in his clouded eyes.
He pressed his dry lips together, as if reaching some inner resolution, then slowly revealed the earth-shattering secret that would make the entire room tremble.
"Last month, I already... went to America."
"What?!"
Sakata Nobuhiko's body jolted.
"Moreover, I met with senior officials from the U.S. Treasury Department and the leadership of several top investment banks." President Shimazu's voice dropped low and heavy, every word hammering against every heart. "They told me that they intend to... move against Japan's economy. Very soon."
"And this time, it will be with unprecedented, thunderous force!"
"BOOM—!"
The revelation detonated like a nuclear blast.
"President! What did you say?! The Americans are going to move against us?!" Asumi sprang from his seat, eyes round as saucers, disbelief plastered across his face.
"Is... is this real? Is the intelligence reliable?" Even Takada Toshihide's voice trembled. Genuine fear crept across his usually stony expression.
Sakata Nobuhiko grabbed President Shimazu's arm directly, barely contained agitation blazing in his shrewd eyes. "President! Please explain! What exactly is going on?!"
President Shimazu looked at his three "old comrades" — faces flushed with agitation, eyes starlit with intensity — and his reality-hardened heart softened with warmth.
He knew these men were his most trustworthy allies.
He nodded slowly, his gravity freezing the room's atmosphere.
"It's real." His voice was hoarse yet powerful. "This is inevitable. After the Plaza Accord, Japan's economy grew too fast — so fast that America became afraid. They will never allow a second nation to challenge their supremacy."
"Those bastards!" Asumi slammed his fist on the table, his cheerful face now blazing with barely controllable fury. "Those damned Americans! They're nothing but bandits! Thieves!"
"Exactly! We worked ourselves to the bone for decades to build this prosperity! By what right do they get to tear it all down?!" Takada Toshihide joined in, veins standing out on his grim face.
"Calm down!" Sakata Nobuhiko's professionalism preserved his last shred of composure despite the fury churning inside. "President — what do we do now?!"
But facing their anger and demands, President Shimazu only raised his hand in a slow, weary gesture — one full of helplessness and resignation.
"That is why..." He sighed deeply, his voice carrying the tragic weight of a hero at the end of his road. "I need to unite every critical force in Japan. Before this storm arrives, we must protect as much of our economic foundation as possible. And at the same time, we must seize this opportunity to excise the... economic tumors that have burrowed deep into our nation's bones!"
"Economic tumors?" Asumi blinked in confusion. "President, what do you mean?"
The room descended into eerie silence.
Sakata and Takada instinctively fell quiet.
They exchanged a glance, reading in each other's eyes the same gravity and... a flicker of dread.
They knew exactly what President Shimazu meant.
"Real estate."
In the end, it was President Shimazu himself who lifted the lid on the Pandora's box that everyone recognized but no one dared touch.
"Those people who got rich overnight on real estate — they don't understand the first thing about economics!" His voice turned icy with contempt. "All they know is to take bank loans, grab land, build towers, then sell them at even higher prices to ordinary people whose brains have been addled by the 'Land Myth'! They're a swarm of greedy locusts, gnawing away at Japan's future piece by piece!"
"And do you think they have no backers?" President Shimazu sneered, self-mockery and rage intertwining. "Behind them stand the very Americans who want Japan's economy to collapse! The Wall Street capital predators! They are America's knife, plunged directly into the heart of Japan's economy!"
"The moment that knife is detonated — the moment the real estate bubble is fully punctured — Japan's economy will collapse instantly! Markets crash, assets evaporate, countless people lose everything they have! All the wealth we've accumulated over decades will become prey for those American vultures! Japan will be reduced to their economic colony!"
"What we'll lose isn't just money — it's our future! An entire generation's future, perhaps two generations! At least fifteen to twenty years before our economy can even begin to recover!"
President Shimazu's words tolled through the room like a funeral bell.
The future he'd painted — one of despair and destruction — sent bone-deep chills through everyone present.
"Therefore..." His voice came again, the tragic tone gradually replaced by indomitable fighting spirit. "I must run in this mayoral election! I must join forces with those who share my concern for the nation's future and kick those real estate parasites out of Tokyo City's power center — completely and permanently!"
"I want Japan's economy to achieve a soft landing, not a... crash!"
The room plunged once more into deathly silence.
Everyone was utterly stunned by President Shimazu's declaration — so full of tragic resolve and unyielding will.
Looking at this silver-haired elder whose fighting spirit still burned bright, their numbed hearts ignited with something new — a sense of mission.
"President..." Sakata Nobuhiko's voice came out hoarse. He gazed at Shimazu with admiration and helplessness. "We're... television people. All we know is how to make programs and boost ratings. When it comes to economics, to Japan's future — we really can't help much."
"Who says you can't help?" President Shimazu gave a slight chuckle, sweeping his expectant gaze across every person present.
"We have our own mission." His voice grew warm yet powerful. "To steady the hearts of our nation's people. No matter what happens, no matter how bad the economy gets, we must never let them fall into panic, into chaos, into despair."
"We must use our programs to warm them, to heal them, to give them the hope and courage to keep living."
"That is the most important role our TV Tokyo will play in this coming battle for the nation's fate."
Sakata, Asumi, and Takada listened in silence. Every expression on their three faces froze simultaneously.
They looked at each other and found the same gravity, the same sense of duty, the same newly kindled fighting spirit.
They knew Shimazu was right.
They, too, had their battlefield.
"Haah..."
After a long pause, Asumi finally sighed — a sound heavy with complex emotions.
This road would be nothing but thorns and obstacles.
Yet into this atmosphere of solemnity and tragic determination, a voice — calm to the point of seeming detached — suddenly broke through.
"I, for one, don't think it needs to be that pessimistic."
The speaker was the young man who had remained silent from start to finish — Nohara Hiroshi.
He sat calmly in his place, a faint smile on his face, his clear eyes betraying not a single ripple — as though the discussion about national destiny had been nothing more than routine work updates.
Inside, Nohara Hiroshi's mind was in fact churning with towering waves — but beneath those waves lurked a flicker of schadenfreude that only he could understand.
The Lost Thirty Years?
He looked at these powerful figures wringing their hands over Japan's future, and a cold, mocking laugh echoed through his private thoughts.
You think it's only thirty years?
How naive.
In his previous life, he had witnessed firsthand how Japan went from an economic titan rivaling America step by step to an economic dwarf unable to control its own destiny.
The real estate bubble that began in the late 1980s was like a balloon inflated beyond all reason, until America's needle — called "interest rate hikes" — ruthlessly punctured it.
What followed was decades of endless, seemingly bottomless economic stagnation.
Markets crashed. Property values halved. Companies folded. Unemployment soared. Everything toppled like dominoes.
Countless middle-class families were reduced to poverty overnight.
Countless young people, facing a future devoid of hope, chose to "lie flat" — becoming the so-called "Heisei shut-ins."
And those high-quality core assets that had once been Japan's pride — semiconductors, automobiles, high-end manufacturing — were devoured by the Wall Street capitals that had been circling like vultures, bought, merged, and dismembered at bargain-basement prices.
Forget thirty years. Even by 2025, the year before he transmigrated, Japan's economy remained a stagnant pond.
What had been lost wasn't thirty years.
It was a lifetime.
But what did any of this have to do with him?
He was merely a transmigrator — a lucky man who happened to arrive in an era brimming with opportunity and challenge.
His mission was simple: during the coming, unprecedented great reshuffling of wealth, secure as much benefit as possible — for himself, for the Nohara family.
As for Japan's future?
Heh. Not my problem.
At that thought, a cold, barely perceptible curve formed at Nohara Hiroshi's lips.
He knew his moment had arrived.
And so he spoke. "I, for one, don't think it needs to be that pessimistic."
The words dropped like a stone into a still lake, sending ripples cascading outward, shattering the suffocating weight.
Sakata Nobuhiko, Asumi, Takada Toshihide, and the President himself — who moments ago had been consumed by tragic resolve — all whipped their heads around in near-unison. Four gazes — shock, bewilderment, and even a touch of the absurd — converged on the young man.
"Hiroshi, you..." Sakata's lips moved. Disbelief shone in his eyes.
"Nohara! Now is not the time for jokes!" Asumi leapt to his feet, his cheerful face now full of urgency and disapproval. "This concerns our entire nation's destiny! How can you say something so... so cavalier?!"
"Indeed, Hiroshi." Takada Toshihide furrowed his brow, uncharacteristic gravity settling across his features. "We all know what American methods look like. For decades since the war, they've been a mountain pressing down on us — politics, economics, culture — in what area have we truly escaped their control? What do we have to fight them with?!"
Takada's words — cold as reality itself — extinguished the faint embers of fighting spirit that had just flickered to life in the room.
Deep weariness and bitterness crept across Sakata Nobuhiko's face.
He sighed heavily. "Takada is right." His hoarse voice brimmed with frustration. "We simply cannot resist. From the political summit to the economic lifelines to cultural infiltration, they've extended their tentacles into every corner of our country. We're butterflies trapped in a spider's web — no matter how we struggle, we cannot escape the invisible net they've woven."
"Damn it all!" Asumi slammed the table again, fury blazing in his usually bright eyes. "I refuse to accept this! Japanese people — in talent, intellect, diligence — how are we inferior to Americans? All we lack is land area and the resources beneath our feet!"
He turned sharply, fixing his gaze — hope and defiance intertwined — on Nohara Hiroshi. His voice carried the tragic passion of a cuckoo crying blood.
"Hiroshi! I believe in you!" His voice trembled with heartfelt trust that infected everyone present. "Given enough time, with your talent, we will surpass America in culture, in literature! We absolutely will!"
The room fell into deathly silence once more.
Everyone was quiet.
But beneath that silence, a current called "conviction" ran deep.
Yes. They all believed.
They believed the impossibly young yet unfathomably deep man before them possessed the power to change the world.
Yet President Shimazu only shook his head slowly.
He looked at Nohara Hiroshi, something far deeper — almost imploring — in his hawk-sharp eyes.
He knew Asumi spoke of the future.
What he needed was the present.
"Nohara." Shimazu's voice carried unprecedented gravity, his sovereign authority now transmuted into something closer to an equal's plea. "If you truly have a viable publicity strategy, then please... help me."
Every breath in the room seemed to stop.
Nohara Hiroshi finally surfaced from his private reverie of mockery and schadenfreude.
He slowly raised his head, studying the silver-haired elder with his still-burning fighting spirit. A fleeting, complex flicker crossed his calm eyes.
He thought of the future era — that age drowned by information floods.
He thought of the fragmented garbage information and carefully woven traffic traps.
He thought of the prison technique called the "Information Cocoon."
How big data precisely sorted people into mutually incomprehensible groups.
How they believed they possessed the whole world, yet ultimately lived only on information islands.
And now, his task was to bring this weapon — proven devastatingly effective in his previous life, laced with pure poison — into this era, ahead of schedule.
Watching Nohara Hiroshi sink into deep thought, Sakata, Asumi, and Takada exchanged another glance.
This time, their eyes held no worry or doubt — only a flame called "hope," now fully ignited.
"Hiroshi... he actually has an idea!" Asumi's voice carried the faintest tremor. He stared at Nohara Hiroshi like a man witnessing a miracle being born.
"Mm." Takada nodded firmly, barely contained excitement crossing his face. "Every time he gets that expression, it means that monster brain of his has spawned another earth-shaking idea that will overturn everything we thought we knew!"
Sakata Nobuhiko held his breath, watching Nohara Hiroshi with indescribable anticipation.
"Nohara..." Even President Shimazu's voice turned urgent, all sovereign composure evaporating, leaving only the desperate grasp of a drowning man seizing a lifeline. "Do you... do you really have a plan?"
Nohara Hiroshi slowly raised his head.
He regarded the four most powerful figures of TV Tokyo — every one of them staring at him with naked expectation — and allowed a calm, powerful smile to form.
"Yes, President Shimazu." He spoke quietly, his tone serene yet weighted. "I do have one... not entirely polished idea."
He paused, then slowly released the name — one that would make this entire era shudder.
"I call it the 'Information Cocoon' publicity strategy."
"Information Cocoon?"
President Shimazu, Sakata Nobuhiko, Asumi, and Takada Toshihide repeated the unfamiliar term almost in unison, identical confusion and curiosity written across all four faces.
"Hiroshi, what does that mean?" Takada Toshihide — the former Tokyo Faction leader known for his cool logic — was the first to ask.
Nohara Hiroshi merely smiled calmly. He understood that conveying a concept steeped in postmodern deconstruction to these men of the traditional media era would take a moment.
"Everyone, imagine this." His voice, precise as a perfectly struck note, instantly commanded every ounce of attention. "What does traditional publicity look like? We broadcast our message through newspapers and television to the general public. It's like casting a wide net over the entire pond. We catch some fish, but it's inefficient — and many of the fish we net aren't the ones we wanted."
"The 'Information Cocoon,' on the other hand?" He paused, confidence curving his lips. "It doesn't use a net. It uses countless individual fishing rods, each baited with a different lure."
"Bait?" Asumi's eyebrow arched with interest.
"Exactly — bait." Nohara Hiroshi nodded, observing their eager expressions as he unveiled the answer. "First, through market research, we segment our entire citizenry."
"Not by traditional categories like region, occupation, or age. But by their interests, their values, their lifestyles."
"For example — people who love pets, especially dogs, become the 'dog lover' segment. Women who focus on household matters and daily expenses become the 'homemaker' segment. Young people full of idealism and social passion become the 'passionate youth' segment. Those who love anime, games, and otaku culture become the 'otaku' segment..."
"And then?" Sakata pressed, his shrewd eyes already glinting with dawning comprehension.
"Then," Nohara Hiroshi's voice dropped, low and powerful, "we create exclusive content tailored to each group — content they want most, content they'll most readily believe."
"For the 'dog lovers,' we promote how President Shimazu cares for animals, how he champions stray dogs. We show warm, touching footage of him interacting with these helpless creatures."
"For the 'homemakers,' we promote how he cares about people's livelihoods, how he fights to lower prices, how he secures more benefits and protections for them. Through newspapers and television news, we constantly reinforce one message: President Shimazu is their closest, most devoted 'family member'!"
"For the 'passionate youth,' we promote how he supports young entrepreneurs, how he creates opportunities and platforms for them. We listen to their dreams. We encourage their passion!"
"We wrap each group in information custom-made to evoke a sense of 'belonging.' We make them feel understood. Valued. Heard. We make them feel that you, President Shimazu, are their group's most unwavering champion!"
"Eventually, these information-wrapped groups will become like silkworms in cocoons, willing to consume only the 'mulberry leaves' we feed them. They'll voluntarily wave our banners, contribute their votes, and even actively attack those 'outsiders' whose opinions differ from theirs!"
"That is the 'Information Cocoon.'"
Nohara Hiroshi's calm voice echoed through the conference room.
But the vision he'd painted — one of precision calculation and opinion manipulation — sent a bone-deep chill through everyone present.
"This is..." Sakata Nobuhiko's breathing quickened. He stared at Nohara Hiroshi, disbelief swimming in his shrewd eyes. "This is just giving people what they want to hear! Finding out what the audience likes, producing that content, then using it to get close to them, to please them, and ultimately making them willingly hand over their votes!"
"Yes." Nohara Hiroshi nodded calmly, his expression as breezy as though he'd just outlined a mundane program proposal rather than a scheme capable of upending the entire electoral system.
"This—!" Asumi bolted upright, horror written across his face. "This isn't an election! This is manipulation! You're treating every citizen as a puppet to be played at will!"
"Asumi, calm down!" Takada Toshihide, though equally shaken to his core, marshaled his strategic composure. He fixed his deep eyes on Nohara Hiroshi, a complex light flickering there — part terror, part fascination. "Hiroshi, this idea is... terrifying. This isn't simple publicity anymore. This is social engineering!"
"Indeed, Hiroshi." Sakata Nobuhiko joined in, moral struggle written plain across his serious face. "TV Tokyo has always stood on the pillars of 'fairness,' 'objectivity,' and 'truth.' If we employ methods that border on brainwashing to interfere in elections... what right would we have to call ourselves 'the conscience of media'?"
Yet into this chorus of moral anguish and idealistic protest, a laugh rang out — full-throated, uninhibited, and even somewhat cruel.
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha!"
President Shimazu — the same man who moments ago had been lamenting the nation's fate — suddenly slapped his knee and roared with laughter, as though he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world.
That laugh overflowed with undisguised admiration and ecstasy.
"Fascinating! Absolutely fascinating!" He pointed at Nohara Hiroshi, his hawk eyes alight with the thrill of meeting a worthy adversary. "I've lived over sixty years, fought countless elections, and never — never once — have I heard such a... such a brilliant idea!"
He paused, sweeping his gaze over his three stunned subordinates, contempt curling his lip.
"Conscience? Fairness?" He scoffed, world-weary cynicism and resignation in his voice. "Do you think politics is a dinner party? All courtesy and refinement? Let me tell you — politics IS war! A kill-or-be-killed war fought without bullets!"
"In this war, there is no right or wrong — only victory or defeat! Winners write history. Winners define justice. And losers? They get swept into history's garbage heap, cursed by all!"
"So I don't care what methods we use!" His voice grew icy and forceful. "I only care whether we can WIN! Because only by winning can we serve the people, serve Japan!"
He turned, fixing his fervent, admiring gaze once more on Nohara Hiroshi.
"Nohara, this idea of yours is brilliant! Magnificent!" He babbled with near-incoherent excitement. "We don't need everyone's support! We only need the 'endorsement' of the majority groups we've 'segmented'! This is literally an unbeatable election strategy!"
Nohara Hiroshi merely smiled with his usual calm modesty.
"You flatter me, President. It's just a rough little idea of mine. It still needs a helmsman like you to refine it."
That's what his mouth said. But inside, a cold, mocking laugh echoed through his mind.
An unbeatable strategy?
This was no unbeatable strategy. This was pure, concentrated poison — enough to destroy a nation.
In his previous life, the Americans had used this exact system — beautifully packaged as "identity politics" — to drive their once-mighty nation step by step toward the abyss of division and decline.
They used labels to sort their citizens into mutually hostile, mutually attacking groups.
They used "political correctness" to strangle what should have been a nation's foundation.
A country that couldn't even figure out what it was? A country riven with internal hatred and fragmentation? How could such a country possibly have a future?
This playbook? Whoever used it would self-destruct.
And the deeper they went, the worse the crash.
But again — what did any of this have to do with him?
He was merely a transmigrator who happened to know the "answer."
At that thought, Nohara Hiroshi's modest smile grew even more "genuine."
"Actually, this method isn't without drawbacks." He spoke softly, his expression of "concerned citizen" so convincing it moved everyone present. "If used poorly, it could indeed deepen social polarization and division. But if we can keep it within reasonable bounds, it would actually make our citizenry... easier to manage."
He paused, then offered the simplest, most straightforward analogy.
"It's like making movies." He smiled breezily, as though discussing a film pitch rather than a scheme of national consequence. "We know some audiences love tearjerking dramas. Some love adrenaline-pumping action films. Some love mind-bending mysteries. So we make each group's favorite type. That way, we profit and earn their love and support. A win-win, isn't it?"
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha! Well said! Perfectly said!"
President Shimazu could finally contain himself no longer. He slapped his knee and burst into triumphant laughter.
The sound rang with exhilarating satisfaction.
"Win-win! What a perfect phrase!" He pointed at Nohara Hiroshi, hawk eyes blazing with unconcealed admiration and delight. "I love it! I absolutely love this method! It's decided! For this election, we'll use this 'Information Cocoon' to give Tanaka Mikami a real game to play!"
He was so excited he actually stood up from his seat and shouted toward his secretary outside the door.
"Quick! Bring me paper and pen! I'm going to personally record every detail of Nohara's brilliant concept!"
Nohara Hiroshi watched his excitement with a helpless yet "sincere" smile.
"President, please don't rush." He spoke softly, his strategic composure impressing everyone present. "Starting preparations now is admittedly a bit late. But if we concentrate all resources — broadcasting through every TV Tokyo channel plus cooperative tabloids — and launch a high-intensity, high-density saturation campaign, there may still be time."
"Exactly! Nohara is absolutely right!" President Shimazu nodded in deep agreement, gazing at Nohara Hiroshi with boundless trust and reliance.
He said nothing more. Clutching the paper and pen his secretary had just handed over, he strode briskly from the conference room.
His retreating figure radiated decisive, lightning-fast determination — and the tragic resolve of a warrior about to charge into battle.
He was going to immediately — this very instant — share this "unbeatable strategy" with his like-minded allies, those who shared his concern for the nation's future!
If the Liberal Public Opinion Party could master this approach, perhaps they could secure victory after victory in every election.
Ultimately becoming Japan's true ruling power.
Winning everything!