novelraw Chapter 23: 1.77%
Chapter 23: 1.77%
Takeshita Ai's apartment was spotless, and a faint aroma of lavender wafted through the air.
She wasn't drinking alcohol; placed before her was a cup of warm black tea.
When the final scene of the second episode of "Yamishibai", "Tragic Veneration", froze on the screen, and that ear-piercing sound of brakes seemed to still echo in her ears, only then did she let out a long breath, feeling her back turn somewhat cold.
Even though she had already watched it in advance during the audit, when it was truly broadcast via television signals in such a silent late night, that bone-permeating sense of terror still caused her heart to palpitate.
She picked up the proposal document on the table that she had already read several times, her gaze once again falling upon the name "Nohara Hiroshi", as well as that vocabulary word he had created that appeared incomparably novel in this world—"Urban Legends".
This was no longer a simple horror animation.
Takeshita Ai asserted in her heart.
This was an entirely new narrative model. It abandoned those distant ghosts and gods and ancient folklore found in traditional horror stories, and instead aimed its lens at every ordinary person in a modern city, digging out the most primal and most resonant fear from the most familiar and everyday details of their lives.
Apartments, neighbors, hospitals, taxis... these were all traps, all entrances leading to the unknown.
This was the true handiwork of a genius.Takeshita Ai picked up her teacup, the warm liquid sliding down her throat, yet unable to dispel the trace of chill in her heart, and the other trace of increasingly burning appreciation.
She made up her mind. If, just if, this animation's viewership ratings truly couldn't reach the television station's standards, she absolutely couldn't let such a bright pearl gather dust.
She would personally go find Deputy Bureau Chief Asumi.
That old classmate of hers, who had the same sharp, venomous eye since high school and refused to compromise with mediocrity, would definitely be able to understand the true value of "Yamishibai".
...
The next morning, Suzuki Section.
The air was so heavy it felt as if water could drip from it.
Everyone had arrived. Minamura Hoshi's dark circles were as thick as if painted on with ink, and Kitagawa Yao's eyes were still somewhat red and swollen. They were like a group of prisoners awaiting sentence, all their gazes focused on the office door.
Finally, the door opened.
Hashishita Ichiro walked in, pinching a thin piece of report paper in his hand. That piece of paper seemed to weigh a thousand pounds in his grip. His complexion was even uglier than yesterday, an ashen color mixed with disappointment, unwillingness, and absurdity.
"Hashishita..." Suzuki Kiyoto's voice was terribly hoarse.
Hashishita Ichiro didn't speak, but merely placed that report paper in the center of the table, and everyone subconsciously gathered around it.
"Late-night animation 'Yamishibai', episode two viewership rating: 1.77%."
"Viewership rating level - Poor."
1.77%.
Inside the office, there was a deathly silence.
If yesterday's 1.75% was a basin of ice water, then today's 1.77% was an unmerciful slap to the face.
A mere increase of 0.02%.
This insignificant growth was far more despairing than a cliff-like drop.
It meant that the "word-of-mouth seed" Nohara Hiroshi had placed high hopes in yesterday hadn't sprouted at all. It meant that all their struggles were merely futile.
"How... how could it be..." Minamura Hoshi's lips trembled, unable to speak a complete sentence.
Haseji Kakeru slumped dejectedly back into his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling with dull eyes, as if all his strength had been drained away.
Kitagawa Yao could no longer hold back. She buried her face in the crook of her arm, letting out suppressed, tiny sobbing sounds.
It was over.
This time, it was truly over.
Looking at that glaring number on the report, Suzuki Kiyoto felt as if his heart had been fiercely clenched by someone. He didn't even dare to look at Nohara Hiroshi; he was afraid of seeing the same despair as theirs appear on the face of that forever-confident young man.
Meanwhile, in the Iwata Section not far away, a burst of undisguised, uproarious laughter erupted.
"Hahahaha! 1.77%! My God, how did they do it? It actually increased by 0.02%! Did two new viewers appear? One is his dad, and the other is his mom?"
"Section Chief, we can thoroughly rest assured now! That old geezer Suzuki is dead as a doornail!"
"Just wait for next Monday to see how our 'Onibo Samurai' amazes the world with a single brilliant feat, crushing their meager, pitiful viewership ratings into powder!"
Iwata Masao leaned comfortably against his genuine leather boss chair, listening to the flattery of his subordinates, the smile on the corners of his lips proud and cruel. He picked up the phone and reported this "good news" to Deputy Bureau Chief Takada. On the other end of the phone, Takada Toshihide also let out a satisfied, light chuckle.
Everything was under control.
...
Just as the Suzuki Section was enveloped in a despairing low pressure, almost to the point of suffocation, a voice finally rang out from that corner everyone was subconsciously avoiding.
"Everyone."
Nohara Hiroshi's voice was still calm, without any emotional fluctuations discernible. He stood up from his seat, walked over to that report, and picked it up.
Everyone's gazes converged onto him.
They saw that there was no despair, no unwillingness, and not even the slightest bit of surprise on Nohara Hiroshi's face. His eyes were like looking at a number that had nothing to do with him—calm, and focused.
He held up that thin piece of paper in front of the crowd, pointed at the "1.77%" number on it, and slowly opened his mouth.
"What do you see?"
The crowd looked at each other in blank dismay, not knowing how to answer. They saw failure, they saw despair; what else could they see?
Nohara Hiroshi's gaze swept across every ashen face. His voice wasn't loud, but it transmitted clearly into everyone's ears.
"What I see, is growth."
His finger lightly tapped on that "0.02%" increase.
"I know, this number is insignificant, even like a joke. However, have you ever thought about what this means?"
He paused, giving the crowd time to think, before continuing, "This means that under the condition of having absolutely no promotion and a broadcast time akin to exile, our audience not only didn't bleed away, but instead... increased."
"This 0.02% is not two people. In Tokyo, it represents thousands of households. It means that among that batch of audience members who were terrified yesterday, a portion of them not only stayed in front of the television themselves today, but also dragged their friends, family, and colleagues over as well."
"The fermentation of word-of-mouth is never accomplished in one move. It's like rolling a snowball; at the very beginning, you can only see a tiny, insignificant trace added to the snow. However, as long as the slope is long enough and the snow wet enough, it will roll bigger and bigger, ultimately forming an avalanche."
His voice carried a kind of composure and power that saw through everything. He wasn't consoling them, but stating a fact, an inevitable future that only he knew would arrive.
"Our slope is a full seven days. Our snow is the unique terror of 'Yamishibai'. Now, the snowball has only just begun to roll."
Nohara Hiroshi put down the report, looked around at the crowd, and finally, the corners of his lips curled into a confident arc.
"Everyone, the good show has only just begun."