novelraw Chapter 43: Fury
Chapter 43: Fury
That door of the Iwata Section which was usually closed tightly, at this moment was as if gripped by an unseen hand, not letting in a sliver of light, nor leaking a sliver of sound.
The air was as viscous as solidified asphalt, dragging everyone inside as if plummeting towards a bottomless abyss.
Finally that dead silence was torn apart by a violent, massive sound.
"Bang——!"
The solid wood desk was overturned by a massive force. The documents, coffee cups, and crystal ashtrays on the desk were like fallen leaves swept up in a sudden storm, scattering and splashing without any dignity.
Coffee stains smudged on the carpet like a puddle of dried brown blood.
Iwata Masao stood in the center of the mess, his chest heaving violently.
That face typically hanging with shrewd calculations, at this moment was twisted from extreme anger and humiliation, like a piece of crumpled scrap paper attempting to be flattened again.
Within those triangular eyes that always flashed with calculating light, only beast-like madness remained at this moment.
Lost.In a manner he least understood and could least accept.
"Trash! All a bunch of trash!" He roared, his voice hoarse, like a trapped beast forced into a corner, pouring all his unwillingness and resentment towards those subordinates huddled shivering in the corner.
However, he knew more clearly than anyone else in his heart, the true piece of trash, was himself.
He abruptly turned around, rushed out of that office which had already become the testament to his humiliation, and ignoring the astonished gazes cast in the corridor, charged straight for the elevator.
He was going to see Deputy Bureau Chief Takada, he had to explain.
He was going to... beg for mercy.
The elevator ascended smoothly. The smooth metal walls reflected his twisted and pale face. Looking at himself in the mirror, he felt so unfamiliar for the first time.
'Ding Dong!'
The top floor arrived.
That corridor leading to the peak of power was paved with a wool carpet soft enough to absorb all sounds. Abstract paintings from unknown painters hung on the walls. The air was permeated with a scent belonging to superiors, mixed with premium fragrance and sandalwood aroma.
This was heaven, and also hell.
However, when he walked to that familiar door that seemed to lead to the tribunal of destiny, he was stopped by a figure.
It was Deputy Bureau Chief Takada's secretary.
She wore a well-tailored professional suit, her face carrying a formulaic smile. Hidden beneath that smile, however, was a cold, temperature-less alienation.
"Section Chief Iwata." Her voice was as plain as if broadcasting the weather, "The Deputy Bureau Chief does not wish to see anyone right now."
This sentence was like an ice-tempered key, lightly turning to lock the final sliver of luck in Iwata Masao's heart.
His body swayed violently. That fury and unwillingness supporting him to charge here completely drained away at this moment, leaving only a boundless panic drained of all strength.
He looked at the secretary's mask-like face, opened his mouth, yet failed to emit any sound.
Then, he did something that shocked even himself, and also caused an imperceptible ripple to flash across the typically unruffled eyes of that secretary accustomed to seeing storms.
His knees went weak, and with a "plop", he knelt heavily onto that marble floor smooth as a mirror.
The sound was dull.
He buried his head deeply. That expensive suit hand-sewn by an Italian master was now crumpled like a rag.
His forehead pressed tightly against the icy floor, his butt thrust high into the air, as if only like this could he draw a bit of chill to keep himself from completely collapsing.
"Please... please tell the Deputy Bureau Chief..." His voice seemed squeezed out word by word from between his teeth, from the crevices of his soul, carrying an agonizing tremolo: "I... I was wrong... beg him... to give me one more chance..."
The secretary looked at this near performance art-like dogeza before her. On that face always carrying a professional smile, a crack appeared for the first time.
She pursed her lips, that was a complex emotion mixed with pity, disdain, and a bit of helplessness.
She remained silent for a moment.
Finally turned and lightly knocked on that door.
A long while later, an icy voice came from inside the door.
"Tell him to roll in."
Iwata Masao received an amnesty, scrambling to his feet, and pushed open that door that seemingly weighed a thousand catties.
Inside the office, Takada Toshihide didn't look at him, merely standing with his back to him in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the exquisitely sandbox-like scenery of Tokyo City beneath his feet.
"I heard, you put on a very wonderful 'samurai apology' for me?" Takada Toshihide's voice was very calm, calm enough to make Iwata Masao feel a burst of heart palpitations.
"Deputy Bureau Chief, I..."
"Shut up."
Takada Toshihide slowly turned around. That face typically presenting a genial smile was currently a bottomless gloom. He walked in front of Iwata Masao, didn't explode in anger, merely using an icy gaze akin to an autopsy to size him up from top to bottom.
"I asked you to fight a guaranteed winning battle, yet you brought back a massive joke to me." He paused, the corners of his mouth curving into an extremely sarcastic arc: "However, fine, at least, you gave that guy Asumi a perfect weekend worth celebrating."
"No no no!" Iwata Masao's body trembled violently, and because of the other party's words, he knelt onto the floor again.
Still a dogeza.
"However, this game isn't over yet."
Takada Toshihide's eyes turned cold, not caring about Iwata Masao's dogeza. He walked back behind the desk, sat down slowly, and spoke using a ruthless tone: "I will continue to operate, letting your 'Onibo Samurai' continue to broadcast. However, I have one condition."
He stared fixedly at Iwata Masao. That look was like a red-eyed gambler betting his final chip.
"Starting from today, your viewership rating must never drop below 5%! Otherwise, go jump off this building yourself."
The blood instantly drained from Iwata Masao's raised face.
"As for the 'Ichiban' title..." The corners of Takada Toshihide's mouth curved into an even colder smile: "Rest assured, I will figure out a way for the Statistics Section to use the daily average viewership ratings of your two animations to make the final assessment. I will give you the 'Ichiban' for the 11 PM late-night slot. As for that 'Yamishibai'..."
He chuckled lightly, as if talking about an inconsequential trifle: "I'll reward them an 'Ichiban' for the early morning slot. Consider it... a tiny reward for their negligible effort."
"Then... then Suzuki's Level 2 Director..." Iwata Masao asked in a trembling voice.
"His promotion to Level 2 Director is already set in stone." A trace of ferocity flashed in Takada Toshihide's eyes: "However, once he gets promoted, I will immediately use connections to transfer him, along with his so-called section, to the Hokkaido branch station together. Let him go research his 'urban legends' with the bears and the snow over there."
"Chop off Asumi's left and right arms in this headquarters, and we'll slowly settle the remaining accounts later."
Listening to these words, Iwata Masao's heart that had already sunk to the bottom of the valley rekindled a tiny flame of hope. Looking at this vastly capable backer before him, he wept tears of gratitude and pressed his forehead directly against the ground again.
"Wishing you a victorious start!" Iwata Masao said.
However, hearing this sentence, Takada Toshihide stood up abruptly, walked around the desk, and viciously kicked him squarely in the chest.
This kick was fast and ruthless, without showing the slightest mercy.
"Ah!"
Iwata Masao let out a miserable scream, falling backwards and crashing heavily onto the carpet. A sharp pain came from his chest, leaving him almost breathless.
"If it weren't for the fact that you are my wife's useless younger cousin."
Takada Toshihide looked down at him from above. On that face, all guises had been torn away, leaving only the most primal fury belonging to a superior: "Based purely on your performance this time, I would absolutely make you commit seppuku to apologize using the most traditional method!"