novelraw Chapter 37: Onibo Samurai Airs
Chapter 37: Onibo Samurai Airs
Monday, lunch time.
The Suzuki Section was permeated with a unique aura belonging to urban white-collar workers, mixed from convenience store bentos, cup noodles, and canned coffee.
"Did you guys read today's newspaper?" Minamura Hoshi shoveled rice from his bowl, his voice carrying a bit of concealed envy: "The Iwata Section's side is simply overwhelming! 'Nitto Shimbun', 'Yomiuri Shimbun'... the entertainment sections of several major newspapers are all blowing up their 'Onibo Samurai'!"
"More than just newspapers." Haseji Kakeru set down his chopsticks, picked up a newspaper and pointed at it: "Look, the script consultant they hired is that Matsumoto Da-sensei who wrote 'Kyoto Night Parade of One Hundred Demons'! The animation production is the industry's top-tier 'Windmill Studio'! I heard just the production budget for a single episode is dozens of times ours! This... this fundamentally isn't a battle on the same magnitude."
His words instantly quieted down the office that had just been brimming with a relaxed atmosphere.
This was a somewhat hurtful truth.
If their side could be said to be a temporarily conscripted ashigaru squad that relied solely on genius-like tactical surprise attacks to fight a beautiful turnaround battle.
Then the other side was a regular army armed to the teeth, equipped with everything from katana swords and matchlocks to bow samurai.
How could they compare?
Kitagawa Yao was eating a fish floss rice ball in small bites on the side, looking at Suzuki Kiyoto somewhat worriedly: "Section Chief, I heard from people in other sections that the Iwata Section is already determined to win the 'Ichiban' for April's animations. They also said... our 'Yamishibai' just got lucky and exploited a loophole.""Ahem! Why worry so much!?"
A trace of awkwardness flashed across Suzuki Kiyoto's face. He gave two dry coughs, picked up his teacup and took a sip, before speaking using a feigned relaxed tone: "Don't listen to their nonsense! Viewership ratings are the hard truth! What we need to do now is handle our own affairs well. In the future... in the future we will also have such resources, everything will be fine."
His words were comforting himself rather than comforting his subordinates.
The crowd fell silent, each eating their bentos. The taste of the food also seemed to become somewhat bland.
Only Nohara Hiroshi in the corner seemingly turned a deaf ear to all of this.
He didn't participate in the discussion, nor even raised his head.
His world was confined to a small piece of manuscript paper. Sunlight fell on his focused profile, sketching a soft yet resolute silhouette.
His pen tip wandered on the paper, fluently carrying confidence.
'Onibo Samurai'?
Matsumoto Da-sensei?
Windmill Studio?
These, to his ears, were just inconsequential nouns.
In his mind, there was only that Dark Tournament that was about to stir up monstrous waves in 'Shonen Jump'.
The despairing oppressiveness of the Toguro Brothers, Urameshi Onsuke's Spirit Gun surpassing its limits time after time, and those sparkling souls fighting for their respective beliefs...
In this world, no one understood better than him what true "orthodox path" was, what true "hot blood" was.
"Yamishibai" was a cold arrow he shot at this world, precise and fatal, sufficient to cause panic and awe.
And "YuYu Hakusho" would be the majestic and straightforward punch he threw, using the purest power to crush all flashiness and doubts.
On Friday, the very first chapter would land on the main magazine's pages. He had no time to be distracted by those illusory opponents.
...
On Monday night, the celebration banquet for the Suzuki Section was chosen at an izakaya with quite a good reputation not far from the television station.
The funds personally approved by Deputy Bureau Chief Asumi made this celebration banquet appear very well-backed.
Top-grade sashimi platters, steaming sukiyaki, and ginjo sake they usually couldn't bear to order filled the table.
Everyone gathered joyously!
And upon leaving, the crowd also agreed to definitely wait in front of the television at 11 PM tonight to properly "study" the Iwata Section's major production.
Nohara Hiroshi didn't drink too much alcohol. He left the banquet early and returned to that small apartment in Kasukabe.
Pushing open the door, a warm light and a food aroma gently enveloped him.
Wearing an apron and holding a still-steaming bowl of hangover soup, Misae walked over. On that plain, pretty face carried a trace of chiding, but more so, concealing-unable heartache.
"Drinking again? Hiroshi-kun, your stomach isn't good, you should drink less."
She handed the soup bowl into his hands, then like performing a magic trick, brought out a small dish of cute-looking apple pie she made herself from the kitchen.
"A very cute apple pie, Misae." Nohara Hiroshi reached out and took the apple pie, but placed it directly onto the nearby table, staring at her intently. He felt all the exhaustion from the consecutive days thoroughly melt at this moment from the warmth of this bowl of soup and the sweet fragrance of this dish of apples.
"Oh my, you wouldn't be having another..." Misae instantly blushed.
"Yes, I certainly want to taste that sweet, apple pie!" Nohara Hiroshi pulled her to sit down on the sofa.
Without turning on the lights, only the city's neon lights outside the window cast mottled shadows in the room through the thin sheer curtains.
An hour of tenderness was a tranquility and beauty hard to describe with words, the most authentic snuggling of two souls.
Until the hands of the clock quietly slipped towards 11 PM.
"It's starting," Misae leaned against his chest, reminding him softly.
"Mm." Nohara Hiroshi tiredly picked up the remote, holding Misae who was exhausted, indolent, yet incomparably satisfied, and turned on the television.
The opening of "Onibo Samurai" arrived as scheduled.
One had to admit, Iwata Masao indeed spent the money where it counted. The opening scene was a visual feast that could be called a carnival for animation nerds.
The old temple with cherry blossoms falling like snow, the chilling cold light reflected by the blade under the moonlight, the fluent swordsmanship duel like floating clouds and flowing water, and that majestic, sorrowful soundtrack performed by a well-known symphony orchestra...
Every frame exuded a lavishness of not lacking money.
"Wow... so amazing!" Misae couldn't help but let out a gasp: "This animation looks even better than a movie!"
Nohara Hiroshi didn't speak, just watched quietly.
His gaze was like that of an experienced old shokunin, examining an artwork meticulously polished by an apprentice yet flashy but lacking substance.
The thirty-minute animation quickly ended.
Excellent production, beautiful visuals, fluid animation.
Nohara Hiroshi's evaluation in his heart was very good.
But.
That was all there was to it.
The core of the story was still that terribly cliché revenge story he saw through at a glance. A wrongfully killed samurai turns into a vicious ghost, indiscriminately kills innocents, and is ultimately moved by a great master, lets go of hatred, and attains Buddhahood on the spot.
All the twists, all the foreshadowing, were within his expectations, without a single shred of surprise.
"Hiroshi-kun, don't you think it's good?" Misae asked somewhat curiously seeing him remain silent throughout.
Nohara Hiroshi shook his head, picked up a piece of apple pie from the table, brought it to her lips, before speaking slowly: "Misae, to people who don't understand neon culture, this story might feel very novel and interesting. Kendo, samurai, onmyoji, ghosts... these elements are enough to catch the eye."
He paused, looking at the rolling credit list on the television screen, a faint trace of sarcasm flashing in his eyes.
"Ah?" Misae tilted her little head in confusion; how could a cute little girl understand these things.
But Nohara Hiroshi didn't say anything.
Because the facts were already very clear. The "Onibo Samurai" produced by Iwata Masao was like making a Chinese person watch an incomparably excellently produced "Romance of the Three Kingdoms" animation.
Guan Yu is still Guan Yu, Zhang Fei is still Zhang Fei, the story is still the same story.
No matter how well the visuals were shot, no matter how dazzling the special effects were done, its core had long since been chewed a thousand times, unable to be tasted for even half a new flavor.
This kind of "good-looking" built on cultural barriers was entirely a castle in the air.
Seemingly magnificent.
But actually falls with a single push!
"Of course, if 'Yamishibai' didn't exist, perhaps this 'Onibo Samurai' of Iwata Masao's should have been able to succeed."
Nohara Hiroshi chuckled lightly, raised the remote, and turned off the television.
There was no need to continue watching.
He was now very clear that this high-stakes gamble of Iwata Masao's was destined for its outcome from the very beginning.
Because what he faced wasn't a normal opponent.
But a ghost from the future, from a parallel world where the entertainment industry was even more developed, produced by absorbing the essence of neon, capable of executing a dimensional strike!