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

Chapter 243: "A Bite of Neon"! Huge Success! Everyone's Thrill!

Kanto Station's screening room was a size smaller than Tokyo Station's. The walls were painted dark gray, packed tightly with sound-absorbing cotton, and even the air carried a faint scent of film.

The projector screen directly ahead glowed with cold white light. Below it were two rows of black folding chairs, and the front row specially featured three leather sofas—Asumi had specifically asked someone to dig them out from Kanto Station's warehouse, saying it was to "let older leaders like Suzuki-san sit more comfortably."

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Nohara Hiroshi arrived at the screening room ten minutes early, hugging the film copy of the first episode of "A Bite of Neon", followed by Hashimoto Ichiro and Honda Sakurako.

Hashimoto Ichiro clutched the editing script, his fingers constantly rubbing the pages, clearly a little nervous.

Honda Sakurako gripped her notebook, her pen tip hovering over the paper, ready to record feedback at any time.

"Hiroshi-kun, are we really not checking it one more time?" Hashimoto Ichiro asked softly. "I felt fine just now in the editing room, but now that we're in the screening room, I'm always worried that something wasn't edited well."

Hiroshi patted his shoulder, his tone remaining steady: "Don't worry, everything that needed checking has been checked. The pacing, soundtrack, and subtitles are all fine. The rest depends on everyone's feelings—after all, a documentary films human hearts, it's not measured by technical parameters."

As soon as he finished speaking, the door to the screening room was pushed open, and Asumi and Suzuki Kiyoto walked in.

Suzuki Kiyoto was wearing a dark gray Zhongshan suit, his hair combed meticulously, leaning on a black wood cane in his hand. His steps were much steadier than the last time they met.Following behind them were several senior executives of Kanto Station: Deputy Director of Production Yamada Takashi, Director of Advertising Fujishita Ken, Director of Human Resources Kimura Hiroshi, and Director of Technology Saito Shigeru.

"Hiroshi-kun, sorry to keep you waiting." Suzuki Kiyoto started with a smile, his tone carrying the gentleness of an elder. "My health hasn't been good lately, I'm a few minutes late, don't mind."

"Suzuki-san is too polite, we also just arrived." Hiroshi hurriedly stepped aside and pointed to the sofa in the front row. "Please sit here, the view is the best."

Everyone took their seats one after another. As soon as Fujishita Ken sat down, he pulled half a tuna sandwich from his suit pocket and secretly took a bite—talks with "Asakusaya" regarding an advertisement collapsed in the morning, and he hadn't even had time to eat breakfast.

Kimura Hiroshi pushed up his round-framed glasses and took out a small notebook from his briefcase, the pen already pinched in his hand, evidently prepared to take serious notes.

Saito Shigeru, as usual, remained silent, sitting in the corner-most seat, clutching his pager, his gaze falling on the projection screen, expressionless.

When everyone had settled, Asumi stood up and cleared his throat. "Everyone, I invited you all here today to watch the rough cut of the first episode of 'A Bite of Neon' together. This film was spearheaded by Hiroshi-kun and filmed by Matsui-san, Honda-chan, and the others. It took a week to film Nomizu Masayasu-san of the Chiba Seafood Market—if anyone has any thoughts after watching, please speak directly, no need to be polite."

He had just finished speaking when Yamada Takashi coughed lightly, his tone carrying a little hesitation. "Executive Director Asumi, it's not that I want to pour cold water, but our Kanto Station has also filmed similar short films in the past, such as 'Chiba Fishing Port Diary' filmed last year. It took two months, and the final viewership was only 1.2%, and the advertisers also complained that there was 'nothing to watch'. Documentaries are originally not highly ranked in our Japan's film and television circles—as you also know, audiences in Japan nowadays only recognize anime and TV dramas. Movies all have to rely on big stars to support the scene, and variety shows can't even get on the table, let alone documentaries."

Fujishita Ken also nodded along, still chewing the sandwich in his mouth, speaking somewhat incoherently: "Exactly! Last time I talked to the head of Marui Soy Sauce about advertising, they told me straight up, 'Unless you get Kamiki Shunsuke to film an idol drama, we won't invest money.' Documentaries? They didn't even want to hear about it, saying 'Filming an old fisherman pulling up a net is nowhere near as buzzworthy as filming a celebrity eating sashimi.'"

Kimura Hiroshi adjusted his glasses and added, "Moreover, the young employees at our station aren't optimistic either. Yesterday I went to the Production Department and heard a few directors saying, 'Documentaries are just filming old things nobody watches. It's better to film variety shows;

it's easier and you can get high bonuses.' Young people today all want to take shortcuts. No one is willing to settle down and make slow-paced content."

Suzuki Kiyoto didn't speak, just looked at Hiroshi with some expectation in his eyes. "Hiroshi-kun, I know documentaries are hard to make, but I trust your judgment. When you filmed 'Yamishibai', everyone said the late-night slot couldn't be saved, but you still did it. With this film today, I want to see if you can give us another surprise."

Hiroshi nodded, turned to the projectionist and said, "We can start."

With a "click," the projector started up. The light on the projection screen suddenly dimmed, followed by the sound of ocean waves—not a studio sound effect, but live audio Hashimoto Ichiro specifically recorded at the Chiba pier, carrying the salty dampness of the sea breeze and the distant horn of a fishing boat.

The image slowly brightened, and the Chiba seafood market in the morning mist gradually appeared on the screen.

The wooden pallets gleamed with an old luster, the fishing boats' deck lights scattered across the sea like stars, and Nomizu Masayasu, wearing deep blue fishing waders, was bending over to untie the mooring rope.

The camera didn't initially show his face;

instead, it focused on his hands—hands covered in calluses, with thick knuckles, yet exceptionally nimble, completing the knot-untying seamlessly.

"This shot... is interesting." Yamada Takashi subconsciously sat up straight and muttered softly, "Usually, when filming a person, you film the face first. Hiroshi-kun is quite something, filming the hands first—but these hands clearly have a story, it has more flavor than just filming the face directly."

Fujishita Ken also forgot to eat his sandwich, his eyes glued to the screen: "Look at the texture of this morning mist, and the color of the seawater, it's filmed like a painting. Last time our station filmed 'Chiba Fishing Port Diary', the picture came out completely gray, like a VHS tape, it wasn't this clear at all."

Kimura Hiroshi also noted in his small book: "The visual language is delicate, focuses on details, different from the 'journalistic recording' of traditional documentaries."

The scene progressed, showing Nomizu Masayasu steering the fishing boat out to sea. The moment the fishing net unfolded in the air, the soundtrack suddenly kicked in—it was a piano piece, not a famous tune, but old material Hiroshi dug out from Kanto Station's music library. The melody was very light, swelling and receding like ocean waves.

As the fishing net fell into the sea, the piano gradually slowed down, leaving only the sound of the waves and Nomizu Masayasu's shouts.

"This soundtrack is added well!" Suzuki Kiyoto suddenly spoke up, his tone carrying surprise. "I thought you would use the traditional shamisen, I didn't expect you to use the piano—it doesn't steal the show, and it can set the atmosphere. It's more modern than the shamisen, and it can also highlight the gentleness of the 'sea'. Hiroshi-kun, did you specially find someone to make this soundtrack? Such high efficiency?"

Hiroshi smiled and shook his head: "It wasn't specially made;

it's old material from Kanto Station's music library. I searched for two hours yesterday afternoon and found this piano piece. I thought it matched the sound of the waves well, so I had Hashimoto-san edit it in."

"Searching through old material?" Yamada Takashi blanked for a moment, then sighed with emotion, "Our station's music library has nearly twenty years' worth of cassette tapes piling up, usually nobody cares about them. I didn't expect Hiroshi-kun to be able to find such a suitable piece from there—if it were someone else, they would definitely just go buy the copyright outside, wasting both money and time. You really are decisive and swift."

Fujishita Ken also nodded in agreement: "Exactly! Last time we filmed 'Kanto Food Travelogue', just finding the soundtrack took half a month, and we spent five million yen buying copyrights. In the end, the filmed program had nobody watching, all the money went down the drain. Hiroshi-kun's efficiency is much better than us old bones."

Suzuki Kiyoto smiled and looked at his several old subordinates: "Now you know why I felt relieved letting Hiroshi-kun take the lead, right? He never relies solely on technique to do things, but more on 'heart'—he knows how to use the least resources to do the best things, knows what the audience wants to see. You guys, you just stick too much to the 'rules', always feeling 'if you don't spend a lot of money, you can't make good things', and instead forget the essence of making content."

Yamada Takashi scratched his head in embarrassment: "Suzuki-san is right, we really should change our old concepts. Nowadays, people in the station are all afraid of taking responsibility. Whatever they do, they have to hold meetings and discuss it for half a month first. By the time the discussion is over, the opportunity has long been missed. Hiroshi-kun is quite something, doing it as soon as he thinks of it, filming such good material in just one week. He's much better than us."

Kimura Hiroshi also sighed: "Exactly! Last time a young director wanted to film a short film about 'old street handicrafts', as a result, after reporting it, several departments discussed it for a month, and finally rejected it because 'the risk is too high'. The current Kanto Station just lacks young people like Hiroshi-kun who dare to venture and act—no wonder he has so many achievements at such a young age. If it were us, we'd probably still be following the routine at forty."

As they spoke, the scene on the screen had arrived at the tuna auction.

Dozens of fish shop bosses surrounded the pallets, the auctioneer's bidding calls rising and falling. Nomizu Masayasu stood at the very front of the crowd, his eyes fixed intently on the tuna on stage.

The camera cut between the auctioneer, the bosses, and Nomizu Masayasu. Without any superfluous narration, the tension was dialed to the max relying purely on live audio and expressions.

"Two hundred thousand!" Nomizu Masayasu suddenly raised his placard, his voice booming.

The crowd instantly quieted down, and the auctioneer knocked his hammer: "Two hundred thousand going once! Two hundred thousand going twice! Sold!"

A smile appeared on Nomizu Masayasu's face. He walked quickly to the pallet and gently pressed his fingers on the tuna—the camera provided a close-up;

the fish meat slightly rebounded under the pressure, the texture clearly visible.

Then, the scene cut to Nomizu Masayasu's eyes. Those eyes were covered in wrinkles, yet very bright, as if reflecting the morning light.

"Good!"

Suzuki Kiyoto couldn't help but clap his hands once. "This segment is too vivid! There isn't a single line of dialogue, yet it captured Nomizu-san's cherishing of the tuna and his dedication to the fishing industry perfectly—it's even more lifelike than character portrayals in some TV dramas!"

Yamada Takashi also praised: "I used to always feel that documentaries were just 'recording a process'. I didn't expect people could also be filmed like this. Look at Nomizu-san's action of pressing the tuna, look at his eyes, it's more real than acting—this is what a humanities documentary should look like!"

Fujishita Ken patted his beer belly, his tone carrying a bit of excitement: "It suddenly occurred to me just now, if we cut this auction scene into the trailer, it will definitely attract the audience! Think about it, what ordinary person has ever seen a tuna auction? This kind of tension is much more interesting than the melodramatic plots of idol dramas!"

Kimura Hiroshi wrote rapidly in his small notebook: "Three-dimensional character portrayal, strong scene tension, possesses potential for viral spread—I can suggest that the City Publicity Department focus on promoting this material."

Saito Shigeru finally spoke, his voice remaining deep but conveying a sense of affirmation. "The camera stability is excellent, and the lighting is handled quite capably. Especially the backlighting in the auction area;

it isn't overexposed and highlights the subject's silhouette—far superior to the news footage previously filmed by the station."

Hiroshi smiled and nodded, "This is all thanks to Saito-san. On the day of filming, the lighting in the auction area was too dim. Saito-san specifically adjusted the camera's aperture and added a reflector to achieve this effect."

Hearing this, the corners of Saito Shigeru's mouth twitched slightly. He didn't speak again, though the indifference in his eyes lessened, replaced by a touch of warmth from being acknowledged.

The footage continued, moving to the sequence of Nomizu Masayasu slicing sashimi in his fish shop. The sound of the blade gliding through the tuna was incredibly sharp;

the "swish, swish" sounds, paired with the piano soundtrack, were unexpectedly harmonious.

Slices of sashimi, thin as cicada wings, cascaded onto a bamboo mat, shimmering in fresh pink. A slow-motion shot showcased the texture of the fish meat in remarkable clarity.

"Hiss—" Fujishita Ken sucked in a breath of cold air, "This sashimi is filmed too appetizingly! I didn't eat breakfast this morning, and now watching it makes me want to go eat a bowl immediately!"

Yamada Takashi also laughed: "In the past, when filming food, I always felt 'being too straightforward would appear tacky', so everything was filmed vaguely. Hiroshi-kun is quite something, giving a close-up directly, and even using slow motion, which instead makes people feel the 'freshness'—this is what food should look like!"

Suzuki Kiyoto nodded, his tone tinged with emotion. "Japanese people always say we must 'exercise restraint,' yet forget that 'authenticity' is what touches people the most. Look at Nomizu-san's focus while slicing sashimi, look at the diners' satisfaction when eating it. These genuine expressions possess more warmth than artificially crafted 'elegance.' Hiroshi-kun, your film truly understands 'food,' and even more so, understands 'people.'"

Finally, the image settled on Nomizu Masayasu's silhouette standing on the pier, the setting sun stretching his shadow long.

He looked at the fishing boats in the distance and said softly, "The sea gives what it gives, and we eat what it gives, we can't be greedy."

This sentence had no background music, only the sound of waves and wind, yet it was exceptionally powerful.

The projector stopped with a "click," the screen lit up again, the screening room was quiet for a few seconds, and then a heated discussion broke out.

"It looks too good! This is not a documentary at all, it's more exciting than some episodic dramas!"

Fujishita Ken was the first to speak, his tone full of excitement, "I just counted, there are three places in there that can make the audience remember: the look in Nomizu-san's eyes when pulling the net, the tension during the auction, and the close-up of cutting the sashimi—if these three points are used for promotion, it will definitely be a hit!"

Yamada Takashi nodded in agreement: "I agree with Fujishita-san. Especially the character portrayal, the character of Nomizu-san is flesh and blood, having both the stubbornness of an old fisherman and the love for the fishing industry. It's much better than the paper characters in TV dramas. Hiroshi-kun, how did you think of filming characters like this?"

Hiroshi smiled, "There's nothing really special about it. It was simply a matter of talking a lot with Nomizu-san. Before filming, I spoke with him for three hours, listening to him recount stories of going out to sea with his father when he was young, explaining why he insists on using a wooden boat, and sharing his understanding of tuna—these stories are more important than any technique."

Kimura Hiroshi adjusted his glasses, genuine admiration in his voice: "This is exactly your strength. When we used to shoot documentaries, we were entirely fixated on 'what to film,' neglecting 'why we film.' You, however, prioritize understanding the subject before picking up the camera, infusing your visuals with genuine warmth. Watching the footage just now, I found myself repeatedly thinking of my grandfather—he was also a fisherman. He used to tell me 'the sea never lies,' which echoes Nomizu-san's sentiment precisely."

Saito Shigeru also added: "There's nothing to pick on technically. The image quality of the high-definition camera is very good, and the recording has no noise, especially the sound of the wind by the sea, which was handled very naturally and didn't affect the dialogue. It's more professional than any film shot by the station before."

Suzuki Kiyoto stood up, walked up to Hiroshi, and patted him on the shoulder: "Hiroshi-kun, I wasn't wrong about you. This film can not only save Kanto Station, but also change the Japanese people's view of documentaries—in the past, everyone always felt that documentaries 'had nothing to watch', because no one filmed content with real warmth. You did it, and you did it better than us old bones."

Asumi also laughed and said: "I just talked to Bureau Chief Takada on the phone, and he said that as long as everyone thinks there's no problem, we'll arrange for it to be broadcast in prime time next week—I was worried that the prime time slot would be snatched by City TV, but now it seems that our 'A Bite of Neon' can definitely compete with their 'Tokyo Suburbs Visit'!"

"Prime time?"

Fujishita Ken's eyes lit up, "That's great! Prime time has a lot of viewers, if the viewership can break 5%, advertisers will definitely come knocking on their own initiative! I'm going to contact the person in charge of Marui Soy Sauce right now and let them watch this clip, maybe we can pull back the advertisement that fell through earlier!"

Yamada Takashi also followed up and said: "I'll go tell the young people in the production department to learn more from Hiroshi-kun—don't always think about shooting easy variety shows, only by settling down to make content can you make good things."

Kimura Hiroshi picked up his small notebook. "I'll compile an audience feedback report, prioritizing character development and scene tension, to serve as a promotional reference for the City Publicity Department. We can also coordinate with the Chiba Prefectural Office to solicit their assistance with promotion via local television and newspapers. Given the documentary focuses on Chiba's seafood, it's beneficial for their tourism industry as well."

Saito Shigeru, observing the lively scene, permitted a rare smile to touch his lips. He approached Hiroshi and murmured, "Should you require technical support for your next shoot, find me anytime."

Hiroshi nodded, "Thank you, Saito-san. Next time when filming 'Warmth of the Streets,' we might need to film night scenes in the old streets, and I'll have to trouble you to adjust the lighting then."

"No problem," Saito Shigeru agreed and turned back to his seat.

The atmosphere in the screening room was exceptionally enthusiastic. Everyone's face was filled with anticipation and drive—in the past, Kanto Station was always dead and lifeless. During meetings, they would either pass the buck to each other or just go through the motions. Never before had they worked together like this for a film.

Looking at the scene before him, Hiroshi suddenly felt that the so-called "reform" was never a one-person job.

It was Suzuki Kiyoto's trust, Asumi's support, Yamada Takashi, Fujishita Ken, Kimura Hiroshi, and Saito Shigeru's cooperation, as well as the efforts of frontline employees like Matsui Yuichi and Honda Sakurako, that made the birth of this film possible.

Just like what was filmed in "A Bite of Neon", a delicious serving of sashimi requires fishermen to go out to sea to catch fish, auctioneers to set fair prices, chefs to carefully process it, and diners to taste it attentively—without any one of these links, it wouldn't be a complete story.

Watching everyone bustling about, Suzuki Kiyoto remarked to Hiroshi, "Hiroshi-kun, do you know? During Kanto Station's golden era, this is exactly how it was—everyone uniting for a single project, disregarding personal gains. Later, as performance declined, morale dissipated, leading to its current state. Now, you've resurrected that drive, and that is more significant than any numerical achievement."

Hiroshi nodded, his eyes resolute. "Rest assured, Suzuki-san, we will persist in our efforts to flawlessly execute 'Warmth of the Streets' and 'Taste of Home,' establishing 'A Bite of Neon' as the flagship program of Kanto Station and setting a new benchmark for Japanese humanities documentaries."

The setting sun shone through the window of the screening room and spilled onto the screen, coating the back of Nomizu Masayasu in the picture with a layer of golden light. From the corridor outside came the laughter of the young people in the production department—hearing that the film was shot very well, they were preparing to come over and ask Hiroshi for shooting tips.

Kanto Station's office building hadn't been this lively in a long time.

And right now, at Tokyo City TV, Takahashi Kazuo was holding the report sent by City TV's Intelligence Department, his face gloomy.

The report read: "Rough cut of Kanto Station's 'A Bite of Neon' completed, highly positive internal feedback, planned for prime time broadcast next week, Tokyo Station has coordinated prime time slot support."

His fingers gripping the report tightened, wrinkling the pages. He had previously assumed Nohara Hiroshi's documentary would be relegated to a late-night slot, posing no threat to 'Tokyo Suburbs Visit.' However, it appeared he had severely underestimated Nohara Hiroshi's capabilities.

"It seems we need to adjust our plans ahead of schedule," Takahashi Kazuo muttered to himself. He picked up the landline on his desk and dialed a number. "Have Section Chief Yamada and Director Sato come to my office immediately. We have an emergency situation to discuss."

An assenting voice came from the other end. Takahashi Kazuo hung up the phone, his gaze falling out the window.

The Tokyo sunset was slowly descending, coating the city with a layer of cold light.

He knew that a competition for prime time was about to begin, and Nohara Hiroshi and his 'A Bite of Neon' would be City TV's most formidable adversaries.

...

On the journey from Kanto Station back to Tokyo Station, Asumi tightly gripped the "A Bite of Neon" screening feedback form, the edges of the paper crumpled from his grasp.

He glanced sideways at Nohara Hiroshi, who was resting his eyes beside him, and couldn't help but speak up: "Hiroshi-kun, you're not nervous at all? We have to report to Bureau Chief Takada in a moment. What if he feels the film didn't meet expectations? The prime time slot might just disappear."

Hiroshi slowly opened his eyes, his tone remaining steady. "Nervousness is useless. The quality of the film is right there. Takada-san understands content;

he won't just look at the subject matter without considering the core. Moreover, we have the feedback from Suzuki-san and the others to back us up, there's nothing to fear."

As the car pulled into the parking lot of Tokyo Station's headquarters, the setting sun happened to hit the "TV Tokyo" sign on the top floor, giving it a warm golden hue.

As soon as the two walked into the Production Bureau building, they were stopped by Takada Toshihide's secretary: "Nohara-san, Executive Director Asumi, Bureau Chief Takada is waiting for you in the large conference room. Station Chief Sakata and Former President Shimazu are also there."

Asumi's footsteps paused, and he subconsciously looked at Hiroshi—since stepping down as Station Chief, Shimazu Yoshihiro had focused entirely on the mayoral election and rarely came to the station. His sudden appearance this time was clearly specifically for "A Bite of Neon".

Hiroshi calmly patted his arm, signaling him not to panic, and then followed the secretary towards the large conference room.

The moment they pushed the door open, they saw Sakata Nobuhiko sitting in the main seat, holding a document. Shimazu Yoshihiro sat to his left, wearing a dark suit, his hair combed meticulously, his eyes possessing the characteristic sharpness of a politician.

Takada Toshihide sat on the right, an empty coffee cup in front of him, clearly having waited a while.

"Hiroshi-kun, Asumi, you're here." Sakata Nobuhiko spoke first, his tone gentle. "Sit down. I just heard from Takada that your screening at Kanto Station went very well?"

After Hiroshi and Asumi sat down, Asumi immediately handed over the feedback form: "Station Chief Sakata, look, Suzuki-san and Yamada-san from Kanto Station were very approving. Escpecially regarding character portrayal and visual language, the evaluation is extremely high."

Shimazu Yoshihiro took the feedback form, quickly flipped through a few pages, and looked up at Hiroshi: "I heard you finished filming the first episode in a week? And only used Kanto Station's old equipment and music library materials?"

"Yes."

Hiroshi nodded. "Although Kanto Station's equipment is old, Saito-san calibrated it perfectly;

and while the music library materials are dated, they possess a grounded, lived-in quality that perfectly matches the atmosphere of the seafood market—there is no need to waste time and budget merely for the sake of pursuing 'newness'."

Takada Toshihide finally spoke up, his tone a bit scrutinizing: "That's easy to say, but the market for documentaries is sitting right there. In the past five years, the highest viewership for a food documentary in Japan was only 3.5%. Why do you think your film can break through this bottleneck?"

Hiroshi didn't answer directly, but looked at Sakata Nobuhiko: "Station Chief Sakata, do you remember before 'Midnight Diner' aired, everyone also thought 'no big stars, no big scenes, it definitely won't be a hit'? And the result? It became a long-running drama for the station, and also pulled in long-term sponsorship from Nissin Ramen."

He paused and continued, "It’s not that today’s audiences dislike documentaries;

they despise mundane, 'journalistic-style' logging. In filming 'A Bite of Neon,' my focus wasn’t simply 'filming food,' but 'filming people'—Nomizu-san’s dedication to the fishing industry and diners reminiscing about nostalgic flavors. This is the core that resonates with audiences. Just as 'Midnight Diner' became profitable through strong narrative 'stories,' our documentary relies on capturing 'human emotions' and will invariably attract viewers."

Sakata Nobuhiko nodded with a smile. "I admire your resolute confidence. However, words are insufficient;

did you bring the film? We must view it ourselves to know."

Hiroshi immediately stood up and took out the film copy from his briefcase, "I brought it. We can screen it right now."

The lights in the conference room were turned off, and the projection screen lit up. The sound of ocean waves came out first, followed by the Chiba seafood market in the morning mist—Nomizu Masayasu's hands untying the boat rope, the arc of the fishing net spreading in the air, the bidding calls during the tuna auction—scene after scene flowed on the screen.

Initially, Takada Toshihide leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, adopting a posture of critical evaluation.

However, when the shot cut to Nomizu Masayasu's eyes as he hauled in the net, Takada subconsciously sat up straight, his fingers lightly tapping on the table.

Shimazu Yoshihiro, meanwhile, produced a notebook. His pen hovered over the paper, occasionally dipping to record short notes, primarily concerning details like "camera angles" and "soundtrack selections."

When he saw the slow-motion shot of Nomizu Masayasu cutting sashimi, Takada Toshihide suddenly spoke up: "The lighting in this shot is handled well. The texture of the tuna is very clear, but it doesn't look greasy—who was in charge of the lighting?"

"It was Saito Shigeru-san from Kanto Station." Hiroshi replied, "He adjusted the camera's aperture and added a reflector to get this effect."

Takada Toshihide nodded, didn't say any more, and continued to stare at the screen. Not until the end of the film, when Nomizu Masayasu said "The sea gives what it gives, and we eat what it gives, we can't be greedy", the conference room was quiet for a few seconds before Sakata Nobuhiko took the lead in applauding: "Good! This film is shot with warmth, much better than I expected!"

Shimazu Yoshihiro closed his notebook, his tone conveying palpable admiration. "I had initially assumed the documentary would solely capture the tedious process;

I didn't anticipate you rendering the characters so vividly. The character of Nomizu-san inherently possesses stubbornness, tenacity, and reverence for the ocean—more three-dimensional than protagonists in certain television dramas!"

Takada Toshihide also put away his previous scrutiny, and his tone softened a lot: "I admit, I underestimated you before. This shooting technique is very special. Unlike the 'panorama + commentary' mode commonly used in Japanese documentaries now, you pay more attention to details and live sound, which actually gives it more immersion. Is this something you specially researched?"

"Yes." Hiroshi nodded. "I have researched domestic and foreign documentaries from recent years and discovered that contemporary audiences prioritize 'immersion.' Consequently, I minimized the voice-over narration and augmented the use of live audio and close-up shots. This creates an illusion for the viewer of physically standing within the seafood market, observing Nomizu-san fishing and slicing fish—this 'immersive' sensation is inherently more persuasive than expository narration."

At this moment, a thought suddenly flashed through Hiroshi's mind—he wondered what these people's reactions would be if they knew his filming techniques actually came from 21st-century documentaries from his past life.

Documentaries from his previous life had long since broken free from the "preachy" framework, emphasizing "seeing the big through the small," using individual stories to reflect collective emotions. They also employed techniques like slow motion and macro lenses to give the visuals more impact.

However, the Japanese documentaries of 1991 were still stuck in the "event recording" stage. They either filmed grand narratives of history and culture or serious discussions of social issues. Very few focused on the mundane details of ordinary people's lives, let alone presenting them with delicate visual language.

Shimazu Yoshihiro clearly hadn't noticed Hiroshi's thoughts. He said excitedly, "I can guarantee this film will definitely win awards! Never mind anything else, just the character portrayal of Nomizu-san and the 'from sea to table' narrative logic alone will make it stand out in humanities documentaries! And you're filming Chiba's seafood, maybe it can even drive a sashimi craze in the Tokyo Bay area—when I run for mayor, I can also use the pretext of 'promoting local culture and tourism' to pull in votes!"

Sakata Nobuhiko added with a smile: "Not just winning awards, advertisers will definitely be interested too. Look at the tuna auction and Nomizu-ya's sashimi in the film. Advertisements can be placed in these scenes, like seafood market sponsorships or knife brand collaborations—it's much more natural than simple variety show product placement. Businesses should be willing to invest."

Takada Toshihide also nodded: "I was worried before that documentaries wouldn't be able to get sponsorships, but now it seems I was overthinking it. Tomorrow I'll have the advertising department contact the Chiba Prefecture Fisheries Association to see if we can negotiate a long-term collaboration—not only can we get sponsorship for the film, but we can also help promote local seafood, a win-win."

Hiroshi spoke up at the right time: "Takada-san, there's another matter I want to discuss with you. Ishigami Motoiro-san from the Chiba Prefectural Office wants a sample copy in advance, saying they want to show it at the culture and tourism promotion event. Do you think that's okay?"

"Of course it is!"

Takada Toshihide agreed immediately, "This is a good thing;

it can help pre-warm the film and build good relations with the local government—have the editing department make an extra copy and send it over tomorrow."

Right at this moment, Shimazu Yoshihiro abruptly paused, seemingly struck by an idea. He turned to Hiroshi: "Hiroshi-kun, an idea occurred to me. The conclusion of numerous current Tokyo Station programs routinely incorporates a segment titled 'National Dialogue,' wherein I discuss societal issues with the audience. Consider this: is it feasible to append a comparable segment at the finale of 'A Bite of Neon'? Perhaps I could converse with Nomizu-san regarding the intergenerational transmission of the fishing industry, or engage the audience on the profound 'significance of local gastronomy'—this would not only amplify audience interaction but consequently elevate my visibility and generate momentum for the election."

Hiroshi immediately formulated a plan but didn't agree immediately. He feigned contemplation for a few seconds before smiling: "Former President Shimazu, this is an excellent idea. I believe we can design two segments: Firstly, you can visit Nomizu-ya, share sashimi with Nomizu-san, and converse about his childhood experiences an sea with his father, emphasizing the theme of 'inheritance'. Secondly, you can film a dialogue addressed to the audience from the Chiba pier, discussing 'gifts from the sea' and urging support for the local fishing industry. This approach avoids abruptness, seamlessly echoes the documentary's core content, and vividly demonstrates your dedication to citizens' livelihoods."

Shimazu Yoshihiro's eyes lit up and he clapped his hands: "This design is great! It fits the tone of the film and also conveys my political philosophy—Hiroshi-kun, you've thought of everything!"

Sakata Nobuhiko also laughed and said: "Hiroshi-kun not only understands content, but also knows how to integrate practical needs—this way, the film has both cultural and social value, and can also help Shimazu pull in votes, killing three birds with one stone."

Takada Toshihide observed the scene before him, inwardly sighing—Nohara Hiroshi was not only talented but also remarkably adaptable, understanding how to satisfy multiple demands without compromising the core integrity of his work.

Previously, he had worried that this young man was too stubborn and didn't understand workplace rules. Now it seemed he had been overthinking it.

Shimazu Yoshihiro was clearly very satisfied with Hiroshi's proposal. He stood up, walked over to Hiroshi, and patted him on the shoulder: "Hiroshi-kun, if you need my help with anything in the future, just ask. Whether it's election promotion or resource coordination, I can help—you're a friend I'm definitely keeping!"

Hiroshi hurriedly stood up: "Former President Shimazu is too polite. It's my honor to be able to help you."

Sakata Nobuhiko checked the time and said, "Alright, it's getting late, everyone should be heading back. Hiroshi-kun, liaise with the editing department tomorrow to incorporate Former President Shimazu's segments, ensuring a punctual prime time broadcast next week. Takada, coordinate with Hattori Tadashi-san from the City Publicity Department to push trailers on subways and newspapers—we essentially need to maximize awareness for 'A Bite of Neon'."

"Yes!" Takada Toshihide and Hiroshi responded in unison.

When exiting the conference room, Shimazu Yoshihiro deliberately lagged behind with Hiroshi, whispering, "Hiroshi-kun, I heard Tanaka Mikami has his eye on you recently? If you encounter any trouble, call me anytime—if he wants to suppress local culture, I'll be the first to object!"

Hiroshi felt a warmth in his heart and nodded, saying, "Thank you for your concern, Former President Shimazu. I will be careful. If I really encounter a problem I can't solve, I will definitely ask you for help."

When Shimazu Yoshihiro departed, Asumi approached, his tone laced with admiration: "Hiroshi-kun, your design for those segments was brilliant! It satisfied Former President Shimazu's requirements while perfectly preserving the documentary's integrity—had it been me, I certainly couldn't have devised such an all-encompassing solution."

Hiroshi smiled: "It wasn't much, really. It was just a matter of considering things from his perspective. Currently, he requires visibility and an emotional connection with the voters. The documentary's themes of 'inheritance' and 'local culture' perfectly align with his campaign philosophy—integrating these two elements naturally birthed the proposal."

When the two walked to the elevator, Takada Toshihide suddenly caught up: "Hiroshi-kun, wait a minute. I just talked to the people in the advertising department on the phone. The person in charge of Marui Soy Sauce heard that the film was shot well and wants to meet with you tomorrow to talk about sponsorship—do you have time?"

"I have time." Hiroshi agreed immediately, "Tomorrow morning at ten o'clock is fine, let's set the location in the reception room of the station."

Takada Toshihide nodded, his eyes carrying a bit of relief: "Okay, I'll have my secretary coordinate with them. Hiroshi-kun, work hard. The future of Tokyo Station depends on young people like you."

The elevator doors swung open, and Hiroshi alongside Asumi stepped inside. Observing the ascending floor numbers, Asumi remarked thoughtfully, "I am increasingly convinced that Kanto Station's reform has chosen the correct trajectory, and selecting you to lead was an even more brilliant decision—absent your involvement, Kanto Station would likely have been abandoned long ago."

Looking at his reflection in the elevator doors, Hiroshi's tone remained remarkably composed, "The credit doesn't belong solely to me. It's the collective desire to achieve excellence. It's Suzuki-san’s trust, Saito-san’s technical expertise, Matsui-san’s cinematography, and the unwavering support from you and Takada-san—remove any single individual, and this success would be impossible."

When the elevator reached the first floor, the sky outside had already darkened. The lights of the Tokyo Station building came on, like a lighthouse standing in the night.

(Chapter Ends)