I, Hiroshi Nohara, the star of Japanese cinema

Chapter 210 The Intervention of Capital! Hiroshi Nohara's Calmness! Strength is the Most Important Thing!
Hiroshi Nohara's acceptance speech about "the wonder and reality of urban corners" was like a stone thrown into a deep pool, creating ripples at the Japan Academy Film Prize ceremony. When the ripples subsided, what remained was the profound reflection of the professionals and the prolonged applause from the audience.

He bowed slightly, his fingertips as steady as a rock as he held the crystal trophy that symbolized the highest honor in scriptwriting in the Japanese television industry. His face was calm and serene, as if he had not just received the halo of glory.

Back in their reserved seating area for TV Tokyo, the atmosphere of triumph intensified—everyone knew this was merely an appetizer before tonight's grand feast.

What followed was a veritable coronation ceremony for TV Tokyo and its subsidiary, Nohara Productions.

The dazzling spotlights focused on the audience time and time again, and the crystal trophy shone brightly in the seats of TV Tokyo.

"Best TV Series of the Year Award"

As the presenter made a ceremonial announcement, classic clips from several nominated dramas flashed across the background screen, finally settling on a beautiful and melancholic scene of farewells under a cherry blossom tree.

"The winning entry is—'Yesterday's Cherry Blossoms,' a timeless masterpiece produced by TV Tokyo and directed by Keiko Matsumoto!"

"Snapped!"

The beam of light hit Keiko Matsumoto precisely.

This industry giant, over fifty years old and who has established his status as the "God of Love" with countless classic love stories, rose gracefully, his silk dress shimmering with a warm glow under the lights.

She walked with ease, and as she passed Hiroshi Nohara, she paused almost imperceptibly. When their eyes met, a faint but sincere expression of approval played on her lips, as if to say, "It's up to you now." Then, with graceful poise, she stepped onto the red carpet.

Accepting the trophy, her voice was clear and powerful: "Thank you to the jury for their appreciation of 'Yesterday's Cherry Blossoms.' This is not only an affirmation of the work, but also a gentle remembrance of that bygone era of innocence. The beauty of cherry blossoms lies in the fact that they are both fleeting and eternal."

Her acceptance speech, brimming with the passion of an artist, earned thunderous applause.

Followed by.

The winner of the "Best Animated Series of the Year" award was no surprise—"The winning work is 'Yamishibai'! Created by Section Chief Ichiro Hashimoto and his team at TV Tokyo's Nohara Independent Production Department!"

When the host announced the names, Takeshi Yamamoto, Kei Tanaka, and others in the back row of TV Tokyo excitedly roared "Bravo!" and clapped loudly.

Hashimoto Ichiro's honest face flushed red instantly. The overwhelming surprise made him unsteady on his feet when he stood up, and Tanaka Kei, who was next to him, quickly helped him up.

He took a deep breath, almost ran onto the stage, and when he accepted the heavy trophy, the trembling of his fingers betrayed the turmoil in his heart.

"Thank you... thank you TV Tokyo! Thank you Director Sakata, Managing Director Takada, Deputy Director Asumi..." He tried to calm his breathing, his eyes anxiously searching for that figure in the audience: "...and I especially want to thank Director Nohara! Without your pioneering ideas and unreserved trust, there would be no 'Yamishibai' today! This trophy belongs to the entire team, and it is also a testament to Director Hiroshi Nohara's talent!"

When he saw Hiroshi Nohara's signature steady nod, he seemed reassured and bowed deeply at a ninety-degree angle, his gratitude and loyalty overflowing.

The "Best Creative Work of the Year" award followed closely behind, once again falling into the hands of TV Tokyo.

"The winning entry is 'Tales of the Unusual,' produced by the Nohara Independent Production Department of TV Tokyo and created under the leadership of Manager Hiroshi Nohara!"

The audience erupted in knowing chuckles and heartfelt praise.

This unconventional, imaginative, and insightful anthology series has become a phenomenon.

Hiroshi Nohara still did not get up, and the trophy was once again accepted by Takeshi Yamamoto as the core representative of the creative team.

When Takeshi Yamamoto took the stage, he also expressed his gratitude to Hiroshi Nohara: "The 'wonderful' journey continues, and I thank every viewer who has discovered the extraordinary in the cracks of the city for joining us. This is an extension of Hiroshi Nohara's talent, and I hope that I will not let him down in the future!"

His remarks were brief and powerful, just like his style.

The awarding of technical awards has also become a stage for TV Tokyo.

When the "Best Animation Visuals" award went to Masao Iwata's "Onibō Samurai," Masao Iwata, who was sitting in the middle of the Tokyo TV audience and had previously competed fiercely with Hiroshi Nohara, stood up with a complicated expression.

Excitement was certainly there, after all, it was the highest certification of the team's top technology. But when his eyes fell on the radiant "Best Animation" trophy in Hiroshi Nohara's hand, and then looked at the certificate in his own hand that mainly proved the gorgeous visuals, the once arrogant spirit in his heart was now washed away by the huge gap, leaving him with a mix of emotions.

The dazzling, exquisite, and meticulously detailed visuals of "The Onibo Samurai," where every frame seems to be painted with oil paint, are his proudest medal.

However, faced with works like "Yamishibai," which use minimalist lines, minimal white space, and sonic tension to instill fear deep into the marrow of one's bones, he had to confront a cruel reality in the face of the highest achievement award in the industry—"Onibō Samurai" has the most gorgeous wedding dress, but lacks a truly heart-stirring soul core.

The clash between technology and art clearly reveals the superiority of one over the other.

of course.

Now it was his turn to go on stage. He accepted the certificate with deep emotion, gave a cliché speech, and then stepped down.

Until the awards ceremony was paused, the area around TV Tokyo was filled with the joy of a successful harvest and a harmonious atmosphere.

Masao Iwata sat back down, his gaze shifting between the gold-embossed words "Best Animation Visuals Award" on the certificate and the tall, composed figure of Hiroshi Nohara in front of him, before finally letting out a soft, clearly audible sigh.

This sigh contains a clear understanding of one's own creative shortcomings, as well as a complex mix of emotions and heartfelt admiration when facing a true powerhouse.

In the front row, Takada Toshihide, who had been silently observing the atmosphere inside, slowly turned his naturally gloomy face and looked at Iwata.

The former leader of the Tokyo faction tapped his fingers rhythmically on his knees twice, his deep, clear voice piercing through the subtle background noise of the ceremony: "Iwata."

Iwata Masao's heart skipped a beat, and he immediately sat up straight, responding respectfully, "Hi! Managing Director Takada."

"The visuals of 'Onibō Samurai'..." Takada's tone was unusually affirmative: "...the pinnacle. Your team represents the highest level of craftsmanship in Japanese animation. That's indisputable."

To receive such public affirmation from Managing Director Takada, who is known for his strictness and sullenness, was almost unimaginable before.

A complex mix of gratitude welled up in Masao Iwata's heart: "Hi! Thank you for your recognition, Managing Director Takada! We will continue to pursue the ultimate in visual expression!"

Takada Toshihide's gaze did not linger on him for long, but instead passed over his shoulder and fell upon the remarkably composed profile in front of him—Nohara Hiroshi was calmly conversing in hushed tones with Matsumoto Keiko, who had just sat down beside him.

“However,” Takada’s tone remained unchanged, but the weight suddenly increased, carrying a decisive meaning: “the core value of film and television art, which has remained constant throughout history, lies in the soul of the story. No matter how dazzling the visuals are, they are ultimately just the outer shell that carries the soul of the narrative. Iwata-san.”

He paused, his gaze sharpening as he looked back at Masao Iwata: "From now on, in the areas of creative planning, script polishing, and exploring the depth of the story... you must consult with Director Nohara more often. His expertise in script structure, human insight, and capturing social pain points..."

A complex look flashed in Takada's eyes: "...At this age, they are extremely rare. You must study hard."

This is by no means merely technical guidance.

This is clearly a formal endorsement from Toshihide Takada, a veteran of the Tokyo faction, of Hiroshi Nohara's unshakeable position and professional authority within the production company, and a clear signal flare in the process of factional integration.

We must set aside our prejudices and move closer to the true core!
Masao Iwata felt a tightness in his throat, and a surge of emotion, overwhelmed by immense pressure and determination, welled up in his chest.

He nodded vigorously, his voice filled with unprecedented sincerity and determination: "Yes, Managing Director Takada, I understand! I will approach you with utmost sincerity! I will not slack off!"

Seemingly feeling that he hadn't expressed himself enough, he took a deep breath, decided to go all out, turned around, raised his voice, and called out directly to the figure in front of him, "Minister Hiroshi!"

This time, the long-standing resentment and resistance in the address completely disappeared, leaving only clear respect.

Upon hearing the sound, Hiroshi Nohara calmly turned halfway around, his gaze falling on Iwata's face.

Those deep eyes held no condescending scrutiny, nor any superfluous polite enthusiasm, only a pure and calm attention to a professional colleague.

Masao Iwata gave a bitter smile, a mixture of self-deprecation and relief, and said sincerely and with emotion, "Minister Hiroshi... to be honest, tonight, especially after seeing 'Yamishibai' win the top prize, and then looking back at our 'Onibō Samurai'... sigh, I'm truly moved. 'Yamishibai's' capture of that subtle, trembling feeling deep within people's hearts, that suffocating atmosphere created with minimalist techniques... it's like a terrifyingly precise scalpel, dissecting not only the plot, but also the nerves and bones of the audience..."

He shook his head vigorously, with a profound self-analysis: "In the past, I was too obsessed with piling up canvases and showcasing color techniques. I was addicted to the ultimate 'form,' but neglected the concentration of 'spirit.' This painting award..."

He waved the certificate in his hand, his self-deprecation growing stronger: "It's like a bright mirror, reflecting my utter admiration. I am inferior to others in skill, and I wholeheartedly accept it."

The helplessness and complete submission in his words were clearly discernible.

Hiroshi Nohara listened quietly to Iwata's heartfelt confession, without showing any smugness on his face. Instead, he revealed his respect for the value of sincere communication in the professional field.

Because Hiroshi Nohara has already reached a certain level.

His hand, resting on his lap, gently caressed the cool, solid edges of the Best Screenplay trophy with his fingertips. His gaze was sincere as he replied, “Iwata-san, you’re too modest. Your and your team’s relentless pursuit of visual presentation and technical precision is a recognized milestone in the industry, bringing new inspiration and enlightenment to visual storytelling to all practitioners, including myself. The ‘beauty’ presented in *Onibō Samurai* is itself a very high level of artistic value.”

He skillfully affirmed Iwata's strengths from an artistic perspective, then naturally shifted his tone: "Just as Director Matsumoto said." He turned his gaze to Keiko Matsumoto, who had been listening quietly and gracefully beside him, as if stating an unquestionable industry consensus: "No matter how technology evolves and innovates, its ultimate mission is to serve the content itself. Exquisite visuals can make the wings of the story fuller and stronger, soaring higher; while a solid and profound narrative core gives the visuals an eternal vitality."

His gaze returned to Masao Iwata: "Although we each specialize in different areas, we can complement each other in terms of skill. Learning from each other and improving together is the right path."

Keiko Matsumoto, who had been quietly listening to the conversation between the two juniors, saw Hiroshi Nohara so naturally steer the conversation toward her and elevate the topic to the level of industry philosophy. A gentle smile bloomed on her face, which bore the marks of time but was still exquisite and slightly aloof.

She nodded slightly and continued, "What Hiroshi said resonates deeply with me. Iwata's skill has reached its pinnacle, achieving a perfect fusion of subject and environment; while Hiroshi's story is like a sharp sword, reaching the most subtle parts of the human heart and evoking profound resonance. The two are like the two ends of a balance scale in art, complementing each other and neither can be lacking."

Her gaze, filled with admiration, focused on Hiroshi Nohara: "Especially in you, Hiroshi-kun, I see an astonishing breadth and depth of creative expression. Whether it's the chilling eeriness of 'Yamishibai,' the kaleidoscopic and incisive insights of 'Tales of the Unusual,' or the wave of pure joy ignited by 'Super Transformation,' which broke down barriers of indifference and brought a renewed embrace of pure joy to the entire nation..."

Keiko Matsumoto's tone became long and full of reminiscence: "What surprised me the most, and what still stirs my heart to this day, is the story of 'Hachiko: A Dog'."

Speaking of this work, the "goddess of love," known for her delicate emotional portrayals, revealed a rare, heartfelt emotion in her eyes, and her voice trembled slightly: "That almost stubborn loyalty and devotion that transcends species boundaries... that emotional bond that, far from fading with the passage of time, has only grown purer and more intense... that power that penetrates the screen, striking the softest corners of the soul with unhurried yet precise precision..."

She paused slightly, as if to calm her emotions: "The impact it brought was so calm yet so powerful that even today, when I mention it, the warmth that fills my heart with pure protection can still be clearly awakened."

She gazed at the excessively young face before her, her tone unusually solemn, "At such a young age, to be able to so accurately grasp and present the most authentic, complex, and moving aspects of human nature is rare even in the history of Japanese cinema. The phrase 'a promising young talent' seems too simplistic when applied to you. It should be 'a respectable young talent with limitless potential.'"

These comments, coming from Keiko Matsumoto, a legendary figure representing the pinnacle of Japan's golden age of television dramas, carried such weight that they were like a boulder thrown into a calm lake, causing a silent tremor throughout the Tokyo TV seating area and even several rows nearby!
Even the usually composed Yamamoto Takeshi and Tanaka Kei unconsciously held their breath at this moment, enveloped by an indescribable sense of immense glory.

To receive such unreserved and lavish praise from the "God of Love" is, in the Japanese film and television industry, equivalent to winning a major award!
Faced with such overwhelming praise, Hiroshi Nohara remained calm and composed, only his gaze toward Keiko Matsumoto became more profound, and his respect for her grew even stronger.

He bowed slightly, his posture humble and sincere: "Director Matsumoto, you flatter me. What 'Hachiko' strives to express is nothing more than the most simple and unadorned emotional bond between lives, an immortal mark that the torrent of time cannot erase. The timeless essence and profound humanistic concern in your works created over decades of artistic career are the beacon that we creators look up to and will always learn from. To receive your words of 'mutual encouragement' is already a great honor for Hiroshi Nohara. The way of creation is to encourage each other and learn from each other's strengths, so as to live up to the expectations of millions of viewers and to use our works to touch the pulse of the times and the deepest part of people's hearts. This is the original intention and duty of a creator."

His response was subtle yet impactful, attributing his personal achievements to his adherence to his "original aspirations," while elevating Keiko Matsumoto and her accomplishments to a higher level. His words were sincere and impeccable, demonstrating political wisdom beyond his years.

This is indeed a kind of political wisdom.

The wood show will be destroyed by the forest wind.

Now, Hiroshi Nohara has reached the pinnacle of his life, gaining recognition and astonishment from countless people in a short period of time.

Including jealousy.

If he becomes arrogant, it will definitely attract more underhanded tactics to secretly target him.

To avoid trouble, and for a brighter future.

Hiroshi Nohara chose to keep a low profile.

Moreover, the entire Tokyo TV camp is now not only immersed in an unprecedented harmony and glory, but it can also be said that this marks the beginning of Hiroshi Nohara's ascent to a new level.

Masao Iwata's complete surrender, Keiko Matsumoto's strong endorsement, and the strong support from Director Sakata, Executive Deputy Director Takada, Deputy Director Asumi, and Eiji Kurosawa.

This has further solidified Hiroshi Nohara's position within the television station.

However, beneath this harmonious facade, the undercurrents could no longer be contained, converging into a colossal wave that crashed fiercely onto the center of the awards ceremony stage in the most absurd way.

"Next," the host's voice suddenly rose, filled with suspenseful intrigue that instantly drew the attention of the entire audience, "we are about to reveal the highly anticipated award—Best Actor of the Year!"

In an instant, all the whispers in the room disappeared.

Accompanied by background music that suddenly became extremely rousing and imposing, the huge screen began rapidly switching between highlight shots of several nominated male actors in their representative dramas:
A middle-aged man, sitting alone on the last tram after the crowds have dispersed late at night, with a numb and empty gaze, his whole body shrouded in the suffocating pressure of life (from a powerful realist work).

A samurai, burdened with heavy responsibilities during the turbulent final years of the Edo period, whose eyes, in the blink of an eye, reveal a resolute resistance against fate and a deep sorrow for the bygone era (the protagonist of the year's most talked-about Taiga drama).

A man, amidst a torrential downpour of icy cold, screams of despair upon hearing of his lover's betrayal, ultimately falls into silence, leaving only a silent, pervasive despair (a pinnacle of performance in an ethical drama)...

Every scene embodies masterful acting skills; every glance and every muscle twitch speaks volumes about the artist's refined artistry.

The atmosphere was tense, everyone held their breath, wondering who would ultimately win the crown that symbolized the highest level of acting in Japan.

The audience in the Tokyo TV seating area was also completely absorbed.

Yamamoto Takeshi couldn't help but lean to Tanaka Kei and whisper, "The performance of that senior in the 'Snow Mountain Ghost' segment of 'Tales of the Strange' is absolutely textbook material... And Kikuchiyo in 'Seven Samurai,' her charm was so captivating, she truly deserved the award..." Tanaka Kei nodded vigorously, his eyes also fixed on the screen.

wow-

Without any warning, the image on the screen suddenly froze.

What caught everyone's eye was not any of the highly regarded veteran actors or actors in their prime.

Instead, it was a face so young and handsome that it seemed otherworldly, like a meticulously crafted work of art. But at this moment, its beautiful face appeared somewhat stiff and even distorted due to extreme excitement and triumph—Shunsuke Kamiki!
His nominated work, "Lovely Cherry Blossom Boy" (produced by Tokyo TV), was clearly displayed on the large background screen!
"...The winner of the Best Actor of the Year award is! Shunsuke Kamiki!"

The host's professionally trained, melodious, and impassioned voice suddenly rang out after the frozen silence, sounding particularly jarring and absurd:

"In the annual youth inspirational drama 'Lovely Cherry Blossom Boy,' produced by Tokyo TV, Shunsuke Kamiki perfectly interprets the innocent, sunny, energetic, and passionate youthful emotions, including the budding and beautiful feelings, confusion, and indomitable courage on the road to youth!"
"He demonstrated overwhelming popularity in both online and mail-in voting! With his unparalleled personal charm and youthful energy, he successfully elevated the artistic appeal of Japanese youth idol dramas to an unprecedented new height! Let's give the warmest applause to this dazzling new idol star! Congratulations to Shunsuke Kamiki!"

"Whoa—!!!!!"

After a brief, suffocating silence, like the moment before the collapse of the universe, the entire awards ceremony erupted not with applause, but with a tsunami-like uproar, a mixture of horror, disbelief, anger at being fooled, a sense of absurdity, and a huge roar of laughter!

"puff--"

"what?!"

"what the hell?!"

"Nani?!"

A tremendous buzzing sound instantly engulfed the entire auditorium!

Almost everyone's expression froze at that moment—a look of astonishment and disbelief—as if they were witnessing the most clumsy and shameless satirical drama unfold in real life!

Those gray-haired industry veterans, meritorious actors, and senior producers had faces filled with shock, confusion, and deep-seated humiliation and anger; those equally nominated, accomplished actors had eyes that blatantly revealed astonishment, doubt, and naked contempt.

The doubts were like cold water poured into a boiling oil pan, causing an uproar.

The several white-haired, highly respected industry giants in the front row suddenly had their wrinkles deepen, their eyes widening in astonishment, which then turned into undisguised disgust.

The smiles on the faces of the other nominated, accomplished actors sitting next to them froze instantly, replaced by incredulous stiffness and a hint of humiliated anger.

They exchanged glances, needing no words, their eyes filled with blatant mockery: "Him? That 'Sakura Boy' that's propped up by melodrama and affectation? That blockhead who just fiddles with his hair and stares blankly in front of the camera?"

Whispers, like countless cold, venomous snakes, silently slithered between the seats, their spearhead aimed directly at Kamiki Shunsuke and the power behind him.

"Hey, did you see that? The financial power of the Qilin Group is starting to show!"

"I heard that Tokyo TV has spent a lot of money on this publicity campaign, including the cost of the 'viewer SMS voting hotline'..."

A slightly overweight producer wearing gold-rimmed glasses whispered to the director next to him, a knowing smirk playing on his lips: "Look at that, they can even buy the 'Best Actor' award. That nouveau riche Sato Tokugawa really dares to do that."

The director beside him, whose face still held the admiration he had shown when applauding Hiroshi Nohara, was now filled with gloom. "Not just daring, it's downright brazen! 'Audience SMS voting'? Ha, who knows if those 'audience members' are human or ghosts? Probably just some of their employees who broke the phone! This is a trampling on industry rules!"

He was indignant, his voice deliberately lowered, but trembling slightly with emotion: "An award, built with money, has turned into something reeking of filth, defiling the entire stage! Have those old fogies on the judging committee been bent by gold bars?"

"Shh... keep your voice down." The magazine editor, who was slightly more cautious, interjected, gesturing towards the location of the Tokyo TV station: "Be careful, walls have ears. But... it really went too far. Even if we take a step back, 'The Lovely Cherry Blossom Boy'? Can that really be called acting? To put it bluntly, even a dog chained in front of my house could act better! Capital, it really is all-powerful!"

These undisguised comments, like fine needles, pierced the area where the people at Tokyo TV were located.

However, the expected outburst of anger did not occur.

Kazuo Takahashi, a former elite of the Tokyo City Government's Public Relations Department and current Executive Vice President of Tokyo Television, sat there with a somber expression.

That politician's face, usually adorned with a professional smile and adept at reading his superiors' intentions, now resembled a meticulously polished marble—smooth, hard, and devoid of any emotional fluctuation.

Amidst a tidal wave of disapproving and disdainful gazes, he merely adjusted the position of his tie knot slightly, his eyes fixed straight ahead on Kamiki Shunsuke, who was giving his speech, as if he were deaf and blind.

In reality, his inner world was far less calm than it appeared.

That heart, forged into a finely tuned gear by factional struggles, is now rapidly calculating gains, losses, and risks.

Mayor Tanaka Mikami's instructions were crystal clear: use the "Academy Award," a national-level award platform, to enhance the prestige and prestige of Shunsuke Kamiki, Tokyo Metropolitan Television, and, more importantly, Mayor Tanaka himself!

Best Actor? That's a serious award!

What Mayor Tanaka needs is this kind of glittering "face project" to show the citizens and higher circles of power the remarkable achievements of the "Tokyo culture" construction led by Tanaka Mikami!
Takahashi knew that, in the mayor's eyes, the publicity value and social influence of an idol star's award far exceeded that of ten Hiroshi Noharas who had cultivated their talents in depth.

But he wasn't without his concerns.

Will such blatant skepticism and disgust from within the industry backfire? Will public opinion spiral out of control?
Will the topic of "Shunsuke Kamiki as the best actor" be like a stone thrown into a cesspool, splashing not only water but also a stench that could damage the mayor's image?
His gaze swept casually over the faces behind him, some indignant and some contemptuous, especially over the profile of Takada Toshihide, who remained composed but now carried a meaningful air, and the undisguised sneers of the others.

A shadow crept into Gaoqiao's heart.

This group wields considerable influence.

He needs to ensure that the prestige brought by this award will not be stripped away and turn into a scandalous mess.

"Director Takahashi." A deliberately lowered, obsequious voice sounded in Takahashi's ear. It was Kamiki Shunsuke's manager, a slick-haired man with a fawning smile, like a hyena that had smelled gold: "Don't worry, the process is absolutely perfect! We've done our best to guide the audience's SMS voting process, and the fan club mobilized thousands of people to vote all night! The data is all 'real,' it can withstand scrutiny! This is the will of the audience!"

He deliberately emphasized the words "truth" and "public opinion".

“Yeah, yeah!” Another young and beautiful female entertainer from the idol department of Tokyo TV immediately chimed in, her voice saccharine: “Shunsuke-san is incredibly popular among young viewers, especially women! He represents the aesthetics and choices of a new generation of viewers! Isn’t it perfectly in line with the trend that the TV station and Kirin Group support him?”

She blinked her large eyes, which were covered in thick mascara, trying to use the banner of "new generation" to cover up the aura of capitalism.

Takahashi listened to these self-justifications, eager to claim credit, and his eyes flickered slightly.

Agents' claims of "real public opinion" are like a fragile windowpane, and female celebrities' theories of "trends" are nothing but empty slogans.

But it was precisely this flawed rhetoric that gave him a psychological foothold.

Even the thinnest veil covering up the issue of "audience voting" is still just a piece of cloth.

As long as he can maintain a firm foothold in the public eye, even if there are undercurrents behind the scenes, there is still room for maneuver in the public sphere—after all, controlling media direction is his forte.

The scales in my heart finally tipped towards the side where "the benefits outweigh the drawbacks".

As long as the mayor needs it, as long as the data can be accurate, and as long as the subsequent publicity can suppress the negative voices... Takahashi's tightly furrowed brows relaxed slightly, and the marble mask on his face regained a bit of warmth.

He nodded slightly and squeezed out a barely audible "hmm" from his nose, which was considered an admission.

My heart, which had been hanging in suspense, finally settled down a little.

This charade can continue.

On stage, Shunsuke Kamiki was immersed in a huge, illusory halo of glory, completely oblivious to the undercurrents below, or rather, he simply didn't care.

He held up the trophy with a bright smile, mimicking the posture of his predecessors, his tone exaggerated and full of "deep emotion":
"Arigato! Arigato dozaimasu!"

"Thank you to my parents, your support has brought me to where I am today!" "Thank you to my fans! I love you all!"

"Most importantly! I want to thank Chairman Sato Tokugawa of the Kirin Group! Without your discerning eye and dedicated cultivation, there would be no Shunsuke Kamiki today!"

He bowed slightly, his waist bent with extreme deference, his face showing almost fawning gratitude.

"Of course, I also want to thank Tokyo TV! Mayor Tanaka Mikami! and Director Takahashi Kazuo! It is your platform and trust that gave me the opportunity to showcase myself!"

He straightened his back, his eyes gleaming with an almost arrogant confidence: "Please look forward to it! I will be starring in more exciting works that tell the story of young people chasing their dreams and igniting their youthful passion! This year! Please support me!"

Amidst sparse applause and even more silence, Shunsuke Kamiki strode off the podium with a triumphant air.

His gaze swept across the audience like a searchlight, landing particularly precisely on the group of people who had just been applauding and cheering for Hiroshi Nohara—the seats of TV Tokyo.

As he strode past the Tokyo TV booth, head held high like a victorious rooster, carrying the trophy, he deliberately slowed his pace for a moment.

His chin was held high, and his carefully groomed eyes glanced down, sweeping over Matsumoto Keiko's angry and disdainful face, and over the corners of Yamamoto Takeshi, Tanaka Kei, Hashiichiro, and others' mouths, which were twitching slightly with humiliation and anger.

Finally, his gaze fell on the most central position—Hiroshi Nohara.

Hiroshi Nohara remained seated, his demeanor as calm as if he were attending an ordinary meeting, rather than being at the center of an absurd awards storm.

He tilted his head slightly, seemingly listening intently to Matsumoto Keiko's whispers beside him, his eyes calmly meeting Kamiki Shunsuke's provocative gaze.

There was no anger, no contempt, not even a flicker of emotion, only a penetrating understanding... and a condescending, pitiful pity, as if watching a praying mantis wielding a great sword.

"Damn it!"

The provocation and pride that Kamiki Shunsuke had accumulated were like a punch thrown into cotton, or like a beautiful performance encountering a vacuum.

That seemingly calm gaze was more penetrating than any insult, causing Shenmu's carefully maintained arrogant posture to falter abruptly, and a chilling feeling of being stripped naked and displayed in public rose inexplicably in his heart.

The silent, boastful snort that had been prepared in his throat was abruptly swallowed back, and the arrogance on his face stiffened unnaturally for a moment.

But a moment later, his arrogant instincts kicked in, and he masked his brief panic with an even more exaggerated, almost theatrical, head-raising gesture. He let out a short, arrogant snort, then quickened his pace, looking slightly disheveled but trying to appear calm, and walked back to the "victory zone" belonging to Tokyo TV.

Only when Shunsuke Kamiki disappeared into the equally complex crowd surrounding the Tokyo TV station did the atmosphere at Tokyo TV begin to fluctuate with a suppressed intensity, like an earthquake before a volcanic eruption.

"Outrageous!" A second-level director was the first to lose his temper, his deep voice squeezing out from between his teeth, his knuckles cracking as he clenched his fists: "How dare idol stars show such contempt for art! How dare they defile the hall of fame!"

His indignation stemmed not only from Shunsuke Kamiki's ignorance and recklessness, but also from his profound disappointment with the award, which had been distorted by capital.

"Phew... This is truly an eye-opener." The amiable smile on the other second-level director's face finally vanished completely. He took off his glasses and wearily rubbed his temples. "President Sato's reach is a bit too far. This trophy... it's not stained with gold dust, it's tainted with the stench of money."

"A petty person who has achieved success!" Yamamoto Takeshi spat out through gritted teeth, his lips curling in a sneer.

Tanaka Kei didn't speak, but shook his head with a gloomy face.

Hashimoto Ichiro lowered his head, his eyes filled with complex emotions. Having experienced betrayal and return, he was better able to understand the sordid nature of the world of fame and fortune.

Even Keiko Matsumoto, a seasoned director hailed as the "Goddess of Love," couldn't help but let out a sigh laced with irony and sorrow. Her voice clearly reached Hiroshi Nohara's ears: "The world is going to the dogs, people's hearts are no longer what they used to be. Nohara-sama, do you see this? This is the Japanese entertainment industry today. Television stations? They're no longer pure lands. Art? It's become a commodity that can be openly priced and sold. The long arm of capital is truly all-encompassing and omnipresent."

Her gaze swept over Shunsuke Kamiki, over Kazuo Takahashi, and finally looked at the void ahead: "Even the last shred of dignity has been torn to shreds. The road ahead... is probably going to be even worse."

Hiroshi Nohara listened quietly to the discussions around him and Keiko Matsumoto's reflections, his deep eyes like two deep pools, drawing in all the surging emotions.

Matsumoto's words pointed out the cruelty of reality and foreshadowed the hardships to come.

The power of capital, in the neon lights where the bubble is about to burst, will indeed stir up even more frenzied waves, just as the president of Shimadzu warned of the "thunderous measures" that the United States is about to take.

He slightly turned the water glass in his hand.

but.

But for him, it was an opportunity!
“Matsumoto-senpai is absolutely right,” Hiroshi Nohara said, his voice deep and steady, calming the commotion around him like a rock. He looked calmly at Keiko Matsumoto: “The influx of capital is certainly powerful, but it cannot truly replace the power of creation, nor can it erase the genuine resonance in the hearts of the audience. However…” He paused, his gaze falling on the luxurious dome of the auditorium, as if piercing through it to see the looming, even more somber shadow of the times to come, “…In the future, what we may need is not just the power of creation.”

He stopped talking and simply straightened his back.

The idolized Shunsuke Kamiki and "Lovely Cherry Blossom Boy"? They were nothing more than a magnificent bubble destined to be washed ashore by this monstrous wave.

Strength is the most important thing.

(End of this chapter)