My Name is Hiroshi Nohara, Star of Neon Film and Television!

Chapter 240: Tokyo Station's Affirmation! The Old Station Chief's Sigh! Support for Nohara Hiroshi!

This book is first published on 𝕥𝕨𝕜𝕒𝕟.𝕔𝕠𝕞 across the entire network

The office of the Production Bureau at TV Tokyo was much brighter than Kanto Station. The light brown wooden desks were wiped until they shone, and two neatly trimmed asparagus ferns sat on the windowsill.

On the "Tokyo Station Annual Viewership Report" hanging on the wall, the names "Kasou Taishou" and "Tales of the Unusual" were circled in red pen, with the eye-catching data "40.2%" and "21.7%" marked beside them. Only the "Documentary Section" in the corner had a faint line of "3.1%", like an improperly wiped stain.

Takada Toshihide sat behind the desk, pinching a copy of the "Kanto Station Reform Proposal", his brow furrowed deeply enough to crush a pencil.

He had just flipped the proposal to the "Humanities Documentary" page when the office door was gently pushed open. Nohara Hiroshi and Asumi walked in side-by-side, both still carrying a bit of the dusty smell from Kanto Station's old building.

"Bureau Chief Takada." Asumi spoke first, never letting go of the thermos cup in his hand—his stomach wasn't good, and he drank warm tea all year round. "We rushed back from Kanto Station to report the details of the reform proposal to you."

Takada raised his eyelids, pointed to the chair opposite, his tone carrying a little imperceptible scrutiny: "Sit down. Hiroshi-kun, I've read this proposal of yours to change Kanto Station into a 'special station dedicated to filming humanities documentaries'? Do you know what this means?"

As soon as Hiroshi sat down, he heard the doubt in Takada's words. He put the storyboard draft in his hand on the table and pushed it over: "Bureau Chief Takada, I know what you are worried about. You are afraid that the ratings of the documentaries will be low and won't be able to support Kanto Station's ad revenue, right?"

Takada didn't deny it. He picked up the storyboard draft and flipped two pages—on it were drawn the fishermen at Kamakura's seafood shop hauling in nets, the proprietress of the Yokohama steamed bun shop kneading dough, and even the lighting angles were clearly marked.

He snorted and put the manuscript paper on the table: "It's not just the ratings. Look at the station's report. Last year, all the documentaries across the entire station produced a combined total of only 20 million yen, which is less than the ad revenue from a single episode of 'Kasou Taishou'. What's the situation at Kanto Station now? They owe nearly ten million in ad payments, half of their equipment is broken, and you want them to film documentaries? Isn't this driving a lean horse to its death?"He paused and tapped his finger on the "3.1%" viewership data: "Besides, the audience guarding the TV now is watching lively idol dramas like 'Tokyo Love Story', or variety shows like 'Kasou Taishou' that can make them laugh out loud. Who wants to spend an hour watching an old man cook Soba noodles? Matsumoto Keiko's 'Kyoto Old Shops' from the year before last was delicate enough, right? The viewership was only 4%, and in the end, advertisers directly cut the second year's budget in half—do you think your 'A Bite of Neon' can beat her film?"

Hiroshi didn't rush to refute. Instead, he took out a "Kanto Region Audience Survey Report" from his briefcase and placed it in front of Takada. "Bureau Chief Takada, this is the viewing habits of audiences over 35 in the Kanto region that I had Kimura Hiroshi-san compile. Look, this segment of the audience accounts for 62% of Kanto Station's current audience, and 83% of them say 'want to watch content related to Kanto itself', and 75% 'are interested in the stories of old crafts and old shops'—this is our target audience."

He swiped his fingertip across the report: "City TV's 'Tokyo Suburbs Visit' looking for Kamiki Shunsuke is targeting young viewers between 15-25, which doesn't conflict with us. Furthermore, most of this 35+ audience has a stable income and is the group that local merchants and tourism bureaus want to win over the most—for example, Marui Soy Sauce and Asakusaya. What they need is not celebrity endorsements, but promotion that can reflect 'local heritage'. Our documentary happens to provide them with this platform."

Asumi also added: "Bureau Chief Takada, Hiroshi-kun and I visited Kanto Station. The Kamakura City Government and the Gunma Prefectural Government have both stated that if we film a documentary promoting local culture, they are willing to provide a portion of the production subsidy. Minister Hattori Tadashi also said that as long as the film can highlight the 'local characteristics of the Greater Tokyo Area,' a portion of the Tokyo Metropolis promotional funds can also be allocated—calculated this way, our production costs can be kept to a minimum. Even if the initial viewership isn't high, we won't lose too much."

Takada rubbed his chin, the doubt in his eyes undissipated. "How much can the subsidy cover? Two or three million at most, right? Kanto Station's operating costs are five million a month. If you film a documentary, you have to rent equipment and hire a team. Where will this money come from? We can't let Tokyo Station keep subsidizing them, right? Although Station Chief Sakata supports you, the station's Finance Division aren't freeloaders either, and the monthly budget has to be reported to the Board of Directors—if Kanto Station keeps failing to become profitable, I won't be able to explain it to the board."

"There's no need to rush on profitability," Hiroshi's tone remained steady. "We'll film three pilot episodes first, each 25 minutes long, with costs controlled under one million yen. The first episode will film 'Freshness of the Seaside,' collaborating with Chiba's seafood market to have them sponsor ingredients and venues. The second episode will film 'Warmth of the Streets.' Several old shops in Yokohama Chinatown have already agreed to exchange ten thousand yen for a 'Special Thanks' in the end credits. The third episode will film 'Taste of Home.' Farmers in Gunma are willing to provide filming locations for free and can also help us contact local Soba noodle factories. Calculated this way, the cost of three episodes will only be a little over two million. Together with government subsidies, we can basically break even."

He paused and added: "And as long as the pilot gets a good response, advertisers will definitely come. For example, Marui Soy Sauce. They've cooperated with Kanto Station for ten years and place great importance on the Kanto market. If they see a shot of 'old craftsmen using Marui Soy Sauce for seasoning' in the documentary, they will definitely be willing to increase their advertising budget. Also, Kamakura's tourism bureau—if the film hits and more people travel to Kamakura, their promotional budget for next year might all be invested in us."

Takada remained unconvinced. He leaned back in his chair, unconsciously tapping his fingers on the desktop. "Hiroshi-kun, you're too young, and you're thinking about some things too simply. With documentaries, it's not like if you film it well it'll be popular. Ten years ago when Kanto Station filmed 'Kanto Folklore Travelogue', Matsui Yuichi took a team and camped out for three months. Filmed painstakingly enough, right? What was the result? The viewership didn't even reach 2.3%, and wasn't it axed in the end? You're telling me 'good response' now, but what if the response isn't good? Kanto Station is already panic-stricken, tossing about like this again, I'm afraid even the last few veteran employees will leave."

As soon as these words fell, Asumi smiled. He picked up his thermos, took a sip of tea, and spoke with a hint of reminiscent warmth in his tone: "Bureau Chief Takada, have you forgotten 'Yamishibai'? Who initially thought highly of late-night urban legend animations? As a result, Hiroshi-kun filmed it, the ratings broke 12%, and created a new genre. Consider 'Seven Samurai';

everyone pronounced 'samurai films obsolete.' The result? Box office revenue eclipsed 8.9 billion, prompting Senior Kurosawa Eiji to praise him for 'capturing the samurai spirit.' When Hiroshi-kun makes programs, he never relies on 'gambling';

he relies on grasping things others cannot see—I trust him with this documentary."

Takada was stunned for a moment, recalling the grand occasion when "Seven Samurai" was released last year—long queues lined up outside the cinemas in Tokyo, and even the old directors on the board went to watch it specially, coming back and saying, "This film is even more authentic than Kurosawa Akira's." He rubbed his nose, his tone softened, but he still didn't fully agree. "That's what you say... but this time is different. It's Kanto Station's life-and-death game, leaving no room for the slightest mistake."

Just then, the office door was pushed open, and Sakata Nobuhiko and Shimazu Yoshihiro walked in.

Sakata was wearing a dark gray suit, holding a copy of the Asahi Shimbun, the entertainment section of which still carried a review of "Seven Samurai." Shimazu was dressed more formally, his tie meticulously tied—he had just come from his campaign office and hadn't had time to change his clothes.

"Takada, Shimazu-kun and I heard a few sentences from outside." Sakata spoke first, his tone carrying the steadiness of an old-school manager. He walked to the desk, picked up the "Kanto Station Reform Proposal", and turned to the "Humanities Documentary" page. "Hiroshi-kun's line of thought here, I think it's very good."

Shimazu also nodded along. He understood "political value" much better than Sakata, with a hint of approval in his eyes: "From a campaign perspective, this kind of documentary is 'down-to-earth'. Currently, voters in Tokyo City, especially those in the Kanto region, are a bit resistant to the concept of the 'Greater Tokyo Area', feeling that 'local flavor has been lost'. If Hiroshi-kun can film Kanto's old crafts and old stories, it's equivalent to helping me send a signal of 'respecting local culture'—this is much more effective than shouting slogans at campaign rallies."

He paused and looked at Takada, his tone carrying the guidance of a senior: "Takada-kun, you're worried about short-term profitability, but running media can't just be about looking at the immediate future. Think about it, if Kanto Station can really gain a foothold with documentaries and become the 'spokesperson for Kanto's local culture', then its value won't be measurable by ad revenue—local governments will curry favor with it, local companies will rely on it, and even later when Tokyo Station competes with City TV, Kanto Station will be a trump card in our hands."

Sakata patted Takada's shoulder and smiled: "Shimazu-kun is right. I talked with Hiroshi-kun on the phone yesterday, and he told me the ideas of 'Freshness of the Seaside,' 'Warmth of the Streets,' and 'Taste of Home.' I felt it was feasible right then. Did you forget? Our station's 'Midnight Diner' also relies on 'slow pace' and 'human touch' to be popular. It's not that the audience doesn't like slow, it's that they don't like an absence of warmth—what Hiroshi-kun makes best are programs with warmth."

Seeing that both Sakata and Shimazu had stated their positions, the last bit of doubt in Takada's heart dissipated.

He picked up the storyboard draft and looked at it again—this time, he didn't stare at the three words "documentary" but noticed the details in the draft: the smile of the fishermen hauling in the net, the strength of the proprietress's wrist kneading dough, and the wrinkles of the old lady cooking Soba noodles. He suddenly felt that these pictures might really touch people, having more flavor than those staged shots of celebrities.

"Since Station Chief Sakata and former President Shimazu both say so, I have no objections." Takada put down the manuscript paper, his tone carrying a bit of relief: "For Kanto Station's follow-up needs regarding equipment and personnel transfer, the Production Bureau will fully cooperate. If additional budget is needed, I will also coordinate with the Finance Division."

Hiroshi stood up and bowed slightly. "Thank you, Bureau Chief Takada. We won't let you down."

"Don't just thank me." Takada waved his hand and pointed at Sakata. "If you want to thank someone, thank Station Chief Sakata. He gave me a heads-up yesterday, saying, 'If Hiroshi-kun's proposal doesn't pass, let him talk to me'—I don't want to argue with the old man."

Everyone in the office laughed, sweeping away the previous tense atmosphere.

Sakata walked to Hiroshi's side, picked up the storyboard draft, his eyes full of appreciation: "Hiroshi-kun, this storyboard of yours is drawn quite meticulously;

even the number of grids on the steamer is marked. When will you start filming? Do you need the station to send a cinematography instructor over?"

"Starting next Monday, we'll go to the Chiba seafood market first to scout locations."

Hiroshi replied: "Matsui Yuichi-san has already formed a team. Veteran cameraman Sato-san, young director Honda Sakurako-chan, and sound recordist Kobayashi-san are all old-timers from Kanto Station and understand the local customs of Kanto. But if the station could send an instructor who understands documentaries over, that would be even better—after all, they've only filmed local news in the past, and this is their first time filming a documentary."

"No problem."

Sakata nodded immediately and looked at Asumi. "Asumi, give the Technical Department a heads-up and tell them to send the most experienced cinematography instructor over, just say it's my intention. In addition, the two high-definition cameras Kanto Station needs, transfer them over today, don't keep them waiting."

Asumi quickly agreed: "Yes! I'll call the Technical Department right now."

Shimazu saw his team's clear division of labor, and a smile appeared on his lips: "Hiroshi-kun, if filming 'Taste of Home' requires a farmhouse location, I can help you contact assemblymen in Gunma Prefecture—I have a good relationship with them, and they'll definitely be willing to cooperate. Furthermore, Gunma's Soba noodles are very famous;

filming it might stimulate local tourism, which they desire but cannot obtain."

"Then thank you very much, former President Shimazu."

Hiroshi hastily thanked him, feeling a little surprised in his heart—he didn't expect Shimazu to be so proactive. It was only later that he realized Shimazu is now running for Mayor. The "Kanto local sentiment" in the documentary happens to help him canvass for votes, this is a win-win situation.

Sakata suddenly remembered something and clapped his hands: "By the way, Hiroshi-kun, the five million yen pilot fund I mentioned to you earlier, I reported to the board of directors. They feel 'humanities documentaries have cultural value' and agreed to add it up to ten million."

"Ten million?" Hiroshi froze for a moment, and even Asumi looked up in surprise—ten million yen in 1991 is not a small sum. It could buy three of the newest high-definition video cameras, or hire a fifth-tier star to shoot commercials for a whole year. It was enough to film ten episodes of "A Bite of Neon".

Takada concurred, his tone carrying a note of envy. "The board of directors completely trusts you currently. Subsequent to 'Seven Samurai' achieving massive popularity, they declared, 'We must augment Manager Nohara's production budget.' This time, they directly approved ten million, exceeding the variety show budget I submitted last year."

Sakata smiled, his eyes carrying relief, "It's not that I'm playing favorites, but Hiroshi-kun deserves it. Look at the programs he's made: 'Yamishibai' saved the late-night slot, 'Kasou Taishou' became a pillar of the station, 'Seven Samurai' established Tokyo Station's movie brand—now asking him to save Kanto Station, the board is naturally willing to invest money. And this ten million is not just for 'A Bite of Neon', but also 'lifesaving money' for Kanto Station. As long as the program is a hit and Kanto Station comes alive, this money will be earned back very soon."

Hiroshi felt a warmth in his heart and bowed again, "Thank you, Station Chief Sakata. I will definitely film it well and live up to the trust you and the board have placed in me."

"No need to thank me," Sakata patted him on the shoulder, his tone carrying a little expectation. "You're young, talented, and understand the audience. The future of Tokyo Station still relies on young people like you. Treat the reform of Kanto Station as practice for you—I will have to rely on you for more important matters in the station in the future."

Shimazu also chimed in, "Hiroshi-kun, if you ever film documentaries related to 'Tokyo City culture' in the future, don't hesitate to find me. Although I am campaigning, I also want to do something for Tokyo's local culture—unlike now, where high-rises are everywhere, but places that remind people of 'Old Tokyo' have dwindled."

Hiroshi nodded and promised. He suddenly felt that this reform of Kanto Station was not just a project, but a "connection"—connecting Tokyo Station and Kanto Station, connecting the TV station and local governments, connecting commercial interests and cultural inheritance.

And he was the person threading the needle.

Takada checked his watch and stood up. "It's getting late. I'll make a phone call to the Finance Division and have them transfer the ten million yen to Kanto Station's account today. Asumi, coordinate the equipment with the Technical Department, don't delay next week's filming."

"Yes!" Asumi immediately agreed, picking up the pager on the table—the Technical Department had just sent a message saying, "The two high-definition cameras are ready and can be transferred at any time."

Sakata and Shimazu were also getting ready to leave. Before leaving, Shimazu purposely said to Hiroshi: "Hiroshi-kun, if you encounter local troubles during filming, such as the city government not cooperating, call me at any time. My campaign office is in Ginza, not far from Kanto Station, and I can be there in half an hour."

Hiroshi quickly wrote down Shimazu's phone number, feeling grateful—with the support of Sakata and Shimazu, Kanto Station's reform path would undoubtedly be much smoother.

After Sakata and Shimazu left, only Hiroshi, Asumi, and Takada remained in the office.

Takada looked at Hiroshi and suddenly smiled. "Hiroshi-kun, I used to think you were too young to handle big situations, but now it seems I was wrong. You understand how to 'get things done' much better than I imagined—not only do you understand programs, but you also understand how to pull resources and get the higher-ups to support you."

Asumi smiled correspondingly, "Bureau Chief Takada, you're just noticing this? Hiroshi-kun ceased being the rookie who initially entered the station long ago. Previously filming 'Seven Samurai,' interacting alongside Senior Kurosawa Eiji, negotiating collaborations approaching Minister Hattori... when hasn't he manifested sophisticated competence?"

Hiroshi rubbed the back of his head, feeling a bit embarrassed: "I'm just lucky that the seniors I met were willing to help me. If I didn't have the support of Station Chief Sakata, Executive Director Asumi, and you, Bureau Chief Takada, I wouldn't have been able to accomplish so many things."

"You kid, you're just too modest."

Takada shook his head, his tone carrying appreciation. "But modesty is a good thing. It's much better than those juniors who get carried away with a little achievement. Work hard. If Kanto Station can come alive because of you, I'll apply to Station Chief Sakata to promote you to Level 2 Director—you're a Level 3 now, and an exceptional promotion to Level 2 is unprecedented in Tokyo Station."

Hiroshi froze for a moment, then thanked him, "Thank you, Bureau Chief Takada. But right now, I want to focus on filming 'A Bite of Neon' well. I'm not in a hurry regarding job titles."

"Okay, with your words, I'm relieved." Takada nodded in satisfaction, picking up the proposal on the table. "I'm off to the Finance Division, you guys hurry up and get busy too—don't keep Matsui Yuichi and the others waiting. That old man is stubborn. If the equipment doesn't arrive on time, he might throw a tantrum again."

Asumi smiled and agreed, walking out of the office with Hiroshi.

The sunlight in the corridor was just right, shining through the glass onto the old photos on the wall—it was a group photo taken when Tokyo Station was just established. The people in it were wearing Zhongshan suits, their smiles filled with high spirits.

"Hiroshi-kun, shall we go to the Technical Department to see the equipment now?" Asumi asked, the thermos in his hand emitting hot steam.

"Sure." Hiroshi nodded, his mood much more pleasant.

With a ten million yen budget, two new cameras, and the support of a cinematography instructor, the beginning of "A Bite of Neon" was much smoother than he had imagined.

As soon as the two arrived at the door of the Technical Department, they heard a familiar voice inside—it was Saito Shigeru. He had rushed over from Kanto Station and was coordinating equipment with the Technical Department people: "The lens of this camera needs to be changed. Last time we filmed at the seafood market, sand got inside, and the footage was a bit blurry... Also, the sound equipment needs to have windshields. The wind by the sea is strong, don't record the sound of the wind..."

Hiroshi and Asumi exchanged a glance and laughed.

Pushing the door open, they saw Saito Shigeru squatting on the ground, holding a rag, wiping the camera lens. His face still lacked expression, but he seemed livelier than when he was at Kanto Station.

"Saito-san, you've worked hard." Hiroshi walked over and handed him a bottle of oolong tea—he had just bought it at the convenience store downstairs, and it still had ice crystals.

Saito Shigeru took the tea, nodded, his voice still deep. "It's not hard. Filming the documentary well is better than anything."

The director of the Technical Department also walked over, holding an equipment list. "Manager Nohara, Executive Director Asumi, the two high-definition video cameras have been debugged, and the lenses, batteries, and memory cards are all ready. There are also three sets of audio recording equipment, with windshields and spare batteries, which can be delivered to Kanto Station today."

Asumi reviewed the list, scrutinized the details, and nodded approvingly, "Thank you. If the personnel at Kanto Station require operational assistance, dispatch a technician providing instruction—preventing equipment damage is essential, considering these represent recently acquired station assets."

"Rest assured!" The Technical Department director said with a smile, "I've already arranged it. Oda will go to Kanto Station and stay for three days to teach clearly how to use the equipment."

Hiroshi watched everything unfolding in front of him—Saito Shigeru checking the camera, the Technical Department people packing the equipment, Asumi confirming the details with the director. He suddenly felt that the so-called "reform" was never just one person's matter, but the concerted effort of a group of people.

Just like the stories that "A Bite of Neon" is going to film—fishermen making a living from the sea need the help of their family;

the inheritance of a bun shop needs the support of regular customers;

farmhouse Soba noodles need the sharing of neighbors.

And the reform of Kanto Station needs Sakata's trust, Takada's cooperation, Asumi's coordination, Saito's technology, and the hard work of Matsui, Honda, and others.

...

The small meeting room on the top floor of Tokyo Station was much quieter than the office area downstairs. The wooden conference table was polished to a mirror finish, and a set of celadon tea sets was arranged on the table. The kettle in the corner emitted faint white steam, occasionally making a slight "gurgle"—Sakata Nobuhiko had specifically requested it, saying, "You need hot tea to calm down and talk."

Hanging against the wall resided a portrait illustrating boats navigating shallow waters towards safe harbor, a gift presented by an elderly artist honoring Tokyo Station's foundation during the 45th year of the Showa era. Decolorization affecting the frame's edges somewhat retarded the room's ambient luminescence.

Just as he sat down, Sakata Nobuhiko took a sip from his teacup, stroking the rim with his fingertips. In his hand, he still held the "Kanto Station Reform Budget Table", and the "ten million yen" in the "Documentary Production" column was circled in red, with "Expected Ad Revenue: Unknown" written beside it.

He sighed softly and placed the table on the desk. "Shimazu-kun, you say this kid Hiroshi is really quite brave. Throwing ten million into a documentary, if the viewership doesn't even reach 3%, those outstanding advertising fees Kanto Station has will be even harder to collect."

Shimazu Yoshihiro had just loosened his tie. Hearing this, he raised an eyebrow and reached out to pick up the budget table to flip through it.

His fingers swept over the lines "Kamakura City Government Subsidy 500,000" and "Gunma Prefecture Tourism Bureau Support 300,000," and his lips curled up: "Sakata-kun, you are too conservative. What's the climate at Kanto Station now? Half the equipment is broken, veteran employees haven't received subsidies for three months. If there's no reform, I'm afraid they won't even be able to pay the office building rent next year. Hiroshi's idea at least points it in a new direction—which is better than desperately clinging to those local news reports nobody watches."

He paused, tapped his fingertips on the characters for "Humanities Documentary," and a touch of reminiscence appeared in his eyes:

"Remember twenty years ago? How glorious Kanto Station was. The 'Kanto Folklore Records' they shot back then broke 15% in ratings, suppressing our 'Tokyo Wide-Angle Lens' so much it couldn't lift its head. At that time, Matsui Yuichi was still a reckless guy in his thirties. He squatted in the snow with a video camera for three days just to film the sunrise over Mount Fuji—and now? He even has to worry if the camera will turn on when he goes to shoot a seafood market."

These words were like a needle, piercing Sakata Nobuhiko's memories.

He leaned backward occupying his chair, his optical trajectory navigating toward the portrait illustrating boats navigating shallow waters against the wall. His vocal projection slowed. "How could I forget? Approaching Showa 50, Kanto Station extracted our premium director, concurrently appropriating Marui Soy Sauce's annual advertising contract. Assuming the Station Chief position, you initiated nocturnal conferences subsequently restructuring scheduling parameters, transitioning 'Tokyo Wide-Angle Lens' towards lateral weekly broadcasts, additionally incorporating 'Old Tokyo Stories', successfully recovering viewership metrics—you suffered severe sleep deprivation during those specific chronological cycles."

Shimazu Yoshihiro chuckled at his words, though the mirth failed to reach his eyes. "Isn't that right? The Kanto Station's Station Chief even challenged me back then, saying 'Kanto's audience should watch Kanto's own programs.' And what happened? It was all eager for quick success and instant benefits. Later, they followed the trend of filming idol dramas and lost their old foundation. Now it's come to this, relying on us at Tokyo Station to save them—speaking of which, it makes one sigh."

His tone carried an imperceptible trace of arrogance, but it wasn't boasting;

rather, it was a sigh over the decline of an old rival.

Sakata Nobuhiko observed this and gently shook his head. "Shimazu-kun, so many years have passed, why bring these things up? We are family now. If Kanto Station thrives, it benefits our Tokyo Station too—at the very least, City TV will have one more capable opponent."

Shimazu Yoshihiro waved his hand, picked up his teacup, and drank, the steam blurring the emotions in his eyes. "I'm not holding a grudge, I just feel it's a pity. If Kanto Station had continued to make programs like 'Kanto Folklore Records' back then, they wouldn't have fallen to this situation. But it's fine. Now that we have the kid Hiroshi, maybe he can turn it around—watching a former opponent come alive relying on our people is actually quite an interesting thing."

Sakata Nobuhiko smiled and tapped lightly on the table. "You, still the same temper. But now is not the time to think about this. Your mayoral election is the top priority. Tanaka Mikami has made quite a few moves recently. He went to Asakusaya yesterday to canvass for votes, saying he will 'continue to promote Tokyo's real estate development'. Many voters who own houses were attracted by him. You must stay calm and don't get angry over this small matter at Kanto Station—your body can't handle the tossing."

Mentioning Tanaka Mikami, Shimazu Yoshihiro's face darkened.

His fingers gripped the teacup tightly, his knuckles turning white: "I know. In the last election, he used those underhanded methods to spread rumors about me, putting me in the ICU. I haven't forgotten this debt. I'm fighting against him this time, not for any faction, but to vent my anger—I want to let the voters of Tokyo know who is really good for them, not someone who only knows how to draw pies with real estate."

He took a deep breath, his tone softening slightly. "But rest assured, I won't joke with my health. My campaign team arranges physical examinations for me every day, and someone watches my diet—it's just that sometimes when I think of Tanaka's face, I can't help but get angry."

Sakata Nobuhiko nodded and picked up another document—it was the "Tokyo City Voters' Public Opinion Poll Report", which showed a bar chart indicating that Shimazu Yoshihiro's support rating had recently risen to 42%, while Tanaka Mikami's was 48%, narrowing the gap by 5 percentage points compared to last month.

He pushed the report to Shimazu: "Look, the 'information cocoon' proposed by that child Hiroshi is genuinely effective. Targeting the younger demographic, we promote the special edition of 'Campus Kasou Taishou', utilizing joy, culture, and vivacity to accumulate voters. Aimed at office professionals, we promote reruns of 'Midnight Diner', leveraging care for the physical and mental well-being of office workers as the penetration point—different groups consuming disparate content, observing diverse support anchors, naturally elevates the support ratings."

Shimazu Yoshihiro stared at the report, his lips remaining uncurled. "It's insufficient. 42% versus 48% represents a 6-percentage point difference. Tanaka relies currently upon real estate—you recognize Tokyo's property prices increase monthly. The general populace possesses residential properties;

who doesn't desire property appreciation? Tanaka declares his intention elevating Tokyo's property prices another 30%;

can they abstain from supporting him?"

Sakata Nobuhiko sighed, picked up his teacup, and took another sip, his tone tinged with helplessness: "This is also something that can't be helped. Bubble economy, everyone feels that house prices will only rise, not fall. My apartment in Shibuya was 20 million when I bought it last year, and now it has risen to 28 million—even my wife hopes that house prices will rise a bit more every day. Tell me, can the ordinary people not be tempted?"

"It is precisely because of this that it is dangerous."

Shimazu Yoshihiro frowned, his finger tracing over the word 'real estate', "When I went to America for a study tour, I saw the real estate bubble burst over there;

how many people went bankrupt overnight. Our situation in Japan now is too similar to America back then. But no one listens—everyone only sees 'appreciation' and 'making money'. Who thinks about the risks that follow?"

He paused, his voice carrying added fatigue. "I've spoken with Governor Koike, and he's also worried about this. But he is the Governor of Tokyo Metropolis;

he cannot manage the affairs of Tokyo City. Tanaka is now completely focused on canvassing relying on real estate. As long as he can get elected, he doesn't care if there will be problems later."

Sakata Nobuhiko remained silent briefly, suddenly remembering something, his eyes brightening. "By the way, Shimazu-kun, did you know? The child Hiroshi only owns one small apartment, and it's the one the station allocated to him last year. He actually sold the large apartment in Shinjuku that the station previously gave him, exchanged it for cash, and invested in an Akita dog breeding farm in Akita Prefecture—would you say he's gone crazy?"

Shimazu Yoshihiro was momentarily stunned, his teacup pausing mid-air: "Oh? He actually didn't buy more real estate? Which young person in Tokyo right now wouldn't risk their life trying to buy a house in the city? He has money but doesn't buy a house, and instead raises Akita dogs? Does this kid have brain damage?"

He deliberated briefly, simultaneously shaking his head negatively: "Incorrect. The juvenile Hiroshi appears youthful, however, his psychological sophistication exceeds others significantly. 'Yamishibai', 'Seven Samurai', 'Kasou Taishou'—which of these productions wasn't previously completely undervalued by everyone prior to his successful execution? His refusal purchasing real estate potentially signifies underlying methodologies."

Sakata Nobuhiko nodded favorably, his tone conveying considerable appreciation: "My thoughts precisely simulate yours. This juvenile's perspective represents long-term vision, completely unlike us simply perceiving immediate benefits. He potentially perceived real estate risks long ago—ultimately, he is dissimilar to us, lacking significant 'inertial thinking'."

Shimazu Yoshihiro placed the teacup down, his fingers tapping gently on the desk, deep in thought. "I remember when I went to America last year, I talked with economists there. They said that after the Plaza Accord, Japan's yen appreciated too fast, and real estate and the stock market are both artificially high and will eventually crash. At the time, I didn't believe it, thinking Japan's economic foundation was thick and wouldn't be like America's. Thinking about it now, perhaps that child Hiroshi heard something similar and didn't dare to buy real estate?"

"It's possible."

Sakata Nobuhiko nodded, "Although Hiroshi is young, he reads a lot of books and often chats with Senior Kurosawa Eiji, Minister Hattori, and the like. His horizons are broader than ours. He doesn't buy a house and invests in Akita dogs, maybe to diversify risk—after all, the Akita dog is Japan's national treasure, even if the economy is bad, people will still be willing to buy them."

Shimazu Yoshihiro looked at the budget table on the desk, his eyes showing something different—it was appreciation for a young man, and also a bit of reflection on his own "inertial thinking."

He sighed softly. "If only our voters could have half of Hiroshi's foresight, they wouldn't be deceived by Tanaka's real estate slogans."

"It will get better."

Sakata Nobuhiko patted his shoulder, his tone conveying perseverance, "Upon Hiroshi's 'A Bite of Neon' achieving broadcast status, assuming popularity manifests, we possess capability leveraging 'Kanto local culture' initiating supplementary positive promotional campaigns targeting you. Ultimately, your platform supports 'preserving local culture,' whereas Tanaka supports 'constructing additional skyscrapers'—evaluating superiority alongside inferiority, the audience will gradually attain comprehension."

Shimazu Yoshihiro nodded, picked up the budget table, and reviewed the "ten million yen" budget again. This time, his eyes held none of their former doubt;

instead, there was more anticipation: "Alright, let Hiroshi do his best. Kanto Station's reform has our full support. If he needs to deal with the local government, I'll have my campaign team help out too—after all, this is not just Kanto Station's business, it's also our competition with Tanaka."

Sakata Nobuhiko smiled, raising his teacup towards him. "That's exactly right. Come, have another cup of tea. Minister Hattori gifted this tea;

it's pre-Qingming Uji tea, and it tastes excellent."

Shimazu Yoshihiro replicated the behavior, elevating his teacup intersecting Sakata's.

The hot water's temperature transmitted through the cup wall to the fingertips, warming them a bit.

The sunlight outside the window slanted in, falling on the budget table and the public opinion report on the desk, as if coating these cold numbers with a layer of hopeful light.

"By the way, Sakata-kun."

Shimazu Yoshihiro suddenly remembered something and put down his teacup. "During Hiroshi's filming, if he encounters interference from City TV, for instance, if Kamiki Shunsuke intentionally rushes to film similar content, you must assist with coordination. Ultimately, City TV is affiliated with Tanaka's faction;

they might execute underhanded tactics."

Sakata Nobuhiko nodded, his tone carrying a little seriousness: "Rest assured. I have already communicated with Takada Toshihide, instructing him to monitor City TV's maneuvers. Should they attempt preemptive strikes, we shall execute early broadcasting utilizing 'A Bite of Neon' trailers, seizing the initiative—the juvenile Hiroshi's storyboards are superior;

the trailers will definitively attract considerable viewership."

Shimazu Yoshihiro nodded in satisfaction and took another sip of tea.

The atmosphere in the meeting room slowly changed from initial worry and sighing to determination and anticipation.

The two chatted about Hiroshi's talent, Kanto Station's future, and mayoral election strategies, occasionally reminiscing about past competitive years—those former direct confrontations had now become conversational topics in memory, carrying a bit of the warmth of the years.

Unknowingly, the sunlight outside the window had slanted westward, falling on the returning boat painting on the wall, pulling the shadow of the fishing boat very long.

Sakata Nobuhiko checked his watch and stood up. "It's getting late. I have to go confirm with the Finance Division whether the ten million yen budget has been transferred to Kanto Station's account. Hiroshi is starting filming next week, we can't delay it."

Shimazu Yoshihiro also stood up, adjusting his tie. "I also need to go to my campaign office. There's a small speech aimed at office workers this afternoon, I have to go prepare."

The two walked out of the small meeting room together. The corridor was silent, with only the occasional sound of typing and ringing phones.

Sakata Nobuhiko navigated anteriorly, his steps demonstrating stability;

Shimazu Yoshihiro navigated posteriorly, his gaze demonstrating conviction—one necessitated guaranteeing Kanto Station's reform initiating successfully, the other necessitated dedicating complete effort directing toward the mayoral election. The intersection connecting these divergent paths materialized resulting from a juvenile designated Nohara Hiroshi.

Arriving at the elevator entrance, Sakata Nobuhiko suddenly arrested his forward momentum, reversing his visual trajectory targeting Shimazu Yoshihiro. "Shimazu-kun, articulate your hypothesis: will the juvenile Hiroshi sequentially achieve the Tokyo Station Station Chief position subsequently?"

Shimazu Yoshihiro was stunned for a moment, then smiled: "It's hard to say. But I know that if he can save Kanto Station and produce a few more good programs like 'Seven Samurai', his future achievements will definitely be higher than yours or mine."

Sakata Nobuhiko nodded, his eyes full of gratification. "Indeed. The Yangtze River's rear waves push the front waves. It is time for old men like us to make way for the young. As long as Tokyo Station gets better and better, and as long as the people of Tokyo can live good lives, what does it matter who is the Station Chief or who is the Mayor?"

Shimazu Yoshihiro observed him, suddenly feeling his internal anger diminishing, replaced by a touch of tranquility. "Your words resonate truth. Previously, my obsession prioritizing 'revenge' overshadowed the campaign's original purpose. Thank you, Sakata-kun."

Sakata Nobuhiko smiled and didn't speak.

The elevator doors opened, and the two walked in.

The elevator slowly descended. Through the glass, they could see the busy figures in Tokyo Station's office building—some were typing, some were discussing programs, some were moving equipment. These busy figures were like Tokyo Station's pulse, and also like this country of Japan's pulse. Although there was confusion and difficulty, they were always beating and moving forward.

The elevator reached the first floor, and the door slowly opened.

Sakata Nobuhiko and Shimazu Yoshihiro bid each other farewell, one walking towards the Finance Division, the other walking out of the office building. The sunlight fell on them, warm but not dazzling.

Shimazu Yoshihiro walked outside the office building, looking at the bustling crowd on the street—some were hurrying along holding briefcases, some were buying coffee at a roadside convenience store, and some were waiting for a bus at the bus stop.

He suddenly remembered the "humanities documentaries" Hiroshi mentioned, and remembered the stories of those old craftsmen and old fishermen.

Perhaps Tanaka Mikami's "real estate" could bring temporary benefits to the people, but Hiroshi's "humanities documentaries" could bring more lasting warmth and a sense of belonging to the people.

He inhaled profoundly, consolidating his grip engaging the campaign speech manuscript, his pedestrian cadence manifesting increased conviction.

He knew the road ahead was still very long, and the competition would be fierce, but he would not give up—for his own beliefs, for the future of Tokyo, and for those who, like Hiroshi, were willing to work hard for "warmth" and "inheritance."

...

At this moment, Nohara Hiroshi, having finished his report at Tokyo Station and inspected his own department's work, had also arrived at Kanto Station.

Together with Matsui Yuichi and Honda Sakurako, he was inspecting the equipment to be taken to the Chiba seafood market tomorrow.

Saito Shigeru was squatting on the ground, adjusting the newly arrived high-definition video camera. He aimed the lens at the sycamore leaves outside the window, and the veins of the leaves in the picture were clearly visible. Matsui Yuichi held the filming checklist and verified them one by one: "Two video cameras, three sets of audio equipment, ten spare batteries, twenty memory cards... everything is ready."

Honda Sakurako grasped a notebook, its surface filled thoroughly utilizing Sato Seafood Shop's informational parameters. "Sato-san articulated initiating maritime excursion tomorrow at 3 AM;

we require dockstead arrival at 2:30 AM. He additionally indicated probable fog tomorrow, advising supplementing our outerwear."

Hiroshi nodded and looked at the busy people in front of him, a smile appearing on his lips. He knew that the filming of "A Bite of Neon" would officially begin tomorrow.

Although there would be difficulties in the future, with the support of Station Chief Sakata and former President Shimazu, and the hard work of people like Matsui-san, Saito-san, and Honda-chan, he believed that this documentary would definitely succeed.

The autumn wind outside the window blew gently, and the sycamore leaves rustled, as if sending a silent blessing for the upcoming shoot.

Inside the office building of Kanto Station, it was brightly lit, and everyone's face carried enthusiasm and anticipation—this place was once lonely and confused, but now, because of a documentary, because of a young man named Nohara Hiroshi, the flame of hope was rekindled.

PS: Let's continue begging for recommendation tickets and monthly tickets, hoping everyone supports me a lot, many thanks!

(Chapter Ends)