My Name is Hiroshi Nohara, Star of Neon Film and Television!

Chapter 86: Hashishita Ichiro's Despair! The Fact of Taking the Blame!

In Asumi's voice, was truly extremely thirsty.

Furthermore he also spoke with Nohara Hiroshi about the situation, he intends during the weekend Saturday afternoon slot, to produce a variety show project.

That 『Kasou Taishou』 chatted about last time was truly interesting.

Therefore Asumi exactly took it to heart.

"Hm, 『Kasou Taishou』?" Nohara Hiroshi lightly nodded: "This thing, I indeed have a convenient train of thought."

"Convenient train of thought?!" Inside the meeting room, Asumi, Sato Kenji, and Yamamoto Takeshi, these three veteran generals of the Kanto Faction, instantly uniformly locked their gazes onto Nohara Hiroshi's body.

In those eyes was entirely disbelief almost bordering on absurd shock.

Anime, manga, live-action drama...

This young man has already used his miraculous talent, in three entirely distinct domains, to whip up monstrous waves.

Now, he actually still wants to lay his hands upon... that variety show domain that even their entire Kanto Faction is at their wits' end regarding, only able to allow the Tokyo Faction to manipulate as they please?!Even saying convenient train of thought!?

This is already no longer a simple crossover, this is towards the entire television station's power landscape, initiating a Quixotic charge!

However, facing these four scorching gazes sufficient to melt a person, Nohara Hiroshi merely from his own briefcase brought with him drew out a blank piece of paper, bringing out a pen rapidly writing upon it.

Approximately a bit over half an hour.

"Finished."

Nohara Hiroshi wrote all those essences of the former life's 『Kasou Taishou』 atop it, including how to invite guests, how to host, how to invite national performers, as well as how to fan up emotions.

Then he pushed the completed temporary document before Asumi.

His appearance extremely calm and indifferent.

"..."

Inside the meeting room, sunk into a patch of deathly silence.

Asumi, Sato Kenji, Yamamoto Takeshi, three people, three mouths, all subconsciously gaped into an "O" shape.

They looked at that proposal on the desk possessing an astonishing thickness, then looked at that young man with a face written with "what's the big deal" expression, feeling their worldviews at this moment exactly seemingly being entirely ground into fine powder.

Ready train of thought.

Then it truly became a proposal.

You call this thing convenient?!

So many guys with veteran qualifications wanting to design out a set of brand new variety show project, worrying until their hair falls out in large handfuls.

Even still lacking a good clue.

Otherwise could they who came out of Kanto TV, be that unfamiliar regarding variety show projects?

After all variety show projects are very exceptional.

What is created is idols.

Is bits and sequences.

And has completely no relationship with true abilities like acting skills, like singing voice whatsoever!

But now, Nohara Hiroshi completed a variety show project, could they not be shocked?

"I'll look first." Asumi rapidly picked up that proposal reading through it.

When he flipped open the first page, seeing that show procedure detailed to a hair-raising degree, that time control precise to every single segment, those scoring standards full of ingenious thoughts, as well as... those appended behind, an entire fifty, "Kasou Taishou" creative illustrations sufficient to make any variety show producer strike the table in admiration!

He felt his own breathing was about to stagnate.

"Monster... you... you are truly a monster..."

After a good while, Asumi finally squeezed out this heartfelt exclamation from his throat.

Also understanding what is called a genius-level monster.

While the other two had also long moved closer, looking at that proposal capable of being called a 'variety show bible', on their faces remained only unconcealed shock.

As well as the occasional hiss of sucking in cold breaths!

Because they truly discovered, this thin temporarily-written proposal, the contents upon it were rich and detailed to... almost capable of being used as a script, directly producing a variety show program!

Truly is exactly... a 'variety show bible'!

...

Iwata Section, right now, was exactly being shrouded over by a patch of exceptionally thick dark clouds.

The air was oppressive to the point as if capable of being wrung out water.

On everyone's faces, all hung an appearance of a dispirited expression resembling a dead relative, sitting despondently with lowered heads in their own cubicles, like a row of frost-bitten eggplants.

That television set once pinned with high hopes by them, used to broadcast the 『Yamishibai』 season three sample tape, right now was pitch black, like a coffin tailored for their farce.

Right just now, a piece of paper notification originating from the Production Bureau upper echelons, like an icy death sentence, was mercilessly delivered here.

"—— 『Yamishibai』 season three, due to viewership ratings seriously not meeting standard, and audience backlash being extremely vile."

"Effective immediately, halt broadcast!"

Merely two short lines of text, yet like the sharpest knife, stabbing that pathetic bit of fantasy of theirs utterly to pieces.

An ace IP that created a viewership rating myth, in their hands, merely only broadcasting for a single week, seven episodes, exactly being shamefully, forcefully axed midway.

This is already no longer a simple failure.

It is a scandal!

Is an immense humiliation, sufficient to have the entire Iwata Section, all nailed onto the pillar of shame in TV Tokyo's history!

In the corner, Hashishita Ichiro's complexion was deathly pale like paper, those bloodshot eyes, hollowly looking at the ceiling, lips unconsciously squirming, repeatedly, murmuring those few pale and powerless vocabulary.

"Impossible... this is impossible..."

"I learned it all... I mastered it all... I obviously grasped all of his routines thoroughly..."

"Why would it be like this... why..."

He was like a gambler who lost all his chips, sinking into a kind of frantic self-doubt.

He couldn't understand, obviously using the identical recipe, identical flavor, why arriving in his hands, exactly became a pot of sour rice reviled by everyone?

Inside the office, those colleagues who once treated him as an honored guest, addressing him "Deputy Section Chief Hashishita" sweeter than their own father with every mouthful, right now yet all resembled avoiding a plague widely evading him.

Those gazes cast towards him, no longer held flattery, no longer held reverence, only icy, unconcealed disdain and resentment.

Like looking at a lump of nauseating garbage, that detonated the entire cesspit.

"Creak——"

The door of Iwata Masao's office was pushed open.

He dispiritedly walked out, on that face always carrying somewhat of arrogance, right now only a patch of deathly gray remained.

Exactly identical to this group of people outside.

He just received a phone call from Executive Deputy Director Takada Toshihide, inside the phone, that man he always treated as a pillar of support, his voice was icy without a trace of temperature, only speaking a single sentence.

"Iwata-kun, come to my office for a trip."

Iwata Masao knew the moment of judgment had arrived.

His gaze swept across this deathly still office, finally, landing upon that Hashishita Ichiro still in the corner, crazily, murmuring to himself.

A burst of nameless fire, mixing with the resentment of displaced anger, instantly from the soles of his feet, surged straight towards his skull!

"Hashishita Ichiro!"

He rushed over with an arrow step, grabbing Hashishita Ichiro's collar in a bunch, on that livid face, surfacing a kind of ferociousness resembling a cornered beast's desperate struggle.

"Didn't you say you learned it all?! Didn't you say you grasped all his routines thoroughly?! Then tell me right now! What the fuck is going on exactly?!"

"I... I..." Hashishita Ichiro was scared roughly shivering entirely by his fierce and evil appearance, those chaotic thoughts finally being pulled back to reality.

He looked at Iwata Masao's distorted face, the instinct of survival causing him to subconsciously begin defending himself: "It wasn't... not my problem! It was... was that artist! That artist's skills were too poor! He fundamentally couldn't draw out Nohara Hiroshi's kind of unique style!"

"Moreover... moreover it was you! It was you who insisted on adding that out of place Onmyoji into the script! I already felt something was wrong at that time! You were the one who insisted on doing that! This has nothing to do with me!"

"Shut up!"

On Iwata Masao's face, that ferociousness instantly transformed into pure violent rage, he raised his hand, a resounding slap, ruthlessly slapping onto Hashishita Ichiro's face!

"Smack!"

The crisp sound, in the deathly silent office, appeared exceptionally ear-piercing.

"Trash!"

Iwata Masao pointed at his nose, raining curses: "Matters reaching this point, you still want to push the responsibility onto other people?! Let me tell you, Hashishita Ichiro, it's exactly because of you this piece of trash! Exactly because I believed the bullshit words of you this trash! Our entire section, then ended up being dragged down into the water by you!"

This spiel of his was like a sound opening the manhole cover of a sewer.

Inside the office, that group of fence-sitters already holding a belly-full of anger, instantly found an outlet for venting.

"Correct! Exactly your fault!"

"We initially exactly looked at your solemn pledging appearance, only then following you doing this! As a result? You've miserably harmed us all!"

"Traitor! Trash! You still have face to stay here? Scram out!"

Curses, accusations, like a sudden rainstorm, overwhelmingly, smashing towards that already despondent man.

Hashishita Ichiro clutched his burning face, blankly looking at this group of colleagues before his eyes who last week were still groveling to him, today yet itching to swallow him alive, stripping his skin, inside those hollow eyes, the final trace of light also utterly extinguished.

He was like a stray dog abandoned by its master, by everyone, using the most disdainful gazes, driven into the corner.

Iwata Masao didn't pay attention anymore to this piece of trash who already possessed zero utility value. He adjusted the collar of his clothing that appeared somewhat messy due to anger, deeply inhaled a mouthful of air, taking heavy footsteps, walking towards that corridor leading to hell.

He knew, he must go face that judgment, decisive of his final fate.

When he brushed past the doorway of 【Nohara Hiroshi · Special Production Team】, the faintly transmitting out, sounds of cheering full of joy and pride from inside, were like red-hot steel needles, ruthlessly piercing into his heart.

He subconsciously quickened his footsteps, that back figure, panic-stricken, and also wretched.

...

Inside Takada Toshihide's office, was quiet identically as usual.

This number two figure of the Tokyo Faction, was currently with his back facing the door, standing before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at that endlessly flowing steel forest beneath his feet, that thoroughly tailored suit, accentuating his back figure, with somewhat of desolation.

"Deputy Director... I..."

Iwata Masao the moment he entered the doorway, exactly could no longer sustain that disguised composure, both legs going soft, with a plop, performing a standard Dogeza, his forehead deadly pressed against the icy floor.

"Deputy Director Takada, I was wrong! I deserve ten thousand deaths!"

Takada Toshihide didn't turn his head.

He merely slowly exhaled a mouthful of breath, in that mouthful of breath, carrying a kind of a hero in his twilight years like helplessness and emotion.

"Stand up." His voice was very peaceful, indiscernible of joy or anger.

"Nohara Hiroshi... this young man, is already no longer someone anyone can challenge. He is not a genius, he is a monster. A... monster sufficient to alter the rules of the era."

"You didn't possess the capability to contend against him, this I already knew, after all he is an terrifying... monster."

Takada Toshihide turned around, his complexion exceedingly gloomy.

"Speak about it, Iwata-kun."

He walked before the sofa sitting down, pouring himself a glass of whiskey: "Why would you lose... this miserably?"

Iwata Masao's body violently trembled once, he knew, this was his final opportunity.

He raised his head, upon that face had long lacked even the slightest trace of blood color, replacing it, was a kind of breaking the cauldrons and sinking the boats absolute decisiveness.

"It was Hashishita Ichiro! Deputy Director! It's all the fault of that piece of trash!"

He was almost roaring, pushing all responsibilities, onto the body of that chess piece long abandoned by him:

"He guaranteed to me, he entirely mastered the essence of 'Urban Legends'! Yet in reality, he is fundamentally a half-baked idiot! It was his clumsy imitation, it was his foolish suggestions, that brought about the utter failure of 『Yamishibai』 season three! I... I was deceived by him! I easily swallowed the slander of this incompetent individual!"

Takada Toshihide quietly listened, not interrupting him.

Those bottomless eyes, peacefully looked at this man before his eyes who in order to protect himself, didn't hesitate to push all guilt and responsibilities onto a subordinate, a trace of imperceptible contempt flashing past the depth of his eyes.

He of course knew, Iwata Masao was lying.

He understood this subordinate possessing a relative relationship with himself too well, arrogant, incompetent, yet fiercely ambitious.

The failure of 『Yamishibai』, Iwata Masao himself, must bear at least eighty percent of the responsibility.

But so what?

He Takada Toshihide needs an explanation, a perfect scapegoat, capable of explaining things to the board of directors, to the entire television station, or in other words to the Kanto Faction.

And Hashishita Ichiro, this "traitor" who defected over from the Kanto Faction, completely without foundations, undoubtedly is the best candidate.

"Is that so?" Takada Toshihide shook the amber liquid within his cup, indifferently saying: "I will dispatch people to investigate it."

Iwata Masao hearing this sentence, that heart of his hanging at his throat, finally dropped back into his belly.

He knew he bet correctly.

He also knew during yesterday night, those several heavy gold bars he personally delivered to the wife of this Deputy Director Takada before his eyes, his own older female cousin, exerted their effect.

"Withdraw." Takada Toshihide waved his hand, that posture, like shooing away a fly: "Iwata-kun, Nohara Hiroshi's ascent, is already irresistible. Even me, right now possesses no methods against him anymore. This time, let it pass."

He paused, those icy eyes like a knife directly landed upon Iwata Masao's body.

Exhaling words like blades:

"However, that one called Hashishita Ichiro... you know how to process it."

"Yes! I understand! I entirely understand!"

Iwata Masao resembling being granted a great amnesty, he once again heavily knocked his head once, then using both hands and feet, wretchedly retreating out of this office making him feel suffocated.

'Hoo!'

When the office door closed anew, Takada Toshihide finally drank the whiskey in his cup clean in one gulp.

The pungent liquid burned his throat, yet unable to disperse that bout of chilling sensation inside his heart.

He walked to before the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking at that Tokyo Tower still flashing resplendent radiance, on that face always gloomy, surfaced a smear of a loser's powerlessness.

"Asumi..." He murmured to himself: "You guy, this time, has truly... picked up a treasure." Takada Toshihide's eyes grew increasingly gloomy.

He plans on utilizing his own treasured 'treasure'.