novelraw Chapter 224: An Evening at the Koyama House! A Sukiyaki Engagement Celebration! A Beautiful Future!
Chapter 224: An Evening at the Koyama House! A Sukiyaki Engagement Celebration! A Beautiful Future!
TV Tokyo, Production Bureau headquarters.
The hallway still held traces of morning coffee aroma. Executive Deputy Director Takada Toshihide's office door was ajar — through the frosted glass, silhouettes shifted.
When the door opened, soft classical music entered first — low cello strains wrapped in faint tobacco fragrance, drifting through the deep-brown carpeted room.
Takada sat behind his broad desk, an unlit cigarette pinched between his fingers, gaze resting on a report at the desk's edge.
Deputy Director Asumi occupied the sofa opposite, cream-white suit jacket draped over his arm, fingertip tracing idle circles on his coffee cup's rim.
Matsumoto Keiko and Kurosawa Eiji leaned against the low cabinet by the window — she cradled an elegantly bound script, he stood arms crossed, gazing outside at a corner of Tokyo Bay, morning fog still clinging like gauze over distant ships.
"Bureau Chief Sakata just called." Takada spoke first, voice carrying subtle ease. He pushed the report toward Asumi. "Kasou Taishou's ratings climbed another 1.2 points last week. But he's more interested in what Nohara's stirring up in Kumamoto — wants us keeping tabs."
Asumi took the report, eyes quickly scanning the figures, lips curving. "I had my secretary record the Kumamoto prefectural station's news yesterday. That bear called Kumamon is genuinely entertaining — far more vivid than any cartoon character our station's pushed before."
"Oh?" Matsumoto set down her script, curiosity flickering. "I didn't pay special attention — just heard one of the younger production staff mention some 'bear that trips over things.'"
Kurosawa finally looked away from the window. His expression remained neutral, but his tone carried quiet acknowledgment: "I watched the screening cut. No fancy effects, no grand moralizing — just it helping a grandmother with oranges, haggling with a vendor. More honest than those pretentious comedies airing nowadays." Takada smiled, rose, and walked to the corner TV — a top-of-the-line Sony, its screen a size larger than standard home sets. He pressed the power button and turned the tuning dial. Static faded, the Kumamoto prefectural station's logo materializing.
"Perfect timing — the station replays morning clips around now." He returned to his desk, pointing at the screen. "See for yourselves what that Nohara kid has cooked up."
All eyes turned to the television.
First came a brief news segment about Kumamoto's mandarin harvest. Then the ad break hit, and sprightly background music rose.
A roly-poly black bear shook its head on screen, two bright red blush patches like ripe cherries. Wearing a faded striped apron, it stood at a taiyaki stall, an old crumpled hundred-yen coin clutched in its paw.
"Mister — one taiyaki for eighty yen, please?" The voiceover was deliberately lowered to a cartoonish, slightly wheedling pitch.
The elderly taiyaki vendor furrowed his brow theatrically: "Can't do it, little bear. Red bean paste is direct from southern farms — I can barely cover costs."
The bear's ears drooped immediately. Its paw pointed at its empty belly, and it let out two pitiful little "woo-woo" sounds.
Surrounding customers burst out laughing. The old man couldn't hold his composure either: "Fine, fine — eighty yen. But no more haggling like this next time."
The bear bounced happily, accepted the taiyaki, started to leave — then tripped over its own paws. Taiyaki clattered to the ground.
Two seconds of bewildered stillness. It squatted, carefully picked up the fallen treat, blew off the dust, was about to eat it — when the old man offered a fresh one: "Here — that one's dirty."
The bear lit up with joy, bowed clumsily, and waddled off clutching its prize.
End frame: "Kumamon — Kumamoto's Adorable Ambassador."
Several seconds of silence. Matsumoto spoke first, setting down her script, eyes warm with amusement: "That bear captured 'dopey charm' perfectly. I've directed romance dramas for years — I know how crucial 'authenticity' is. It trips, it sulks — unlike polished cartoon heroes, that very imperfection feels relatable."
Asumi set down his cup with a nod: "Keiko-san is right. Nohara's gift has always been capturing that 'warmth of everyday life.' Look at Midnight Diner — bowls of ramen, small human stories. Kumamon is essentially the same as Midnight Diner's patrons — ordinary people living ordinary days, just wrapped in a cartoon shell."
Kurosawa leaned against the cabinet, fingers tapping gently, tone softer than before: "I'd argue this bear has more 'soul' than most samurai film protagonists these days. No posturing — wants taiyaki, so it haggles. Drops it, picks it up. Gets upset but doesn't throw tantrums. That straightforward stubbornness reminds me of old-school samurai."
Takada's cigarette-holding fingers paused;
approval flashed in his eyes: "Kurosawa-san nails it. Nohara's greatest strength is simplifying complexity. In Seven Samurai, he embedded class conflict in samurai-peasant interactions. Now with Kumamon, he's hiding Kumamoto's culture inside these tiny vignettes. Audiences laugh, and by laughing, they remember Kumamoto — infinitely more effective than stiff tourism promos."
Matsumoto flipped her script, remembering something: "Speaking of — I chatted with the young production staff yesterday. They said Nohara specifically told the performer NOT to 'act cute' — just imagine being a bear cub learning to walk, and stumbling is fine. That trip we just watched? Any other production team would reshoot for 'perfection.' Nohara kept it — and it became the highlight."
"That's his brilliance."
Asumi picked up the thread: "Our station once pushed an 'Tokyo Fairy' character — spent a fortune on 3D modeling, swapped through a dozen outfits — yet audiences forgot it instantly. Why? Too perfect. Perfect like an emotionless doll. Nohara's Kumamon has flaws, makes mistakes — and THAT'S why it sticks."
Kurosawa suddenly straightened, eyes returning to the screen —
The prefectural station was replaying another clip. The bear was helping fruit farmers pick oranges, fumbled, oranges rolling everywhere, crashed headfirst into a crate, oranges spilling in all directions.
Farmers laughed;
the bear wasn't upset — just scratched its head and went right back to gathering oranges.
"Look at that resilience."
Kurosawa's voice carried new warmth: "Falls and doesn't complain. Crashes and doesn't quit. Just keeps plugging along, silly and stubborn. That spirit moves people more than any inspirational slogan film. If I were a few years younger, I'd want to collaborate with Nohara — a Kumamon samurai film. It protecting a village's orange grove, outwitting thieving foxes. That'd be something."
This drew a laugh from Matsumoto: "Kurosawa-san has QUITE the imagination. But honestly — put Kumamon in one of my romance dramas and it could work too. As the leads' 'love wingman' — delivering taiyaki as a peace offering during their quarrel. The thought alone is delightful."
Asumi sipped his coffee thoughtfully: "I'd put it in Tales of the Unusual as an episodic special. 'The Talking Kumamon' — it understands people's troubles, helps salarymen decompress, keeps elderly company. Fits Tales of the Unusual's style perfectly while furthering Kumamon's brand."
Takada listened to the discussion, fingers tapping the desk. Then he spoke: "Have any of you considered... bringing Kumamon's licensing to our station?"
The room fell silent.
Matsumoto looked up in surprise: "Licensing? Would Nohara let go?"
"He mentioned it when we spoke yesterday." Takada leaned forward, tone serious. "The Prefectural Office holds local usage rights. National image licensing and revenues outside Kumamoto — that's all Nohara's. He said if we're interested, he's open to collaboration."
Kurosawa frowned slightly: "That kid wouldn't give up licensing easily. Kumamon's just catching fire — enormous potential."
"Not giving up — collaborating."
Takada explained: "Nohara's shrewder than we think. He knows Kumamoto's Prefectural Office alone can't push a national market. We have the channels and resources to put Kumamon before vastly more eyeballs. It's win-win — we leverage Kumamon for ratings and merchandise;
he leverages us for reach while promoting Kumamoto."
Asumi grasped it immediately: "Exactly. We create a dedicated project team for Kumamon's promotion in Tokyo and surrounding regions. Add a 'Kumamon Impersonation Contest' to Kasou Taishou. Produce episodic shorts for Tales of the Unusual. Launch merchandise — plushies, keychains, T-shirts — sold at the station's souvenir shop."
Matsumoto nodded: "I could helm a Kumamon special — invite celebrities to interact with it. Making taiyaki together, visiting amusement parks. Celebrity fan bases would drive massive youth awareness."
Kurosawa, though sparse with words, contributed: "For samurai-themed clips, I can advise. Kumamon in samurai armor, learning basic swordplay — entertaining AND promoting samurai culture. Ties right into my wheelhouse."
Takada watched their enthusiastic exchange, a rare smile forming.
Once consensus was reached, the project was half-won. And Nohara Hiroshi, knowing his character, would agree once he saw a solid plan.
"Then it's settled."
Takada rose, crushing his cigarette in the ashtray. "Asumi-san — lead the project proposal. Capture everything we discussed. Emphasize 'win-win' — our station's gains AND what it delivers to Kumamoto and Nohara. Matsumoto-san — contact talent agencies, find celebrities willing to participate. Prioritize household names with positive images. Kurosawa-san — advise on samurai-themed clips. Keep them simple — focus on Kumamon's charm."
All three nodded and rose to leave.
At the door, Asumi turned back: "When do we contact Nohara? I'd like to discuss proposal details with him soon."
Takada considered: "I called him yesterday. He's still in Kumamoto — probably shooting new clips, and of course, there's wedding business to discuss. Let's not disrupt his momentum. Once he returns, I'll meet with him personally."
"Understood." Asumi left.
Matsumoto and Kurosawa followed. The office fell quiet again.
Takada settled behind his desk, eyes returning to the TV — the prefectural station replaying another clip. Kumamon clutched an enormous orange, clumsily offering it toward the camera, red blush patches gleaming adorably in the sunlight.
He recalled something Nohara said during yesterday's call: "Promotion isn't about making people remember a character — it's about making them remember a place's warmth."
He hadn't fully understood then. Now, watching the bear on screen, it clicked.
Kumamon's popularity wasn't about its appearance. It was about the Kumamoto behind it — the taiyaki vendor's kindness, the fruit farmer's smile, the warmth hidden in everyday humanity.
Their job was to carry that warmth from Kumamoto to Tokyo — to all of Japan.
Takada picked up his phone and dialed his secretary: "Compile all project files from Nohara Hiroshi's previous work — I want them this afternoon. And have Shimazu Yoshihiro's campaign team study Kumamon as well."
He hung up and looked at the TV once more.
On screen, the little bear waved at the camera — as if greeting him personally.
A smile of anticipation spread across Takada Toshihide's face. He knew: this roly-poly bear was about to unleash a new storm in Tokyo.
And he, with TV Tokyo, would ride that storm into a new era.
Regarding the information cocoon strategy and Kumamon collaboration —
Perhaps there were deeper plays to be made.
...
Kumamoto Prefecture, Kumamoto City.
The second-floor studio's fluorescent lamp hummed faintly. Ash burned to the end of a cigarette between Hiroshi's fingers. He flicked the ash, paused his pencil on the drawing paper —
A Doraemon-in-samurai-armor sketch had barely been outlined — the round belly not yet shaded — when Misae's light footsteps came from below, followed by quick knocking.
"Hiroshi! Come down! We have guests!" Misae's voice brimmed with laughter. "It's Isshin-san and Masae!"
"Coming." He set down the pencil, swept eraser crumbs together, and walked to the window.
Below, Fujiwara Isshin walked toward the entrance in an immaculate navy suit, impeccably knotted tie, carrying an elegant paulownia-wood gift box. Beside him, Masae wore a pale pink dress, hair neatly arranged, ear tips faintly pink, stealing glances at Isshin every few steps — more self-conscious than usual.
Downstairs, he nearly collided with Musae carrying a plushie, its blush wonky but endearing.
"Brother-in-law! Come quick!" Musae grabbed his hand with unusual force. "Isshin-san brought treats! Your favorite yokan AND my strawberry daifuku!"
She pulled him down the stairs. At the landing, the living room's tea and pastry fragrance wafted up — warm and inviting.
In the living room, Yoshiharu sat in the main seat sipping tea, chatting with Fujiwara Isshin, wearing a rare gentle smile.
Takasae was pressing freshly baked dorayaki into Isshin's hands: "Just out of the oven — eat while it's hot!"
Masae perched on a low stool beside Isshin, twisting her skirt hem. When her father mentioned her name, her ears turned even redder.
"Hiroshi!" Yoshiharu spotted him first. "Come sit — just telling Isshin-san about the Prefectural Office planning a 'Special Kumamoto Promotion Contribution Award' for you."
Fujiwara Isshin rose with a slight bow: "Nohara-san, it's been a while. The merchandise oversight matter we discussed — I wanted to talk it through with you and Uncle and Auntie today."
He extended the paulownia gift box: "This is yokan and pickles — made by my mother. She insisted I bring them for you."
Hiroshi accepted the box, fingertips feeling its warm wood grain, and sat down.
The low table held two copper sukiyaki pots — broth not yet boiling — flanked by neatly arranged marbled beef slices, bright chrysanthemum greens, enoki mushrooms, and tofu on white porcelain plates.
Hiroshi sipped tea: "The oversight company — I've been thinking. Since Uncle and Auntie are both here, let's discuss it together."
Takasae beamed: "Isshin-san, you should know — Hiroshi is always thorough. When he helped Misae set up the comic club — finding premises, recruiting staff — everything organized perfectly. The club's business is wonderful now — publishers approach THEM!"
Misae blushed at her mother's praise but couldn't resist adding: "Isshin-san, Hiroshi even designed the Kumamon manga character for us! The comic club's drawing 'Kumamon's Daily Life' now — once it's done, we plan to approach Shueisha about publishing!"
Isshin's eyes sparkled with admiration: "Nohara-san is truly remarkable. Director Yamada called you 'a genius who turns ideas into reality' — clearly not an exaggeration."
Then his tone shifted to solemnity: "Actually, besides the oversight company, there's something important I wanted to discuss with Uncle and Auntie."
The room fell quiet. Yoshiharu set down his tea, studying Isshin with measured scrutiny. Takasae paused. Masae's head bowed deeper, fingers twisting her skirt harder.
Everyone already knew what this was about.
Fujiwara Isshin drew a deep breath, stood, and bowed deeply to Yoshiharu and Takasae: "Uncle, Auntie — I'm here on behalf of the Fujiwara family to discuss my marriage to Masae. I know my position isn't high yet, my income doesn't compare to Nohara-san's. But I promise — I will take the best care of Masae. She will never suffer."
From his inner jacket pocket, he produced a small velvet box. Inside — a silver ring engraved with tiny cherry blossoms. Not lavish, but refined.
"This was passed from my mother — a keepsake my father gave her. I want to give it to Masae. I hope to earn your blessing."
Masae's head snapped up, eyes glistening, fighting tears. She looked at Isshin, then her parents, lips moving but no words forming.
This was for her parents to decide.
Yoshiharu studied Isshin for several seconds, then smiled and clapped his shoulder: "I knew your feelings for Masae all along. You're steady, sincere — we're at ease. Right, dear?"
Takasae, eyes already brimming, nodded vigorously: "Yes, yes — Isshin-san is a wonderful young man. Masae is blessed to have you."
She took Masae's hand, lifted the ring from the box, and gently slipped it onto Masae's ring finger: "You're an adult now. Build a good life with Isshin-san, understand?"
Masae nodded hard, tears finally falling — but she was smiling: "Yes! Thank you, Mom and Dad! Thank you, Isshin!"
Musae hugged her plushie, watching the scene, and tilted her head: "So the engagement is TOMORROW? My teacher said both families eat together beforehand and discuss the bride price and dowry—that's the required custom, right?"
Masae turned crimson, lightly tapping Musae's head: "What does a kid know!" But she nodded: "Actually... yes. According to custom, tomorrow at noon, both sets of parents meet to discuss the formal engagement."
Isshin turned to Hiroshi and Misae: "Nohara-san, Misae-san — please come tomorrow too. Masae says you're like a brother to her. Having you there would make her more at ease."
Hiroshi met Masae's hopeful gaze and smiled: "Of course. Nothing on my schedule tomorrow. Misae — you're free too?"
"Absolutely!" Misae nodded. "I'll keep Masae company!"
Yoshiharu, spirits high, stood and lit the alcohol burner beneath the sukiyaki pot: "Enough talking — let's get this pot going before the beef turns lukewarm! Hiroshi, Isshin-san — have some sake. Tonight we feast!"
Takasae slid the marbled beef into the simmering broth — it bubbled instantly, meat fragrance mingling with sweet soy sauce. Chrysanthemum greens, enoki, and tofu followed.
"Isshin-san, have plenty of beef — I got this special marbled wagyu from the market yesterday. Hiroshi, help yourself!"
Isshin raised his sake cup to Hiroshi: "Nohara-san, truly — thank you for everything. The merchandise oversight company — I was thinking Uncle and Auntie could run it. Uncle's management rigor from his teaching career is perfect for quality control. Auntie's interpersonal skills suit sales channel coordination. It's your intellectual property — with your authorization, the Prefectural Office provides support, and we ensure smooth operations."
Hiroshi savored a slice of beef — tender, the sauce perfectly balanced. He regarded Isshin with a knowing smile —
He'd anticipated this from the moment Isshin raised the oversight topic.
Yoshiharu had been restless since retirement, feeling purposeless. Running quality oversight would leverage his strengths and give him meaningful work. Takasae loved interacting with people — sales channel management was a natural fit.
"Excellent idea." Hiroshi set down his chopsticks. "Uncle and Auntie have the experience — I'm confident with them at the helm. I'll have lawyers prepare authorization documents immediately. The Prefectural Office coordination — I'll leave that to you."
Yoshiharu's eyes widened: "You mean it? I can REALLY manage the oversight?"
Hiroshi smiled: "Absolutely. All those years as head teacher — your quality standards are exacting. Kumamon merchandise under your watch? I couldn't ask for better. Plus, it's contributing to Kumamoto's development — you've always said you wanted to do something for Kumamoto. Here's your chance."
Takasae glowed, placing tofu in Isshin's bowl: "Isshin-san, THANK you! We'll work hard — we won't let you or Hiroshi down."
Musae piped up: "Can I help at the company? I can check if the plushie blush patches are stitched straight! And sell merchandise — all my classmates want Kumamon plushies!"
Misae ruffled her hair: "Of course! When the company launches, you'll be our 'junior quality inspector' — deal?"
"Deal!" Musae nodded emphatically.
The living room grew livelier. Sukiyaki steam rose warmly, coloring everyone's faces with a gentle glow.
Yoshiharu and Isshin discussed education and oversight details. Takasae and the sisters debated outfits for tomorrow's meeting and engagement ceremony protocols.
Hiroshi sat among them, occasionally contributing, surveying his family — heart utterly at peace.
Isshin sipped sake, gazing at Hiroshi with quiet admiration: "Working with you on the Kumamon shorts, I already knew you were remarkable. But seeing how you've not only promoted Kumamon brilliantly but think of everyone around you so thoroughly — I'm genuinely in awe. Anything you need, just say the word."
Hiroshi waved it off: "No need for formality. We're all doing this for Kumamoto, for each other. Kumamon's success belongs to you, Director Yamada, everyone at the Prefectural Office."
He paused, glancing at the simmering beef: "About future promotion — I'm planning a 'Kumamon's Four Seasons' series. Spring at Mount Aso for cherry blossoms, summer helping farmers, autumn learning to make dried persimmons, winter building snowmen at Kumamoto Castle. I'll need prefectural venues and resources — hope you can coordinate."
"Absolutely!" Isshin agreed at once. "I'll brief Director Yamada tomorrow. Full Prefectural support guaranteed."
Yoshiharu joined in: "If you need help finding farmers or grandmothers for the filming, just ask. I know plenty of people. I can review scripts too — I may not know filmmaking, but I know Kumamoto's customs."
Once the sukiyaki was ready, Takasae served beef and vegetables into everyone's bowls, topping off the sake.
Laughter and conversation intertwined. Warm lamplight bathed everyone, radiating homey comfort.
"Let's toast!" Yoshiharu raised his cup. "To Masae and Isshin's engagement! To Hiroshi's Kumamon shorts! To our family — always this happy!"
Cups clinked — a crisp, resonant chime echoing through the living room.
Sake's mellow warmth mingled with sukiyaki's rich aroma — a current of warmth flowing into every heart.
Night deepened. Cherry trees in the garden glowed faintly under lamplight.
Inside, laughter continued. Sukiyaki steam curled upward, painting every face with golden warmth.
...
When Fujiwara Isshin opened his front door, the motion-sensor lamp clicked on, warm yellow light spreading across wooden floors, softening the creases in his navy suit.
The air carried faint roasted-tea fragrance mixed with wagashi sweetness — his mother Fujiwara Temari's signature hospitality atmosphere. Clearly, his parents had been waiting.
"You're home?"
The living room's sliding door opened. His father Fujiwara Honmaru's voice preceded him.
The aging county councilor — hair touched with silver — sat at the low table's head position, a spread-open Kumamoto Prefectural Gazette before him. Reading glasses had slipped to his nose tip, but his eyes weren't on the page. He'd clearly been waiting anxiously.
Beside him, Temari rose immediately, kimono hem sweeping tatami. She held a freshly warmed enamel teacup, steam condensing at the rim.
"Come, sit — I've had Asetsu reheat this tea three times already, worried it'd be cold when you got back." She pressed the cup into Isshin's hands, fingers lightly touching his cuff. "Windy outside? The forecast said it's cooling tonight — why didn't you wear a heavier jacket?"
Isshin accepted the cup — warmth seeping through the ceramic — and sat down, placing the paulownia gift box beside the table. Inside were Takasae's softest dorayaki, saved specifically for his parents.
"I'm fine, Mom — car heater was on." He sipped — the tea carried hints of roasted fire, a flavor he'd loved since childhood. "The visit to the Koyama house... went very smoothly."
At this, Honmaru set down his gazette, pushed up his glasses, and fixed his son with a gaze that was scrutinizing yet expectant: "I hear Koyama Yoshiharu used to be a head teacher — very particular about propriety."
Temari leaned in, a piece of yokan in her hand she'd forgotten to offer: "Right — I do like Masae. Quiet, sensible, capable around the house. But the Koyama family is ordinary — won't they feel our family's threshold is too high? Feel pressured? If they have ANY concerns, you MUST tell us. We can make concessions wherever possible."
Isshin watched his parents' anxiety and couldn't help smiling.
He knew: beneath their worry about the Koyamas' reaction was fear that HE might be slighted in the marriage arrangement.
The Fujiwara family was Kumamoto's aristocracy — his father a senior councilor with key Kumamoto City council positions. The Koyamas were an ordinary working family — Masae's father a retired head teacher, her mother a homemaker. Outsiders might view this match as "mismatched in status."
But only Isshin knew that Honmaru had approved the match not because of pedigree, but because of last year's dinner when Masae visited. Her grace and upbringing had won both parents over.
Afterward, his father had said: "This girl is thoughtful, considerate — far superior to those pretentious socialites. Our family doesn't lack status;
what we need is someone who'll build a genuine life."
"Dad, Mom — you're overthinking." Isshin set down his cup. "Uncle and Auntie Koyama are very easygoing. No unreasonable demands. They said: as long as I take good care of Masae and she doesn't suffer, they're content to entrust their daughter to me."
He produced the velvet box — the cherry-blossom-engraved silver ring.
"Auntie Koyama asked me to bring this back — a 'reassurance gift' for you. She said this ring was passed down from Masae's grandmother. Uncle Koyama used it to propose to Auntie. Giving it to me means they hope our families will be as close as one."
Temari took the box, thumb tracing the cherry blossom engraving, eyes instantly reddening.
She looked at her husband, voice catching: "See? I TOLD you they're reasonable people. Masae — willing to give up a family heirloom — clearly she's committed to building a life with our Isshin."
Honmaru said nothing, but reached for the box and studied the ring.
His rough fingers — knuckles thickened from years of writing — handled the ring with exceptional gentleness, as if afraid of damaging it.
After several seconds, he finally nodded: "Mm. A family that understands propriety. This ring isn't expensive, but the sentiment behind it is priceless — worth more than any gold or jewel."