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

Chapter 272: The Dejected Tanaka Mikami!

The morning light of Election Day penetrated the thin mist and lazily spilled onto the glass curtain wall of Tokyo City TV.

In the VIP lounge on the top floor, Tanaka Mikami wore the suit he hadn't changed out of last night. The collar was full of wrinkles, and the bloodshot lines in his eyes spread like a spiderweb.

With his hands behind his back, he stared dead at the street below the floor-to-ceiling window. His fingertips unconsciously rubbed the hem of his suit jacket—that was his habitual movement when attending important occasions over the past decade, but now only tight stiffness remained.

On the street, voters in various colored clothes were walking toward the polling stations.

Some were clutching Shimazu Yoshihiro's campaign leaflets in their hands, walking while whispering to those beside them about the "affordable housing application conditions";

some were pushing strollers, the children inside holding small "Support Shimazu" placards;

Even the radios of the breakfast vendors on street corners were broadcasting the "Interpretation of Shimazu Yoshihiro's People's Livelihood Policies."

Occasionally, a few propaganda vehicles plastered with Tanaka Mikami's posters drove by. The loudspeakers repeated "Real Estate Value Appreciation Guarantee," but few people looked up. Only the wind made the corners of the posters tremble slightly, exactly like his crumbling confidence at this moment.

"Why is there no movement yet?"

Tanaka Mikami muttered to himself, his voice as dry as sandpaper grinding.

He hardly closed his eyes last night. His mind was full of Sato Tokugawa's promised "chaos plan"—arguments outside polling stations, panic among voters, questioning by reporters. These scenes looped repeatedly in his mind, supporting him to endure the long night.But now, the streets were orderly, without even a shadow of chaos. Even the several propagandists he had arranged in advance near the polling stations were standing in the corners with their necks shrunk, dodging their gazes, completely not daring to actively step forward and canvass for votes.

Takahashi Kazuo walked in carrying a cup of hot coffee, his footsteps extremely light, afraid of disturbing the person by the window.

Looking at Tanaka Mikami's stiff back, he felt a wave of apprehension in his heart. He bit the bullet and placed the coffee on the coffee table: "Mr. Tanaka, drink some coffee to warm yourself up. This morning, the situation at the polling stations in all districts... is very peaceful;

no abnormalities have occurred."

Tanaka Mikami violently turned around. His eyes were covered in red blood vessels, like a wild beast forced into a desperate corner: "Peaceful? How could it be peaceful? Where's Sato Tokugawa? Where are the people he arranged? Didn't he say he would create a disturbance at the polling stations in Shinjuku and Shibuya? Where are the people now?!"

His voice suddenly spiked, vibrating the coffee cup on the coffee table so that it swayed slightly. A few drops of brown liquid splashed out and fell on the expensive Persian carpet, leaving dark marks.

Takahashi Kazuo shrank back in fright, his hands nervously wrung together, and cold sweat instantly broke out on his forehead: "W-we have already sent three groups of people to contact Mr. Sato, but his private phone has not been answered all along. The company receptionist said he didn't even go to work today..."

"Didn't go to work?"

Tanaka Mikami grabbed Takahashi Kazuo by the collar and yanked him in front of himself. His breath carried the strong smell of tobacco and anxiety. "He promised me! He said he would help me! Now you tell me he didn't go to work?! Did you all collude with him to deliberately deceive me?!"

Takahashi Kazuo's face flushed red, finding it hard to breathe, and he hastily shook his head: "No! Absolutely not! Mr. Tanaka, we are absolutely loyal to you! Mr. Sato must have run into some trouble. Just wait a bit longer, maybe he will contact us very soon..."

"Wait?"

Tanaka Mikami abruptly released his grip. Takahashi Kazuo staggered back a few steps and almost fell.

He sneered coldly, his tone full of self-mockery. "I've waited all night! From the early hours until now, I haven't even seen a ghost! You bunch of trash, besides saying 'wait,' what else can you do?!"

The others in the lounge—Yamada Ichiro, Director of the News Department of Tokyo City TV;

Suzuki Kenta, Director of the Advertising Department;

and members of his campaign team—all kept their heads down, no one daring to speak.

They shrunk in the corners of the sofas, their gazes dodging. Some unconsciously picked at the sofa armrests with their fingers, while others stared at the tips of their shoes, their breathing kept extremely light.

Everyone knew clearly in their hearts that Tanaka Mikami's expectations were collapsing bit by bit, and all they could do was remain silent.

Tanaka Mikami paced back and forth in the lounge. The sound of his leather shoes striking the floor was particularly piercing in the quiet room, as if beating on everyone's taut nerves.

He walked to the desk and grabbed the landline phone. His fingers trembled slightly due to excessive nervousness, yet he still skillfully dialed Sato Tokugawa's private number.

"Beep, beep—" The busy tone echoed in the room. Every sound was like a heavy hammer smashing onto Tanaka Mikami's heart.

He stared dead at the phone receiver, his eyes full of expectation and panic, continually muttering: "Answer the phone—answer the phone quickly—"

Once, no one answered.

Twice, still no one answered.

The third time, the call was finally connected. From the receiver came Sato Tokugawa's low and exhausted voice, carrying a trace of imperceptible hesitation: "Hello?"

Tanaka Mikami seemed to have grasped his last life-saving straw, his voice instantly rising in pitch: "Sato Tokugawa! What exactly are you doing?! Why is there no movement at all at the Shinjuku polling stations?! Where are the people you arranged?! Did you forget what we agreed upon earlier?!"

His voice carried anger, as well as a trace of imperceptible pleading.

He hoped so much that Sato Tokugawa would tell him the plan was only delayed and would be implemented very soon;

he hoped so much to hear words like "Rest assured, everything is under control."

However, from the other end of the phone came a long silence.

Only the faint sound of breathing could be heard, as if silently refusing to answer.

Tanaka Mikami's heart sank bit by bit. He roared into the phone: "Say something! Did Shimazu Yoshihiro's people find trouble with you?! Tell me, and I'll help you resolve it! Don't play dumb with me!"

Another silence followed, longer than just now, so long that Tanaka Mikami almost thought the call had been disconnected.

Just as he was about to lose his patience, Sato Tokugawa's voice finally came from the receiver, low and hoarse, carrying a trace of apology: "Mr. Tanaka—I'm sorry."

Just those few words were like a sharp knife, instantly piercing Tanaka Mikami's last fantasy.

His whole body jolted. The phone in his hand dropped to the floor with a "clatter." The receiver fell on the carpet, making a muffled sound.

He stood blankly on the spot, his eyes hollow, as if drained of all his strength.

"I'm sorry—" Tanaka Mikami dazedly repeated these words. The blood color on his face instantly faded, becoming deathly pale like paper.

He remembered Sato Tokugawa's expression when he left last night—at that time he thought it was hesitation, but now he understood it was refusal;

he remembered the look in Sato Tokugawa's eyes when he promised—at that time he thought it was determination, but now he knew it was perfunctory.

It turned out that from the very beginning, Sato Tokugawa never intended to help him. It turned out that his so-called "ally" had betrayed him long ago.

"Hehe—hehehe—" Tanaka Mikami suddenly let out a low and eerie laugh. The laughter was full of self-mockery and despair.

Leaning on the desk, he slowly squatted down and picked up the phone receiver from the floor, but he didn't speak anymore. He only let out a hollow laugh into the receiver.

The people in the lounge were frightened stiff by this laughter.

Yamada Ichiro secretly raised his head and saw Tanaka Mikami squatting on the floor, his shoulders trembling non-stop. His laughter carried a weeping tone;

his appearance was both pitiful and terrifying.

He hastily lowered his head again. A wave of complicated emotions welled up in his heart—fear, sympathy, and a trace of relief.

Suzuki Kenta quietly sighed and tightened his grip on the cell phone in his pocket.

He had received a message from a friend last night saying that Sato Tokugawa had already defected to "that side." Now it seemed the news was true.

He had known long ago that Tanaka Mikami would lose, only he did not expect him to lose so completely, so wretchedly.

Onodera, the head of the campaign team, looked pale. Watching Tanaka Mikami's back, his heart was full of anxiety.

He had followed Tanaka Mikami for many years, rising from a lowly assistant to the head of the campaign team. He held many of Tanaka Mikami's "secrets" in his hands.

Now that Tanaka fell from power, he would not only lose his job but might also be implicated. Thinking of this, his palms were covered in cold sweat.

Tanaka Mikami's laughter gradually stopped. He slowly stood up and put the phone receiver back onto the landline. His movements were slow and stiff, as if using up all his body's strength.

He walked over to the sofa and staggered to sit down. His body leaned softly against the back of the chair. He stared hollowly at the ceiling, no longer possessing his previous explosive rage and arrogance.

The sunlight shone on him through the floor-to-ceiling windows, yet it could not dispel the aura of despair surrounding him.

His hair stuck messily to his forehead, and his suit was stained with dust. The once high-spirited Mayor of Tokyo City looked exactly like a hollowed-out puppet at this moment.

The lounge fell into a deathly silence. Only the clock on the wall "tick-tocked," ruthlessly recording the passage of time, and also recording the final moments of Tanaka Mikami's political career.

After quite a while, Yamada Ichiro finally spoke carefully, his voice as light as a mosquito's buzz: "Mr. Tanaka—how about we take a look at the morning public opinion report first? Perhaps—there's still a turning point?"

His words were like a stone thrown into stagnant water, yet failed to stir up any ripples.

Tanaka Mikami didn't look at him, or even show any reaction. He just continued staring at the ceiling, his eyes hollow.

Suzuki Kenta also gathered his courage and said: "Mr. Tanaka, the Election Commission side says they will announce the first batch of voting results at noon. We—shall we wait a bit longer?"

Still silence.

Tanaka Mikami acted as if he hadn't heard his words. His fingers unconsciously rubbed the armrest of the sofa, where traces left by him over the past many years still remained, but now only a cold touch was left.

Looking at Tanaka Mikami's appearance, a wave of sorrow welled up in Onodera's heart.

He hesitated for a long time, but still stepped forward and said softly: "Mr. Tanaka, if you're tired, rest for a while first. We—we will keep an eye on the situation at the polling stations and inform you immediately if there's any news."

This time, Tanaka Mikami finally had a reaction. He slowly turned his head and looked at Onodera. There was no anger in his eyes, no blame, only a deathly stillness.

He opened his mouth. His voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible: "No need—there's nothing worth waiting for."

He paused and swept his gaze over the people in the lounge. He saw the fear in Yamada Ichiro's eyes, the alienation on Suzuki Kenta's face, the complexity in Onodera's eyes.

He suddenly smiled, his tone full of self-mockery: "You all knew long ago, right? Knew I would lose, knew Sato Tokugawa would betray me. Only no one dared to tell me."

Everyone lowered their heads. No one dared to retort.

Yamada Ichiro picked at his fingers even tighter. Suzuki Kenta's lips moved, but ultimately didn't say anything. Onodera sighed softly, his eyes full of helplessness.

"Indeed."

Tanaka Mikami leaned against the sofa and closed his eyes. His voice carried a trace of exhaustion. "Even the Cabinet people have abandoned me;

how could Sato Tokugawa still follow me? I was too naive, thinking that by relying on real estate and those so-called connections, I could control everything forever. Only now do I understand that without the support of the people, it is all nothing."

He remembered when he first became mayor. He had also thought about doing some practical things for the citizens, but later, faced with the massive profits brought by real estate, he gradually lost his way.

He watched housing prices rise little by little, watched his wealth grow more and more, but forgot the young people who couldn't afford to buy a house, forgot the small vendors crushed by high rent, forgot the ordinary people who lost their homes due to real estate development.

"If back then—I hadn't been so obsessed with real estate, would it have been different?" Tanaka Mikami muttered to himself, his voice carrying endless regret.

The lounge remained deadly silent. No one answered his question, because everyone knew there were no "ifs."

Right at this moment, Onodera's cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, and his face instantly turned pale.

He walked up to Tanaka Mikami, his voice trembling: "Mr. Tanaka—a call from the Election Commission side, saying—saying the first batch of voting results is out. Mr. Shimazu Yoshihiro's vote share is 58%, and you—yours is 42%—"

Tanaka Mikami abruptly opened his eyes. The last trace of light in his eyes was completely extinguished. He didn't speak, just weakly waved his hand, signaling Onodera to answer the phone.

Onodera answered the phone, spoke a few words in a low voice, and then hung up. Lowering his head, he said to Tanaka Mikami: "The Election Commission wants us to—prepare to go through the handover procedures."

"Handover procedures—"

Tanaka Mikami repeated these words, his tone full of desolation. He slowly stood up and straightened his wrinkled suit, trying to retrieve his past dignity, only to find that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't cover up his wretchedness.

He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and took a final look at the street below. At this time, sporadic cheers were already sounding on the street. It was Shimazu Yoshihiro's supporters celebrating his lead in the first batch of voting results.

The sunlight was bright and beautiful, illuminating all of Tokyo City, and also illuminating a new era.

And he, Tanaka Mikami, this figure who had once commanded the winds and clouds in Tokyo City, would ultimately become the past.

The people in the lounge watched his back, the expressions on their faces becoming even more complicated.

There was sympathy, regret, fear, and also a trace of relief. They knew that this fierce election, which had lasted for several months, had finally drawn to a close with Tanaka Mikami's complete failure.

And Tokyo City, under the leadership of Shimazu Yoshihiro, would also begin a brand-new journey, heading towards a future that paid more attention to people's livelihood and was more sustainable.

Tanaka Mikami took a deep breath, turned around, and said to the crowd: "Let's go. Go handle the handover procedures." His voice was calm, yet carried a trace of imperceptible trembling.

The crowd silently followed behind him and walked out of the lounge. The lights in the corridor were bright, yet could not illuminate the darkness in Tanaka Mikami's heart.

He walked forward step by step. Every step felt like bidding farewell to his past self, bidding farewell to that Mayor of Tokyo City who was blinded by profits and lost the support of the people.

Reaching the elevator entrance, Tanaka Mikami stopped, looked back at the direction of the lounge, his eyes full of complexity.

Then, he pressed the elevator button. The elevator doors slowly opened, like a new beginning, and also like the curtain falling on an old era.