I, Hiroshi Nohara, the star of Japanese cinema

Chapter 211 Only with unwavering resolve can one avoid being crushed! Hiroshi Nohara's unwavering resolve!

Strength is the most important thing.

The awards ceremony concluded with a gaunt-faced president of a cultural revitalization association delivering a lengthy closing speech in a flat, monotone tone, as if reading an obituary.

The sound echoed in the luxurious yet cold auditorium, like a wisp of smoke about to go out, weakly announcing the end of this grand farce.

The lights suddenly blazed on, illuminating every emotion on every face in the audience.

The insincere pleasantries, the polite smiles, and the undisguised stiffness and alienation create a bizarre and surreal picture of life.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the banquet is ready. Would you like to stay and enjoy it?" Takada Toshihide stood up, his voice carrying a hint of barely perceptible fatigue, his gaze sweeping over his team.

Before he could finish speaking, he was interrupted by a series of silent but resolute actions.

Yamamoto Takeshi was the first to shake his head, his lips pressed into a hard, straight line.

Tanaka Kei and Hashiichiro almost simultaneously waved their hands, their faces clearly saying "I politely decline."

"Minister Takada, I think we should head back soon." Keiko Matsumoto straightened her shawl, her tone calm yet carrying an aloofness that kept people at a distance. "The air here... is a bit polluted, making my stomach uncomfortable."

Takada Toshihide's gaze finally landed on Nohara Hiroshi.

Hiroshi Nohara stood up, without looking at anyone, and simply said, "Let's go."

Two words set the tone.

Hiroshi Nohara is now qualified to say that.

The Tokyo TV group, like a silent and aloof team, went against the tide amidst the elegant attire and clinking glasses.

They didn't exchange pleasantries with anyone, nor did they pay attention to any of the complicated glances directed at them. They simply walked straight to the exit, resolutely leaving behind that false prosperity and clamor.

Stepping out of the auditorium, the cold November wind hit me, carrying the crisp air unique to Tokyo nights, instantly dispelling the pent-up frustration in my lungs.

Everyone took a deep breath in unison, as if they had just escaped from a suffocating nightmare.

"Heh, it seems we're not the only ones." Yamamoto Takeshi's gaze swept across the parking lot, a cold smile curving his lips.

Not far away, teams from several well-known production companies and television stations were also hurrying to their cars, showing no intention of staying for the dinner.

Those producers and directors who are usually adept at social maneuvering in various situations all wore the same expression on their faces at this moment—a silence that was a mixture of disgust and disdain.

"This time, the Academy Awards jury has offended half the industry." A second-level director sneered, his voice particularly clear in the night wind: "To promote a puppet, they trampled the faces of all the craftsmen underfoot. They really have something."

"Introducing capital is like fresh water, bringing life back to the pond," Keiko Matsumoto sighed, gazing at the twinkling lights of Tokyo Tower in the distance. "But instead, they've brought in a flood, turning the pond into a swamp. So reckless, abandoning even the last shred of dignity, who will still believe in the authority of this award?"

"Authority?" Yamamoto Takeshi scoffed. "From tonight onwards, the words 'Academy Award' will be no different from dog poop on the street to me."

The convoy started in silence, traversing the brightly lit arteries of the city.

Outside the car window was the bustling Ginza, a dreamlike bubble era outlined by countless neon lights. Inside the car, however, there was a deathly silence. Everyone seemed to have had their energy drained away, leaving only exhausted shells.

Back in the brightly lit Tokyo TV building, the empty lobby felt even colder.

"It's still early, how about... we find a place to sit down?" Takada Toshihide tried to boost morale, seeing the dejected expressions on everyone's faces.

"Never mind, Minister." Kei Tanaka shook his head, looking listless. "I'm not in the mood."

"Yes, just thinking about that face makes me lose my appetite."

"I want to go home," Hiroshi Nohara said, his voice not loud, but it silenced everyone.

He looked at Takada Toshihide with a calm expression: "Managing Director Takada, everyone is tired today, go home and rest early."

Takada Toshihide gazed at him, and in those deep eyes, he saw not the dejection of a loser, but only the calm after a storm. Knowing that Nohara Hiroshi hadn't been greatly affected, he breathed a sigh of relief.

After all, Hiroshi Nohara is the future of TV Tokyo.

Takada Toshihide nodded, patted Nohara Hiroshi on the shoulder, then turned to the group, his voice regaining its strength: "Alright! Cheer up! Nohara-sama is right, get some rest tonight! The real battle starts tomorrow! Go home now!"

They dispersed, their figures disappearing into the elevator and the end of the corridor in the dead of night.

Hiroshi Nohara returned to his apartment close to midnight.

He unlocked the door with his key, and a warm and rich fragrance wafted out, instantly dispelling the chill and fatigue he felt.

On the low table in the living room, an old-fashioned earthenware pot was bubbling away, its sweet aroma of soy sauce, mirin, and sake filling every corner of the room.

Misae, dressed in her pajamas, was kneeling at the table, carefully placing thinly sliced ​​beef into the pot.

Hearing the door open, she looked up and saw Hiroshi Nohara return. She paused for a moment, then a gentle smile bloomed on her face.

"you are back."

"Yes, I'm back." Hiroshi Nohara nodded.

“I watched the awards ceremony live.” Misae stood up, took his coat, and said in a light tone, “Although that Best Actor award was a bit… um… but in my heart, you’ll always be the best! Congratulations, Hiroshi!”

She didn't mention the award she was disappointed with, but instead gave it the most direct affirmation in her own way.

Hiroshi Nohara felt a warmth in his heart. He changed his shoes and went over to sit down next to Misae. Looking at the bubbling broth and tender ingredients in the pot, he asked, "Why are you only eating now?"

“Yes,” Misae said with a smile, “I’d forgotten about your awards ceremony. But Hiroshi, why didn’t you go to the banquet? I saw on the live stream that there was a very lavish banquet after the ceremony.”

"Sigh..." Hiroshi Nohara picked up his chopsticks, took a slice of freshly cooked beef covered in sweet sauce, and put it in his mouth. The smooth texture and rich flavor seemed to soothe the wrinkles in his heart little by little.

He sighed and recounted the absurd scene at the awards ceremony and the reactions of the audience in detail.

Misae listened quietly, occasionally adding some vegetables and tofu to his food.

After he finished speaking, she blinked and asked, somewhat puzzled, "But it's just a 'Best Actor' award, right? Why is everyone... reacting so strongly? Is it really that important to you and the TV station?"

Hiroshi Nohara put down his chopsticks, looked at her seriously, and explained, “Misa, it’s more than just an award. In the industry, it’s a benchmark, a declaration of values. It tells everyone what kind of performance is good, what kind of work is worthy of respect. When this benchmark is arbitrarily distorted by money, when an idol with no acting skills can stand on the highest podium by the power of capital, the message it sends is—effort is useless, talent is cheap, and art can be bought.”

He paused, his voice becoming even lower:
"This is a devastating blow to those who truly love this industry and have poured their hearts and souls into it. It will confuse creators, distort the audience's aesthetic sense, and over time, erode the very foundation of the industry. We are angry not because I personally did not win an award, but because the rules on which we live and strive have been trampled upon."

Misae nodded, seemingly understanding but not quite.

She may not fully understand the complex rules and far-reaching impact of those industries, but she could sense the heaviness and disappointment in her husband's words.

She reached out and gently took Hiroshi Nohara's hand, saying softly, "I understand. They went too far. But, Hiroshi, truly good things won't lose their luster because of a tainted award. The audience's eyes are the most accurate."

Hiroshi Nohara grasped his wife's hand in return, and the last vestige of gloom in his heart was dispelled by these simple yet sincere words.

Yes, the eyes of the audience.

He picked up his chopsticks again, a genuine smile spreading across his face for the first time that evening: "You're right. Come on, eat some meat, this Wagyu beef is really good."

"Of course! I ran around several blocks to find it!"

"Thanks for your hard work."

"Eat quickly, it won't taste good when it gets cold."

Outside the window, the night was deep, while inside, steam rose warmly. A pot of sukiyaki soothed the weary soul. The turbulent waves stirred up in the arena of fame and fortune seemed to be kept at bay by the warmth of this earthy comfort.

Hiroshi Nohara was completely absorbed in it.

While they were eating beef, Misae seemed to sense his unhappiness, so she thought for a moment and said, "Hiroshi, if you're feeling down, how about we go to Kumamoto Prefecture for a visit in a while?"

"Hmm?" Hiroshi Nohara looked at her: "Kumamoto Prefecture? This is Misae's hometown."

“Yes,” Misae said with a smile, “We have beautiful scenery where I live too…” As she spoke, her face turned red, “My mom and dad would also like you to come and meet them.”

Hiroshi Nohara chuckled and nodded: "Okay, then I'll go back in a while."

It's definitely worth checking out Misae's future in advance.

……

However, the storm has only just begun.

The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight pierced through the Tokyo morning mist, the entire Japanese public opinion scene exploded as if a depth charge had been dropped on it.

Without exception, the results of the "XXth Japan Academy Film Prize" were placed in the most prominent position in the morning newspapers and television morning news.

All the reports focused precisely on the same name—Shunsuke Kamiki.

However, this time the reports presented a clear polarization.

The mainstream authoritative media, led by Asahi Shimbun and Yomiuri Shimbun, unanimously chose to report on this matter with an extremely cautious, even critical, tone.

The Asahi Shimbun's culture section featured a concise yet powerful headline: "A Shameful Night for the Academy Awards: When Art Bows to Capital." While not directly naming Kirin Group or Tokyo Broadcasting System, the article succinctly pointed to "unprofessional factors" in the judging process. It quoted several unnamed veteran film critics who described Shunsuke Kamiki's performance as "empty, formulaic, and a desecration of the art of acting," and expressed "deep regret and incomprehension" at Hiroshi Nohara's "phenomenal performance" being rejected.

The Tokyo 2018 newspaper, Tokyo Keizai, took an industry-centric approach, publishing an in-depth commentary titled "A Warning at the Peak of the Bubble: Capital's Arrogance May Backfire on the Foundation of the Cultural Industry." The article sharply points out that this incident is a dangerous signal of excessive capital expansion under the bubble economy, attempting to infiltrate every sector. It warns that such short-sighted behavior, driven by "traffic-only" and "money-only" principles, will ultimately destroy the creative ecosystem and credibility of the entire content industry.

The more academic Kinema Junpo special issue even published a review written by renowned critic Shigehiko Hasumi, titled "The Violence of 'Cute': Deconstructing the Nihilism of Performance in 'The Lovely Cherry Blossom Boy'." The article dissects Shunsuke Kamiki's performance thoroughly, drawing on Lacan's mirror theory and Debord's society of the spectacle, calling it "a carefully packaged commercial symbol used to sell desire, completely unrelated to the art of 'performance' itself."

The collective voices of these authoritative media outlets were like heavy hammer blows, slamming down on the gleaming trophy of last night.

However, in another arena of public opinion, the scene is quite different.

Newsstand special editions of gossip magazines such as Weekly Bunshun and Friday, known for their entertainment gossip and sensational headlines, as well as some emerging metropolitan newspapers with a youth-oriented stance, have launched a massive "deification movement."

The cover of Weekly Star features a large close-up of Shunsuke Kamiki holding his trophy, tears welling in his eyes, accompanied by a poignant headline: "Tears Under the Crown! The Glory and Solitude of Shunsuke Kamiki, the King of the New Generation! The Power of Fans Creates Miracles!"

The Tokyo Metropolitan Entertainment News, affiliated with Tokyo Metropolitan Television, went on to promote the event extensively with headlines such as "The Audience's Choice, the Trend of the Times! The Academy Awards Respond to Public Opinion and Reward the Power of the New Generation!" The article touted the "overwhelming data" of the "audience SMS voting" segment and included touching "deeds" of the Kamiki Shunsuke fan club making phone calls all night to vote, portraying it as a "victory of public opinion."

The extra edition of POP IDOL monthly magazine, printed in an emergency, went so far as to proclaim the slogan: "Our Shunsuke is the best in the world! Those who question him are just jealous ghosts from the old era!"

Two diametrically opposed voices clashed fiercely in newspapers, television, radio, and in people's mouths, tearing the entire neon society into two huge camps.

An unprecedented debate erupted in every corner of Tokyo.

The atmosphere on the commuter tram was unusually eerie in the early morning.

"This is utterly ridiculous!" A middle-aged office worker in a suit, with graying hair, gripped the Asahi Shimbun in his hand, his fingers trembling with anger. "I watched 'Midnight Diner,' and I was forced to watch two episodes of that 'Sakura Boy' thing because of my daughter. How can you compare them? One is a real actor, and the other is just a moving picture book! Are these judges blind?"

“That’s right,” a middle-aged employee wearing glasses chimed in, “Isn’t this obviously an award bought with money? It’s disgusting! Who will watch this kind of award ceremony again?”

However, several high school girls in uniform behind them curled their lip in disapproval.

“What do those middle-aged men know?” a girl muttered under her breath, holding a copy of Weekly Star magazine with Shunsuke Kamiki on the cover. “Shunsuke-kun acted so hard! Did you see that broken look in his eyes in the rain? My heart broke!”

“Yeah, yeah!” her companion immediately chimed in excitedly, “Those older actors like Hiroshi Nohara are so preachy, it’s exhausting to watch! We young people prefer actors like Shunsuke, who are both handsome and gentle, it’s so therapeutic to watch!”

"This isn't a question of good or bad acting, it's a question of aesthetics, okay? Junsuke's very existence is a work of art!"

"That's right! Those who criticize him are just jealous of his good looks and popularity!"

In the university's campus cafes, the debate escalated to a theoretical level.

"This is a typical example of the cultural industry's assembly-line products crushing serious art," a literature student pushed up his glasses, speaking with righteous indignation: "Capital uses the creation of iconic symbols to numb the public's aesthetic senses, thereby achieving comprehensive control over the cultural sphere—something the Frankfurt School predicted long ago..."

"Hey, senior, don't take it so seriously, okay?" A stylishly dressed girl across from me rolled her eyes. "Isn't watching TV just for fun? I'm so tired from classes every day, when I get home I just want to watch something light and easy on the eyes. Kamiki Shunsuke's face is a guarantee of high ratings! The market has chosen him, what's wrong with that?"

"The market? It's just a pseudo-market manipulated by capital! The real audience's right to choose has long been taken away!"

"So you mean that the millions of fans who voted for Junsuke aren't the 'real audience'? That's elitist arrogance!"

From the office break room to the afternoon tea party of housewives, from the drunken men in the izakaya to the shopkeepers chatting in the shopping street, everyone was caught up in this huge vortex about whether "Shunsuke Kamiki is good enough for her".

Supporters believe this is a victory for the new era, a manifestation of the fan economy and the audience's right to choose, and a suppression of the new generation of idols by the outdated old forces.

Opponents, on the other hand, were heartbroken, believing that this was a decline in the industry, the death of art, and a ruthless trampling of public trust by capital.

The entire neon-lit area seemed to have become a giant debate arena, filled with noise, conflict, and division.

Meanwhile, Hiroshi Nohara, at the eye of the storm, sat in his office, quietly flipping through a pile of newspapers spread out on the table, his expression as calm as the clear blue sky outside the window.

But inside the public office of Hiroshi Nohara's special production department, it was like a pot of boiling water, with noisy voices and celebratory champagne bubbles rising up, almost making the ceiling tremble slightly.

The air was filled with a complex scent, the sweetness of victory mixed with a scalding, almost angry spiciness.

"Our 'Yamishibai'! Best Animation!" "And 'Super Transformation'! Best Variety Show! Our department won big this time!"

"Most importantly, it's our boss! Nohara-san! Best screenwriter! This is truly well-deserved!"

A young screenwriter's assistant, his face flushed, spoke excitedly in a loud voice.

"That's right! Nohara's script was painstakingly crafted word by word! Unlike some people who can win awards just by having a pretty face!"

"Shh, keep your voice down, Sato." A senior planner patted him on the shoulder, but his expression was exactly the same sneer: "It's true, but don't be too loud."

"I just don't accept it!" The young assistant screenwriter retorted, his neck stiff as a bull's. "Best Actor? Why should it go to someone like Shunsuke Kamiki? Can he even act? He had a blank expression the whole time. Fans call that 'coolness'? Pshaw! That's called having absolutely no acting skills!"

"Exactly! He sings off-key, dances like he's doing calisthenics, and now he's acting and he even won Best Actor? It's like rubbing the faces of all of us who work hard to create content into the ground!" another female colleague couldn't help but complain.

"These so-called 'idols' are monsters created by capital. They are not artists, but commodities. Singers don't practice their voices properly, actors don't study their roles properly, all they do is flaunt their faces in front of the camera all day long, and yet there is a group of ignorant young men and women who are crazy about them." Some people also had undisguised contempt in their eyes: "This unhealthy trend has led the entire entertainment industry astray."

"Absolutely! Singers of the past were artists; their voices were heavenly. What are today's idols? Lip-syncing, auto-tuning their vocals so badly you can't even recognize them. Actors too. The older generation would spend months immersing themselves in a role; look at today's idols, they bring seven or eight assistants to film, just reciting lines like 'one, two, three, four,' and relying entirely on post-production dubbing. Do they even deserve to be called actors?"

"A bunch of clowns, a bunch of packaged puppets."

"But it is this clown who has taken away the glory that should belong to the real actors. This world is truly upside down."

The atmosphere in the office gradually shifted from initial euphoria to a shared, indignant clarity.

They were proud of their victory, but also saddened by the decline of the entire industry.

This is a complex shared emotion among creators.

Just then, the office door was gently pushed open, and a graceful figure walked in.

It was Kitagawa Yao. She was dressed in a well-fitting business suit, with a formulaic smile on her face, but a hint of worry was hidden deep in her eyes.

Her gaze precisely found the center surrounded by the crowd amidst the clamor.

"Minister." Kitagawa Yao bowed slightly, her voice clear and gentle: "Deputy Director Asuka requests your presence in his office."

The noise in the office instantly decreased by several decibels, and everyone's eyes turned to look.

Hiroshi Nohara's smile faded slightly, and he nodded, saying, "Yes, I understand."

Hiroshi Nohara left this bustling place.

The corridor was so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat; it felt like a completely different world from the hustle and bustle behind you. Kitagawa Yao walked ahead, the sound of her high heels clicking crisply and rhythmically on the floor.

"What's wrong, Kitagawa-chan?" Hiroshi Nohara asked. "You seem a little unhappy?"

"Minister, I feel you haven't received enough awards this time." Kitagawa Yao paused, turned her head, and said sullenly, "Although you won a Best Screenplay award, I don't think it's enough!"

"Also... I think there are many problems with the Best Actor award!"

Hiroshi Nohara raised an eyebrow, then regained his composure, a playful smile even appearing on his lips: "What, even Ms. Kitagawa thinks there's something wrong with that award?"

“That’s right! That guy named Kamiki Shunsuke! He’s not qualified at all!” Kitagawa Yao complained, then stopped when she saw that they had arrived at the deputy director’s office and watched Nohara Hiroshi walk in.

She's not qualified to enter the deputy director's office.

Hiroshi Nohara smiled and said goodbye to her.

Then, as I pushed open the heavy wooden door, a strong smell of cigars wafted out.

The main light in the office was off, only a dim floor lamp shone, casting an ambiguous, old-photograph-like hue over everything in the room.

Asumi was sitting on the sofa, a thick cigar between his fingers, the smoke obscuring his expression.

Opposite him sat a man with a robust build and sharp, eagle-like eyes.

It's Eiji Kurosawa.

He is undoubtedly a top-tier director in the Japanese television drama field, and also a mentor and friend to Hiroshi Nohara.

When Hiroshi Nohara entered, Eiji Kurosawa's usually serious face showed a complicated expression. He let out a heavy snort, as if he wanted to expel all the pent-up anger from his chest.

"Hiroshi, you're here." Asumi's voice was a little hoarse. He pointed to the single sofa next to him: "Sit down."

Hiroshi Nohara sat down as instructed, his gaze sweeping over the two men's faces.

"Still angry about that stupid award?" Eiji Kurosawa spoke, his voice like a rough stone, with a frosted texture. "It's not worth it."

“I’m not angry,” Hiroshi Nohara replied with a smile.

"Not angry?" Kurosawa Eiji glared at him. "If you're not angry, why is your face so tense, like you're about to go to war? I know you. The fire inside you could probably burn down the ceiling of this TV station!"

Asahi slowly exhaled a smoke ring, the smoke gathering and dissipating in front of him.

"Hiroshi, I'm sorry you had to go through this." He comforted him, "Logically speaking, your works like 'Yamishibai,' 'Tales of the Unusual,' and 'Super Transformation' are all worthy of being recorded in history. It's not your fault that you didn't win more awards."

"It's a problem of our times," Kurosawa Er picked up the thread, slamming his hand on the sofa armrest with a dull thud. "It's a problem of capital! These bastards have already extended their dirty hands to every corner! Do they know anything about performance? Do they know anything about art? All they know is money! All they know is traffic!"

His emotions were clearly much more intense than Hiroshi Nohara's; the veins on his forehead were slightly bulging.

"The Japan Academy Prize for Television Drama—what a prestigious and long-established name! And now? They've lost all shame! To promote a plaything of capital, they've trampled the dignity of all their peers underfoot! They're telling everyone that hard work is useless, talent is useless, only the capital behind you is the only passport! Shameless! Despicable!"

The air in the office seemed to be ignited by his anger, becoming scorching.

Compared to Eiji Kurosawa's fury, Asumi appeared much calmer, or rather, it was a kind of helplessness after being used to the storms.

He stubbed out his cigar with a soft "sizzle," and then let out a long sigh.

"Eiji, calm down. This matter is probably not just about capital."

Eiji Kurosawa's anger faltered, and he frowned as he looked at Asumi: "What do you mean?"

Asumi turned her gaze to Hiroshi Nohara, her eyes deep: "Hiroshi, do you think that the capital of an entertainment company is enough to make the Academy Awards jury collectively make such an absurd decision?"

Hiroshi Nohara remained silent for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

"Impossible. There are many highly respected seniors on the judging panel who value their reputation above all else."

“That’s right.” Asumi nodded, lowering his voice even further. “There is only one force that can silence them all and even make them vote against their will.”

He didn't finish his sentence, but the answer was obvious.

Eiji Kurosawa's face turned extremely ugly. He seemed to have thought of something, and his lips moved, but no sound came out.

“It was the government that intervened,” Asumi said for him, her voice full of exhaustion. “And I suspect it’s very likely related to the mayor of Tokyo, Tanaka Mikami.”

"Tanaka Mikami?" Kurosawa Eiji's pupils constricted sharply: "That politician who climbed up the ranks in the architecture world?"

“Besides him, I can’t think of anyone else with such power, nor can I think of anyone else with such a motive.” Asumi picked up her teacup and took a sip of the now-cold tea. “The biggest investors behind Kamiki Shunsuke’s agency are the conglomerate controlled by Mayor Tanaka’s family and the Kirin Group of Sato Tokugawa. He is planting a flag for his faction in the huge arena of fame and fortune in the entertainment industry.”

The office fell into deathly silence.

If the infiltration of capital is a dirty deal, then the intervention of power is an irresistible crushing force.

Asumi looked at Hiroshi Nohara and Eiji Kurosawa, who were deep in thought, and continued to explain in a calm, almost cold tone: "Don't underestimate the power of a mayor of Tokyo. Do you know how power and wealth are distributed in this country?"

He stretched out his finger and gestured in the air.

"If we say that the entire Kanto region accounts for 60 percent of Japan's wealth."

"So, Tokyo occupies 60 percent of the Kanto region."

"And Tokyo, the very heart of the city, accounts for more than 60 percent of the wealth in the entire Tokyo metropolitan area."

"The accumulation of wealth eventually leads to overwhelming power. In Tokyo, Tanaka Mikami is a veritable local tyrant. He can put whoever he wants in a position. For him, a TV drama award is nothing more than a flick of his finger."

These words were like a block of ice, thrown into everyone's burning hearts, instantly extinguishing the anger and leaving only a few cold ashes.

Reality is cold and hard.

Hiroshi Nohara finally spoke, his voice calm and devoid of emotion.

"I understand."

He looked up at Asumi: "So, what about the Mainichi Film Awards two days later, and the Tokyo Drama Awards, which are newly established by the Tokyo Metropolitan Government a week later...?"

He didn't finish his sentence, but his meaning was already clear.

A bitter smile appeared on Mingrihai's face. He didn't answer directly, but instead let out a long sigh.

That sigh was more powerful than any words.

"Probably."

"Damn it!" Eiji Kurosawa could no longer contain himself. He stood up abruptly, pacing back and forth in the cramped space like a lion trapped in a cage, his teeth grinding together. "These vermin! The country's economy is getting better and better, and these vermin that can't stand the light of day are multiplying! Are they going to hollow out this country bit by bit?!"

His angry curses echoed in the quiet office, filled with powerless grief and indignation.

Hiroshi Nohara, however, unexpectedly curled his lip, even revealing a hint of contempt on his face.

He leaned back on the sofa, shifted to a more comfortable position, and relaxed completely.

“Since that’s the case…” he said slowly, his voice not loud, but clearly reaching the ears of the other two, “then I have no interest in participating in the next two awards.”

Asumi and Eiji Kurosawa both stopped what they were doing and looked at him in surprise.

"Deputy Director Asumi, I'd like to ask for leave." Hiroshi Nohara's tone was as relaxed as if he were discussing the weather. "Perfect timing. My girlfriend, Misae, wants to go back to her hometown in Kumamoto. I'd like to go with her and relax a bit."

"A request for leave?" Asumi was taken aback.

"Yes, I'm taking leave." Hiroshi Nohara nodded, a carefree smile on his face. "I'm going to a beautiful place with clear waters and no bedbugs, to breathe some fresh air for a few days."

He looked at Mingrihai with clear and firm eyes: "Anyway, if I go, I'll just be watching a carefully choreographed monkey show, and I might even get disgusted by the smell of filth. It's better not to go."

Asumi stared intently at Hiroshi Nohara for a good ten seconds.

In the young man's eyes, he saw no despondency after being suppressed, no resentment at being treated unfairly, but only a clear, almost indifferent pride.

It's as if it's saying, "I'm not playing your game anymore."

Asumi's tense face suddenly relaxed. He seemed to be infected by Hiroshi Nohara's attitude, and the corners of his mouth turned up, revealing a relieved smile.

“You rascal…” He shook his head, his tone carrying a hint of approval and a touch of self-deprecation: “You’re right.”

"Going there won't make you angry enough."

He picked up the phone on the table and dialed an internal line.

"Hello, this is me. Grant Hiroshi Nohara two weeks of leave, and the reason... just write paid leave."

After hanging up the phone, he said to Hiroshi Nohara, "Go ahead. Spend some time with your girlfriend. The horse meat sashimi in Kumamoto is pretty good; have a few more servings for me."

"Definitely." Hiroshi Nohara stood up and bowed slightly to Asumi and Eiji Kurosawa.

"Then, I'll take my leave first."

After saying that, he turned around and walked out of the office, which was filled with power struggles and helplessness, without the slightest hesitation.

The moment the door closed, Eiji Kurosawa finally let out a sigh of relief. He sat back down on the sofa, looking at Asumi with a complicated expression.

"This kid is much tougher than we were when we were young."

Asumi picked up the extinguished cigar, lit it again, and took a deep drag.

"Yes."

The smoke billowed up again, and he squinted, as if he could see something distant, something called hope, through the smoke.

"Only by being resilient can you avoid being crushed."

(End of this chapter)