novelraw Chapter 32: Breaking 4%
Chapter 32: Breaking 4%
"Huh?! Who's talking!?"
The father was severely startled, truly realizing that this elevator was somewhat amiss. The lighting was dim, the air permeated with a stale smell of rust, and the floor indicator lights weren't lit at all.
He looked at the elevator girl beside him. She wore a uniform, wearing a hat, her head lowered, motionless.
Trembling, the father reached out his hand and gently touched her shoulder.
That touch was icy cold, hard.
It was plastic.
It was a mannequin.
Just at the instant his scalp went numb, the elevator stopped with a "ding".
The doors slowly opened.
Outside the doors was not any floor of the department store. It was an endless, hellish scene of churning dark red magma. Countless black silhouettes with indistinguishable faces floated, sank, and wailed in the magma.The father's face was instantly occupied by terror. He let out a voiceless scream choked in his throat and jerked his head around.
He saw that in that elevator which originally should have been empty, at some unknown time, it was already packed full of people.
Those people wore the same suits as him, wore the same ties as him, and on their faces, carried the exact same numb, exhausted expressions caused by overtime and life's pressures.
They all stared at him quietly, completely devoid of expression.
Then, The End.
...
Friday early morning, Suzuki Section.
When Hashishita Ichiro walked in holding the latest viewership rating report, his hands were no longer trembling. On his face was a calmness unique to someone accustomed to miracles, mixed with pride and numbness.
"3.77%." He placed the report on the desk, his voice steady.
"Banzai! Banzai! Banzai!"
A chorus of suppressed, satisfied cheers rang out in the office.
This time, Hashishita Ichiro brought another item.
A copy of "Nitto Shimbun" just published this morning.
He spread the newspaper open and flipped to the entertainment section. In the most conspicuous position, printed in bold black text, was a headline enough to make all television personnel look sideways.
—"Yamishibai: A Gentle Ritual of Horror Dedicated to the Modern City".
Byline: Kato Shin.
"Kato Shin..." Suzuki Kiyoto muttered this name, his eyes instantly brightening, "That Kato Shin with the sharpest writing style? He... he unexpectedly wrote a review for us?"
He couldn't wait to take the newspaper and read it word by word.
"...It abandoned the cheap reliance on blood and monsters, turning instead to accurately stab a scalpel into the softest, most fragile nerves of modern urbanites. Apartments, workplaces, families, public transportation... these daily routines we rely on for survival all became abysses leading to the unknown under the lens of 'Yamishibai'. It reminds us that true horror perhaps doesn't originate from green-faced, fanged evil ghosts, but originates from our day-after-day numbness, exhaustion, and that despair of longing for 'some peace' under the suffocating pressure of life..."
"...This is not a simple scare, but a gentle ritual. It gently tears open the superficial appearance of the life you are accustomed to, letting you see the hidden, terrifying-when-pondered-deeply cracks beneath. Using the most extreme method, it forces us to re-examine our own lives, to re-examine those silent gazes we ignore originating from our surroundings..."
The article wasn't long, but every word was a gem.
Finishing reading it, Suzuki Kiyoto only felt a surge of hot blood rush straight from the bottom of his heart to the top of his head.
A confidant!
This Kato Shin was simply their confidant! He completely understood the core of "Yamishibai", understood Nohara Hiroshi's stunningly brilliant concept!
"Good! Good! Good!" Suzuki Kiyoto excitedly slapped the desk, burning fighting spirit raging in his eyes: "Everyone! This weekend, we cannot rest! We must ride on the momentum of victory and pursue the attack! Bring out our best condition, our best works! Let everyone see to exactly what extent our Suzuki Section can achieve!"
He looked at the crowd, his voice resonant and powerful.
"Weekend, overtime! Are there any problems?!"
"No!"
This time, no one felt it was exploitation. On everyone's face overflowed a boiling-blooded light of devoting oneself to a great cause.
...
Saturday early morning, 12:20 AM.
【Yamishibai · Luggage Rack】
A crowded, swaying train carriage.
A man in a suit and tie was squeezed in the crowd, his face written full of exhaustion and annoyance.
"So tired... so noisy... when will we reach the station..." He constantly complained in his heart.
Inadvertently, he raised his head, his gaze falling onto the luggage rack overhead.
There, placed was something wrapped in white cloth. It was impossible to tell what it was, only that it was wriggling faintly, rhythmically.
The man frowned, thinking it was some passenger's pet. He looked around, but discovered that all the people beside him turned a blind eye to it. They either lowered their heads to read newspapers, or closed their eyes to rest, as if that wriggling thing simply didn't exist.
Right at this moment, the train made an emergency brake, causing the people in the carriage to stagger.
The man steadied himself and subconsciously glanced at the luggage rack again.
That thing was gone.
He breathed a sigh of relief, thinking his eyes had played tricks on him.
But right at the instant he lowered his head, he felt something slowly hanging down from above his head.
He lifted his head stiffly, bit by bit.
He saw that that wriggling thing wrapped in white cloth was currently hanging upside down right before his eyes, less than ten centimeters from his face.
Under the white cloth, something seemed to be struggling, trying to break out of the cocoon.
The man wanted to scream, wanted to retreat, but his body seemed to be frozen, unable to move at all.
By his ear, the voice of his inner heart rang out again.
"So tired... really want to rest..."
"So noisy... really want some peace..."
"Living... is so hard... really want... to be freed..."
As that negative emotion longing for death in his heart grew denser and denser, that thing wrapped in white cloth before him wriggled more and more violently as well.
It seemed to be sucking on his despair.
Then, a corner of the white cloth was slowly, slowly lifted...
...
Saturday early morning, when the sun once again illuminated this city, a viewership rating report capable of going down in the annals of TV Tokyo's history was delivered to the desk of every section in the Production Bureau.
"Late-night animation 'Yamishibai', sixth episode viewership rating: 4.07%."
"Viewership rating level - Phenomenal!"
The entire Production Bureau completely lost its voice.
Even in Takada Toshihide's office, the secretary who had just delivered the bulletin quietly backed out at this moment. Her movements were extremely light, returning to her seat as if trembling with fear, not daring to make any sound.
Because she was very clear that Takada Toshihide, this Deputy Bureau Chief of TV Tokyo, was truly, extremely furious.