I, Hiroshi Nohara, the star of Japanese cinema

Chapter 17 Ratings

"what--!"

There was deathly silence in the izakaya in Ginza.

One of Iwata Masao's followers had just picked up a wine glass to drink, but his movements were completely frozen. The wine flowed out of the tilted mouth of the glass and dripped onto the table, but he was completely unaware.

Everyone opened their eyes wide and opened their mouths, as if an invisible hand was strangling their throats, unable to utter a word.

That final, ultimate terror, like a tsunami, instantly shattered all their previous ridicule and disdain!

The animation is over.

……

At Takada Toshihide's home, the deputy director's face turned pale.

The impact of that last scene made even this man in his fifties, who had seen a lot of ups and downs, feel a little bit of palpitations.

He subconsciously reached for his phone, wanting to call Masao Iwata immediately to warn him not to underestimate the enemy.

But the moment his fingers touched the phone, they stopped.

No.

Wouldn't calling now make me look like I'm losing my composure? Wouldn't that be admitting I was intimidated by a little-known production?

This undermines his authority as deputy director.

"Hmph, it's nothing but a trick." Takada Toshihide snorted coldly and turned off the TV.

Ratings... everything depends on the ratings. With such a late release date and no publicity, how many people would actually watch it? And for such crudely produced animation!
He forced himself to suppress the uneasiness in his heart, got up and walked into the bedroom.

……

And in that izakaya, the dead silence lasted for a full half minute.

Until Iwata Masao's confidant, who was best at flattery, coughed twice and forcibly broke the silence.

"Ahem... this... what the hell is this! It's just a trick!"

He said in an exaggerated tone, as if trying to hide something, "The story is quite scary, but the production is terrible! The colors are a mess, and the filming is like that of an elementary school student, just a few slides played back and forth! How could anyone possibly enjoy watching this? It really lowers the quality of our Tokyo TV!"

His words were like a life-saving straw, allowing everyone else to react.

"Right, right, right! Anren-kun is right! This animation is complete garbage!"

"That's right! There's absolutely no artistry at all! Compared to the exquisite production of our 'Ghost Shop Samurai', it's a world of difference!"

"Section Chief, you don't have to worry at all. The ratings for something like this will be absolutely horrible!"

Various comforts and flattery once again surrounded Masao Iwata.

Iwata Masao forced a smile back onto his face. He picked up his wine glass and laughed heartily, "That's right! You're a bunch of junk, and you think you can fight me? Just wait and see. Tomorrow, I'll make that old fellow Suzuki Seito come to me in tears and beg for mercy!"

He accepted all the flattery with a smile, as if he had regained his previous complacency.

But beneath his seemingly relaxed smile, his eyes flickered with an unprecedented solemnity.

He picked up the wine glass and drank it all in one gulp. The spicy liquid passed through his throat, but it could not dispel the chill that was quietly spreading in his heart.

This young man named Nohara Hiroshi...

And the film "Dark Zhiju" he produced...

Maybe it’s really not that simple.

……

In Suzuki's classroom, when the two big black words "The End" appeared on the TV screen, the string that was stretched to the limit finally broke with a "snap".

"call--"

Suzuki Kiyoto let out a long breath, feeling utterly exhausted, and slumped back in his chair. He looked around and saw young faces, all etched with fatigue, yet also with excitement and tension. Those past few days of hellish work had practically drained everyone's energy.

A warm feeling welled up in his heart. He stood up and said in a slightly hoarse voice, "Everyone, thank you for your hard work. That's all for today, everyone go and have a good rest! I've already booked rooms for everyone at a nearby apartment hotel. The fees and classes are all covered!"

"Oh!"

"Long live the Section Chief!"

The young people who survived the disaster cheered. Although they were physically exhausted, they were extremely excited.

Tired, they left the battlefield where they had fought for a week.

Soon, Suzuki Seito and Nohara Hiroshi were the only two people left in the office.

Under the light, Suzuki Seito looked at the young man in front of him who was a little too calm, and the worry in his heart surfaced again.

He lit a cigarette and took a deep breath. His voice seemed a little vague in the smoke.

"Nohara-kun, do you think... can we do this?"

He knew he shouldn't ask this question as it would shake the morale of the troops.

But he couldn't help it.

That fatal time slot at 12:20 in the morning was like a sword of Damocles hanging over our heads. Without any publicity or preheating, we were thrown nakedly into the vast ocean of the night.

Will it make a splash, or will it sink silently to the bottom?
Nohara Hiroshi looked at his bloodshot eyes and furrowed brows and said calmly, "Section Chief, you don't have to worry."

"But……"

"Do you think the story just now is scary?" Nohara Hiroshi interrupted him.

Suzuki Seito was stunned, recalling the scene at the end where the vengeful spirit took over the entire screen. Even as the creator, his heart couldn't help but twitch: "...It's terrifying, the kind of terror that comes from the heart."

"That's enough." A confident smile curved Nohara Hiroshi's lips. "Section Chief, this kind of horror is contagious. People who see it tonight will be discussing it with others tomorrow at school, at work, on the train. 'Hey, did you watch that horror anime on TV Tokyo last night?' As long as one person asks, the word-of-mouth snowball will start rolling."

There was a certainty and composure in his words that was inconsistent with his age, as if he had already foreseen the future.

Suzuki Seito stared at him in amazement, his anxiety surprisingly eased by his words. Yes, this young man had been creating miracles from the very beginning. He should have believed in him.

"Okay, I believe you." Suzuki Seito put out his cigarette. "You should go get some rest too. Tomorrow morning, everything will be clear."

"Yeah." Nohara Hiroshi nodded and turned to leave.

Of course he wasn't worried.

In the past, during the information explosion era of 2013, "An Zhi Ju" was able to break through the siege with its unique style and become a phenomenal work.

In the 90s when entertainment options were relatively scarce, its power would only be infinitely magnified!
This is his confidence as a time traveler!

It’s his “golden finger”!
……

Meanwhile, at TV Tokyo, the broadcasting department office.

Director Yamamoto's office was brightly lit. Instead of going home, he was waiting anxiously.

As a close confidant promoted by Deputy Director Takada, he was very clear about his responsibilities - Deputy Director Takada was accustomed to browsing important work briefings as soon as he woke up in the morning.

The ratings of the first broadcast of "An Zhi Ju", an animation that he personally ordered to be scheduled during the death period, is undoubtedly one of the information that the deputy director is most concerned about.

Time passed by minute by minute.

About an hour later, preliminary data from the Statistics Department was transmitted via the internal network.

Yamamoto immediately opened the file, his eyes like lightning, quickly locking onto the key number.

"Late-night animation "Anzhiju" premiere ratings: 1.75%."

“The ratings are poor.”

(End of this chapter)