novelraw Chapter 39: Fury
Chapter 39: Fury
Nohara Hiroshi chuckled lightly.
He was very confident.
Within the Suzuki Section, the awakened joy from before was instantly restored, smiles rising on each face.
However, at the other end of the corridor, the Iwata Section.
Here it was extremely depressing.
As if a massive iron hammer, heavy enough to crush everyone's spine, was placed here!
Silence was the only main theme in this office at this moment.
A viscous, suffocating silence, like the stagnant, earthy, muggy heat in the air before an afternoon thunderstorm arrives.
Even the originally gentle sunlight, slicing alternating patterns of light and dark on the floor through the blinds at this time, seemed like the iron bars of an oppressive prison cell, illuminating everyone's face dimly and obscurely.
5.03%.This number was placed right in the center of the conference table, like a shining golden trophy, yet no one dared to touch it.
Because right beside it, placed side-by-side was another report, upon which the text 4.97% was like a ghost.
A ghost grinning and silently mocking them.
Won.
Yes, looking at the numbers, they won.
But in everyone's heart, it felt as if a heavy lead block soaked in ice water had been stuffed in, unable to utter a single word.
Nor dared to utter it.
That confidant named Yasuto, who usually was best at using various flashy rhetoric to sing praises of victory for his lord, was merely lowering his head at this moment, staring fixedly at his shiny leather shoes, as if trying to see his future destiny from that smooth shoe surface.
That bespectacled planner, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the keyboard, couldn't type out a single word.
What repeatedly echoed in his mind wasn't their side's excellent animation, nor that majestic soundtrack, but rather that hellish dark red light seeping through the elevator doors when he peaked at 'Yamishibai' last night.
Iwata Masao was currently standing by the window, his back to everyone.
Looking at that icy urban jungle constructed from reinforced concrete downstairs, he felt he had also become a trapped beast targeted by an unseen hunter in this jungle.
That face of his, typically hanging with sarcasm and shrewd calculation, felt like an air-dried orange peel at this moment, stretched tightly.
Every wrinkle was filled with gloom.
Because this was a humiliation.
His humiliation.
His unprecedented humiliation!
He mobilized the station's top-tier resources, hired the industry's most prestigious production team, and in the golden late-night slot everyone dreamed of, used a high-cost heavy cannon capable of flattening a small hill to bombard a scarecrow tied together with bamboo poles and hemp rope by a few paupers.
The result was the cannonball landed off-target.
It only used the explosion's shockwave to singe a negligible bit of thatch off the scarecrow.
And that scarecrow, under everyone's watchful eyes, danced an eerie, hair-raising dance by itself, winning the applause of the entire audience!
This was no longer a matter of winning or losing.
This was an intellectual, realm-wise, or even... ability-wise, thorough public execution!
"Ring ring ring—"
Amidst this desolate silence, the public phone on the office desk rang without warning.
That sound was sharp, piercing, like an ice-tempered scalpel, indiscriminately attempting to cut open that thin membrane named decency in this office.
The office assistant trembled all over. Like an awakened sleepwalker, she hurriedly picked up the receiver.
"...Hello, this is the Iwata Section."
She only listened to half a sentence, and that already colorless face instantly became even whiter than the wall.
Covering the receiver, she used a near-whisper, fear-laden tremolo, looking towards that back-facing figure, her voice trembling as she said: "Section... Section Chief... It's... it's Deputy Bureau Chief Takada's secretary... asking you to go over..."
Iwata Masao's body obviously stiffened.
He slowly turned around, all the gloom and unwillingness on that face entirely fading away at this moment.
"I know." Iwata Masao pursed his lips, his face leaving only a dejection akin to dead ashes.
He didn't speak more, just waved weakly at that assistant, and then took those lead-filled legs, step by step, walking towards that door leading to hell.
In Takada Toshihide's office, the sandalwood was the same, the sunlight was the same.
But today's sunlight seemed exceptionally cold.
When Iwata Masao pushed the door and entered, Takada Toshihide was sitting behind the desk, holding those two viewership rating reports placed side-by-side in his hands, reading extremely focusedly.
He didn't look up, didn't even cast a glance at Iwata Masao, merely asking indifferently using a calm, heart-palpitating tone: "Iwata-kun, you're here."
"Deputy... Deputy Bureau Chief..." Iwata Masao's voice was as dry as if polished with sandpaper.
"I heard, you won." Takada Toshihide slowly raised his head. Within those eyes always carrying a genial smile, was currently a bottomless, icy coldness akin to a frozen pool: "Leading by 0.06 percentage points, truly... a remarkable victory."
He brushed those two reports lightly, as if dusting off some negligible speck of dust, with a casual sweep towards Iwata Masao's direction.
Those few thin pieces of paper, like falling dead leaves, floated down lightly, landing on Iwata Masao's face, before sliding weakly to the floor.
That action was contemptuous to the extreme, and also humiliating to the extreme.
Iwata Masao's body trembled violently. He kept his head lowered fiercely, not daring to say a single word.
Because he knew any explanation at this moment appeared pale and laughable.
What could he say?
Say the opponent was too strong? That was admitting his own incompetence.
Say bad luck? That was insulting his superior's intelligence.
He couldn't say anything, could only endure all of this silently like a drowning dog being whipped by its master.
"I gave you the best resources, the best time slot, even mobilized my connections to hire you a masterful writer like Kato Shin."
Takada Toshihide's voice remained calm, but every word felt like a red-hot steel needle viciously stabbing into Iwata Masao's ears.
"And you use a 0.06% 'victory' to repay me?"
"Are you telling me, my, Takada Toshihide's judgment, is only worth this 0.06%?"
"Are you telling the entire television station, that the top confidant I promoted, is such a piece of trash that can't even beat an intern?!"
Bang!
He finally couldn't suppress his anger, slamming the desk violently and standing up abruptly! That long-suppressed fury belonging to a superior erupted with a roar akin to a volcano!
Frightened, Iwata Masao shuddered all over, directly performing a dogeza, kneeling before Takada Toshihide.
His head pressed tightly against the floor.
Humble as a crawling bug.
And Iwata Masao endured this scolding sufficient to crush any corporate worker's dignity to powder without saying a word.
Until a long time passed.
Takada Toshihide sat back onto the chair, panting heavily, his chest heaving violently.
He knew scolding further was of no help.
He looked at this confidant whose courage had been completely broken before him, a trace of extreme disappointment flashing in his eyes, and a trace of final unwilling decisiveness.
"Promotion." He squeezed out a word from between his teeth.
"...Yes?" Iwata Masao looked up blankly.
"I said, increase the promotional efforts!" Takada Toshihide's voice carried a hint of madness: "Smash all the usable money in for me! Newspapers, magazines, radio, roadside billboards! Within this week, I want every corner of all Tokyo to see the name 'Onibo Samurai'!"
He stared fixedly at Iwata Masao, that look like a gambler with red, losing eyes.
"I don't care what methods you use, I do not want to see any so-called accidents again! What I want is a crushing defeat! It's absolute, indisputable victory! Use your results to tell everyone, who is the true master of this television station! Did you hear me?!"
"At the end of this month, the station will tally the Ichiban for each time slot! See who is number one! I hope you are not merely the Ichiban for the 11 PM late-night slot!"
"But also... the Ichiban for the animation category! Do you understand!?"
"Yes, sir!"
Iwata Masao seemed to have grabbed onto out to the final lifeline, hastily nodding heavily. In that voice carried the raspiness of having survived a disaster, and a decisiveness of breaking the cauldrons and sinking the boats.