novelraw Chapter 31: Good News
Chapter 31: Good News
The next day, TV Tokyo Production Bureau Headquarters Building.
On Thursday early morning, sunlight filtered through the massive glass curtain walls, illuminating the corridors brightly, like rolling out a silent carpet for a belated coronation.
The air was no longer the oppressive stillness stagnant like iron from the past few days, but flowed with a peculiar undercurrent mixed with curiosity and awe.
In the Suzuki Section, that door which was always closed was unprecedentedly open today.
Inside, there was neither the typical dead silence nor yesterday's clamor, but rather a more profound heat and calm, akin to lava still cooling after a volcanic eruption.
When Hashishita Ichiro walked in holding the report, his footsteps were floating.
He felt he wasn't walking on the cold floor, but rather stepping on a cloud named "happiness".
He didn't speak, but merely placed that thin piece of paper, which surprisingly carried the weight of a thousand pounds, gently onto the center of the desk, as if setting down a rare treasure.
"Late-night animation 'Yamishibai', fifth episode viewership rating: 3.51%."
"Viewership rating level - Extremely Excellent!"3.51%.
Another new record.
The office fell silent for a moment, and then, the ecstasy suppressed in everyone's chest, having fermented for a night, finally found a vent to release.
This time, there were no embraces, no hot tears.
Minamura Hoshi merely picked up a leftover can of cola from the desk, already flat, chugged it down, and then let out a long sigh satisfied to the extreme.
Haseji Kakeru walked over to the window, looking at the pedestrians downstairs small as ants, feeling for the first time that he was also an existence worth looking up to in this massive city.
In her own seat, Kitagawa Yao used the word processor to type out that number 3.51% countless times, then deleted it all, merely smiling foolishly.
The taste of victory when first tasted is strong liquor, is ecstasy. Tasting it again, it becomes aged wine, is intoxication.
The section door wasn't closed, so that aroma of aged wine inevitably floated out, attracting countless seekers "following the scent".
"Section Chief Suzuki, congratulations! 3.51%! You are about to make history!" A director from the neighboring section, a middle-aged man who typically had his nose in the air, currently had a face full of enthusiastic smiles, holding two cups of hot coffee just bought from the vending machine.
"Not at all, not at all, it's just the young folks messing around." Suzuki Kiyoto spoke modestly, but the wrinkles blooming on his old face were brighter than blossoming chrysanthemums.
"Suzuki-senpai, you're not being honest here!" Another director with less seniority also leaned over, saying half-jokingly, half-seriously: "We all went to watch it last night. That 'Paper' is simply the nightmare of all office workers! When our section's female assistant came this morning, she said she never dared to use the copy machine alone again! You have to give us some mental distress compensation!"
"Hahaha, easy, easy!"
Instantly, the small Suzuki Section actually became the liveliest place on the entire floor.
Those coming to offer congratulations, those coming to learn from their experience, those purely coming to watch the fun, arrived in an endless stream.
They surrounded Minamura Hoshi and Haseji Kakeru, inquiring about the details of creation, their words full of marvel and curiosity toward this "Yamishibai genre" creative method.
"Actually... actually we didn't do much either." Surrounded by a group of seniors, Minamura Hoshi was somewhat overwhelmed by the unexpected favor. His face flushed red, yet he still straightened his back, speaking incomparably proudly: "All the ideas, all the storyboards, all the core concepts, were entirely completed by Sensei Nohara alone! We only moved the things in his head onto paper."
"Sensei Nohara?" Everyone was stunned.
"It's exactly that genius manga artist who draws 'YuYu Hakusho'!" Haseji Kakeru added, sharing in the glory.
A single stone stirred up a thousand ripples.
The gazes everyone looked towards that corner with became even more complex.
There, Nohara Hiroshi was sitting quietly, seemingly turning a deaf ear to the clamor around him.
In front of him, there were no manuscripts, no reference materials, only a cup of clear tea, steam curling upwards, making his face look somewhat blurred, and exceptionally unfathomable.
He didn't exchange pleasantries with anyone, but merely nodded at Suzuki Kiyoto amidst all the clamor's gaps, then got up, walked into that standalone office nearby that had been vacant and used as a storage room, and gently closed the door.
Everyone looked at each other in blank dismay. That was an awe unconsciously produced when facing a strong person.
He wasn't in the mood to chat idly here with these people.
He still had to rush manuscripts for his manga!
Nohara Hiroshi spread the manuscripts brought from home onto the desk, picked up that paintbrush that had long understood his intentions, and dipped it in ink.
The clamor and glory outside the window seemed isolated from him.
The work at the television station had already stepped on the right track, the snowball was already rolling, he no longer needed to worry about it. Like a masterful chess player, after laying down a guaranteed winning board, he calmly turned towards another, even broader chessboard.
The pen tip landed on the paper, letting out a light rustling sound.
That was Urameshi Onsuke's Spirit Gun accumulating power, that was Kurama's rose quietly blooming, that was Hiei's Dragon of the Darkness Flame, roaring to tear apart this world.
He knew the success of "Yamishibai" was merely his first step in establishing a foothold in this world. It could bring him fame, status, and the qualification to speak on equal terms with a big shot like Asumi.
But this wasn't enough.
What he wanted was true power, unattached to anyone, capable of dictating his own destiny.
And "YuYu Hakusho", this manga praised as a "work of a maverick genius" in his previous life, was another, even sharper sword in his hands.
...
Time passed amidst the rustling sounds of the pen tip, and Tokyo's night descended once again.
Friday early morning, 12:20 AM.
【Yamishibai · Next Floor】
This time, the story took place in a brightly lit department store.
A young father was taking his wife and young son to pick out a birthday gift. The scene was heartwarming, everyday, full of that slightly exhausted sense of happiness unique to urban families.
However, a phone call from his superior shattered this peace. The father had to immediately rush back to the company to handle an urgent matter.
The child's crying, the wife's gaze—that was a calm gaze yet carrying a trace of icy resentment, like a soft knife, stabbing the father until he had no place to hide.
He apologized wretchedly, backed away in a panic, and escaped into an elevator that happened to open.
"Sigh, who could let me have some peace..." He mumbled to himself irritably in the cramped space.
The elevator was very quiet, with only him inside.
Then, an icy, emotionless voice, seemingly originating from the depths of the machine, rang out faintly.
"Understood."