I, Hiroshi Nohara, the star of Japanese cinema

Chapter 240: TV Tokyo's affirmation! The old station director's sigh! Support for Hiroshi Nohara!
The Tokyo TV production office was much brighter than the Kanto TV office, with a light brown wooden desk polished to a shine and two neatly trimmed asparagus ferns on the windowsill.

On the wall, the names of "Super Transformation" and "Tales of the Unusual" were circled in red, with eye-catching figures of "40.2%" and "21.7%" next to them. However, the "Documentary" section in the corner only had a faint line of "3.1%", like a stain that had not been wiped clean.

Takada Toshihide sat behind his desk, his fingers gripping a copy of the "Kanto Taiwan Reform Plan," his brow furrowed so deeply it could crush a pencil.

He had just turned to the "humanities documentary" page of the proposal when the office door was gently pushed open, and Hiroshi Nohara and Asumi walked in side by side, both of them still carrying a bit of the dusty smell of the old Kanto-tai building.

"Director Takada," Asumi spoke first, his thermos cup never leaving his hand—he had a sensitive stomach and drank warm tea all year round. "We rushed back from Kanto to report to you on the details of the reform plan."

Takada raised an eyelid, gestured to the chair opposite him, and said with a hint of scrutiny in his tone, "Sit down. Hiroshi-kun, I've seen your proposal. Turning Kanto TV into a 'special channel dedicated to making humanistic documentaries'? Do you know what that means?"

As soon as Hiroshi sat down, he sensed the doubt in Takada's voice. He put the storyboard in his hand on the table and pushed it over: "Director Takada, I know what you're worried about. You're afraid that the documentary's low ratings won't be enough to support the advertising revenue of Kanto TV, right?"

Takada didn't deny it, picked up the storyboard and flipped through two pages—it showed fishermen hauling in their nets at a seafood restaurant in Kamakura and a woman kneading dough at a baozi shop in Yokohama, with even the lighting angles clearly marked.

He snorted and put the manuscript on the table: "It's not just about ratings. Look at the station's reports. Last year, all the documentaries on the station only earned 20 million yen, which isn't even enough to cover the advertising revenue for one episode of 'Super Transformation.' What's the situation with Kanto TV now? They owe nearly 10 million yen in advertising fees, and half of their equipment is broken. You're sending them to make documentaries? Isn't that like driving a skinny horse to its death?"

He paused, tapping his finger on the 3.1% viewership rating: "Besides, these days, viewers are glued to their TVs watching lively idol dramas like 'Tokyo Love Story' and variety shows like 'Super Transformation,' which are guaranteed to make them laugh out loud. Who wants to spend an hour watching an old man cook soba noodles? Keiko Matsumoto's 'Kyoto Old Shops,' which she made two years ago, was quite detailed, wasn't it? Yet it only got a 4% rating, and advertisers ended up cutting their budgets in half for the following year—do you really think your 'A Bite of Japan' can outperform hers?"

Hiroshi didn't rush to refute. Instead, he took out a copy of the "Kanto Region Audience Survey Report" from his briefcase and placed it in front of Takada: "Director Takada, this is a report I had Kimura Hiroshi compile on the viewing habits of viewers aged 35 and over in the Kanto region. As you can see, this group of viewers accounts for 62% of Kanto TV's current audience. Among them, 83% said they 'want to watch content related to Kanto,' and 75% are 'interested in the stories of old crafts and old shops'—this is our target audience."

He traced his finger across the report: "The Tokyo Metropolitan Television's 'Exploring the Areas of Tokyo' approached Shunsuke Kamiki, targeting young viewers aged 15-25, which doesn't conflict with our target audience. Moreover, most of our viewers aged 35 and above have stable incomes and are the group that local businesses and tourism bureaus most want to reach out to—for example, Marui Soy Sauce and Asakusa-ya. What they need is not celebrity endorsements, but promotion that can showcase 'local heritage,' and our documentary can provide them with that platform."

Asumi added, "Director Takada, Hiroshi and I scouted out the location at Kanto TV. The Kamakura City Government and Gunma Prefectural Government both expressed their willingness to provide a portion of the production subsidy if we were to make a documentary to promote local culture. Minister Hattori also said that as long as the film highlights the 'local characteristics of the Greater Tokyo Area,' a portion of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government's publicity budget can be allocated—so, we can keep our production costs to a minimum, and even if the initial viewership is low, we won't lose too much money."

Takada stroked his chin, his doubts still lingering: "How much subsidy can we get? At most two or three million, right? Kanto TV's monthly operating costs are five million. You need to rent equipment and hire a team to make a documentary. Where will that money come from? We can't let TV Tokyo keep losing money, can we? Although Director Sakata supports you, the station's finance department isn't just sitting around doing nothing. Every month's budget has to be reported to the board of directors—if Kanto TV doesn't make a profit, I won't be able to explain it to the board."

“There’s no rush to make a profit.” Hiroshi’s tone remained calm. “We’ll start by filming three pilot episodes, each 25 minutes long, with a cost of under one million yen. The first episode will be ‘Freshness by the Sea,’ a collaboration with the seafood market in Chiba, where they will sponsor ingredients and locations. The second episode will be ‘Warmth on the Streets,’ where several long-established shops in Yokohama Chinatown have agreed to each pay 10,000 yen for the ‘Acknowledgements’ at the end of the episodes. The third episode will be ‘The Taste of Home,’ where farmers in Gunma are willing to provide filming locations for free and can also help us contact local soba noodle factories. All things considered, the cost of the three episodes will only be a little over two million yen, and with government subsidies, we can basically break even.”

He paused, then added, "And if the pilot program is well-received, advertisers will definitely come. For example, Marui Soy Sauce, they've worked with Kanto TV for ten years and value the Kanto market highly. If they see footage of 'old craftsmen using Marui soy sauce for seasoning' in the documentary, they'll definitely be willing to increase their advertising budget. And the Kamakura Tourism Bureau, if the film becomes a hit and more people come to Kamakura, they might just allocate their entire advertising budget to us next year."

Takada remained unconvinced. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the table. "Hiroshi-kun, you're too young. You think too simply about some things. Documentaries aren't something that can become popular just because they're well-made. Ten years ago, Kanto TV made 'Kanto Folk Customs Travelogue.' Matsui Yuichi and his team spent three months there. They put in a lot of effort, right? And what happened? The ratings didn't even reach 2.3%, and it was eventually canceled. Now you're telling me it's 'well-received,' but what if it's not? Kanto TV is already in a state of panic. If we go through this again, even the last few veteran employees might leave."

As soon as he finished speaking, Asumi smiled, picked up his thermos and took a sip of tea, his tone warm with a hint of reminiscence: "Director Takada, have you forgotten 'Yamishibai'? Who was optimistic about an urban fantasy anime in the early morning slot? But Hiroshi-kun made it, and the ratings broke 12%, creating a new genre; and there's 'Seven Samurai,' everyone said 'samurai films are outdated,' but the box office exceeded 89 billion yen, and even Eiji Kurosawa praised him for 'capturing the soul of the samurai.' Hiroshi-kun never relies on 'gambling' when making programs, but on his ability to grasp things that others can't see—I trust him with this documentary."

Takada paused, recalling the sensation when "Seven Samurai" was released last year—long lines stretched outside Tokyo cinemas, and even the old board members went to see it, returning to say, "This film is even better than Kurosawa's." He touched his nose, his tone softening, but he still didn't fully agree: "That's true... but this time is different. It's a life-or-death situation for Kanto TV, and there's no room for error."

Just then, the office door was pushed open, and Nobuhiko Sakata and Yoshihiro Shimazu walked in.

Sakata was wearing a dark gray suit and holding a copy of the Asahi Shimbun, the entertainment section of which featured a review of Seven Samurai; Shimazu was dressed more formally, his tie perfectly tied—he had just come from the campaign office and hadn't had time to change.

“Takada, Shimazu and I overheard a few things outside.” Sakata spoke first, his tone carrying the composure of an old-school manager. He walked to the table, picked up the “Kanto Taiwan Reform Plan,” and turned to the “Humanities Documentary” page. “I think Hiroshi’s idea is very good.”

Shimazu nodded in agreement, understanding "political value" better than Sakata, his eyes showing approval: "From an election perspective, this kind of documentary can 'connect with the people.' Voters in Tokyo, especially in the Kanto region, are somewhat resistant to the concept of the 'Greater Tokyo Area,' feeling that it has 'lost its local flavor.' If Hiroshi can film the old crafts and stories of Kanto, it's equivalent to helping me convey the signal of 'respecting local culture'—which is much more effective than shouting slogans at campaign rallies."

He paused, looked at Takada, and said with a hint of seniority: "Takada-kun, you're worried about short-term profits, but you can't just look at the immediate future in the media. Think about it, if Kanto TV can really establish itself with documentaries and become the 'spokesperson for Kanto local culture,' then its value can't be measured by advertising revenue—local governments will fawn over it, local businesses will depend on it, and even in the future, when Tokyo TV competes with the city TV, Kanto TV will be our trump card."

Sakata patted Takada on the shoulder and said with a smile, "Shimazu-kun is right. I spoke with Hiroshi-kun on the phone yesterday, and he told me about his idea of ​​'freshness by the sea,' 'warmth on the street,' and 'the taste of home,' and I thought it was feasible right away. Have you forgotten? Our station's 'Midnight Diner' became popular because of its 'slow pace' and 'human touch,' right? It's not that viewers don't like slow things, it's that they don't like things without warmth—Hiroshi-kun's forte is creating programs with warmth."

Seeing that both Sakata and Shimazu had expressed their opinions, Takada's last bit of doubt dissipated.

He picked up the storyboard and looked at it again—this time he didn't focus on the words "documentary," but instead noticed the details in the sketches: the smiles of the fishermen as they hauled in their nets, the strength of the proprietress's wrist as she kneaded the dough, and the wrinkles on the old lady's face as she cooked buckwheat noodles. He suddenly felt that these scenes could truly move people, and had more depth than those staged shots of celebrities.

“Since both Director Sakata and former President Shimazu have said so, then I have no objection.” Takada put down his manuscript, his tone somewhat relieved. “The production department will fully cooperate with the subsequent equipment and personnel transfers needed by Kanto Station. If additional budget is required, I will also coordinate with the finance department.”

Hiroshi stood up and bowed slightly: "Thank you, Chief Takada. We will not let you down."

"Don't just thank me." Takada waved his hand and pointed at Sakata. "If you want to thank someone, thank Director Sakata. He told me yesterday, 'If Hiroshi's proposal doesn't pass, let me talk to him'—I don't want to argue with that old man."

Everyone in the office laughed, and the previous tense atmosphere vanished.

Sakata walked over to Hiroshi, picked up the storyboard, and said with admiration, "Hiroshi-kun, your storyboard is really detailed. You even marked the number of compartments in the steamer. When do we start filming? Do you need the station to send a camera supervisor over?"

"Starting next week, I'll first go to Chiba's seafood market to scout it out."

Hiroshi replied, "Mr. Matsui Yuichi has already assembled a team: veteran cameraman Sato, young director Honda Sakurako, and sound engineer Kobayashi. They are all veterans of the Kanto TV station and understand the local customs and culture of Kanto. However, it would be even better if the station could send a documentary expert to guide them—after all, they have only filmed local news before, and this is their first time making a documentary."

"no problem."

Sakata nodded immediately and looked at Asumi. "Asumi, talk to the technical department and have them send their most experienced camera director over. Just say it's my idea. Also, get the two HD cameras that Kanto TV needs delivered today. Don't make them wait."

Asuka quickly agreed: "Yes! I'll call the technical department right now."

Seeing that the group had clearly defined their roles, Shimazu smiled and said, "Hiroshi-kun, if you need a farmhouse location for filming 'The Taste of Home,' I can help you contact the members of the Gunma Prefecture assembly—I have a good relationship with them, and they'll definitely be willing to cooperate. Besides, Gunma is famous for its soba noodles, and filming it might boost local tourism; they'd be more than happy to do that."

"Then thank you very much, former president of Shimazu."

Hiroshi quickly thanked him, feeling a little surprised—he hadn't expected Shimazu to be so proactive. It was only later that he realized Shimazu was running for mayor, and the "local sentiments of Kanto" in the documentary could help him garner votes, making it a win-win situation.

Sakata suddenly remembered something and clapped his hands: "Oh right, Hiroshi-kun, I reported the five million yen pilot funding I mentioned to you to the board of directors. They think that 'humanistic documentaries have cultural value' and agreed to increase it to ten million yen."

"Ten million?" Hiroshi was stunned for a moment, and even Asumi looked up in surprise—ten million yen in 1991 was no small amount. It could buy three of the latest high-definition cameras, or hire a fifth-rate celebrity to shoot commercials for a whole year, or even make ten episodes of "A Bite of Japan".

Takada nodded in agreement, a hint of envy in his voice: "The board of directors is trusting you more and more these days. After 'Seven Samurai' became a huge hit, they said they would 'add more budget to Nohara-kun's production department,' and this time they approved ten million yen, which is more than the variety show budget I applied for last year."

Sakata smiled, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes: "It's not that I'm biased, it's just that Hiroshi-kun deserves it. Look at the programs he's made: 'Yamishibai' saved the midnight slot, 'Super Transformation' became a mainstay, and 'Seven Samurai' established TV Tokyo's movie brand—now that he's here to save TV Kanto, the board is naturally willing to invest. And this 10 million yen isn't just for 'A Bite of Japan,' it's also a 'lifeline' for TV Kanto. As long as the program is a hit and TV Kanto is revived, this money will be earned back very quickly."

Hiroshi felt a warmth in his heart and bowed again: "Thank you, Director Sakata. I will definitely do my best to film and live up to your and the board's trust."

"No need to thank me." Sakata patted him on the shoulder, his tone filled with expectation. "You're young, talented, and understand the audience. The future of TV Tokyo depends on young people like you. Consider the reforms at TV Kanto as practice for you—I'll have to rely on you for more important things in the future."

Shimazu added, "Hiroshi-kun, if you ever make a documentary about 'Tokyo City Culture,' feel free to contact me. Although I'm running for office, I also want to do something for Tokyo's local culture—unlike now, where the streets are full of skyscrapers but there are hardly any places that remind people of 'old Tokyo.'"

Hiroshi nodded in agreement, and suddenly realized that this reform of Kanto TV was not just a project, but a "connection"—connecting TV Tokyo and TV Kanto TV, connecting TV stations and local governments, and connecting commercial interests and cultural heritage.

And he was the one who connected the dots.

Takada glanced at his watch and stood up. "It's getting late. I'll call the finance department and have them transfer ten million yen to Kanto TV's account today. Asumi, coordinate with the technical department on the equipment; don't let it delay next week's filming."

"Hi!" Asuka responded immediately, picking up the pager on the table—the technical department had just sent a message saying, "Two high-definition cameras are ready and can be moved at any time."

Sakata and Shimazu were also preparing to leave. Before leaving, Shimazu specifically told Hiroshi, "Hiroshi-kun, if you encounter any local problems during filming, such as the city government not cooperating, call me anytime. My campaign office is in Ginza, not far from Kanto-dai, only half an hour away."

Hiroshi quickly wrote down Shimazu's phone number, feeling grateful—with the support of Sakata and Shimazu, the reform path of the Kanto TV would undoubtedly be much smoother.

After Sakata and Shimazu left, only Hiroshi, Asumi, and Takada remained in the office.

Takada looked at Hiroshi and suddenly smiled: "Hiroshi-kun, I used to think you were too young and couldn't handle the situation, but now I see I was wrong. You know how to 'do things' better than I thought—not only do you know how to run a show, but you also know how to get resources and how to get support from above."

Asumi also laughed and said, "Director Takada, you're only realizing this now? Hiroshi-kun is no longer the newcomer he was when he first joined the company. Last time, when we were filming 'Seven Samurai,' he handled things with ease when dealing with senior Kurosawa Eiji and negotiating with Minister Hattori."

Hiroshi scratched the back of his head, a little embarrassed: "I was just lucky that all the seniors I met were willing to help me. If it weren't for the support of Director Sakata, Managing Director Asumi, and Director Takata, I wouldn't have been able to do so much."

"You're just too modest, kid."

Takada shook his head, his tone tinged with admiration. "However, humility is a good thing. It's much better than those juniors who get cocky after achieving a little success. Keep up the good work. If Kanto TV can survive because of you, I'll apply to Director Sakata to promote you to Level 2 Director—you're currently Level 3. If you can be promoted to Level 2, it would be unprecedented in Tokyo TV."

Hiroshi paused for a moment, then thanked him, "Thank you, Director Takada. But right now I'm more interested in making a good film of 'A Bite of Japan,' so the professional title isn't urgent."

“Okay, I’m relieved to hear that.” Takada nodded in satisfaction, picked up the plan on the table, and said, “I’m going to the finance department. You guys should get busy too—don’t keep Matsui Yuichi and the others waiting. That old man is stubborn, and if the equipment doesn’t arrive on time, he might throw a tantrum.”

Asumi smiled and agreed, then walked out of the office with Hiroshi.

The sunlight in the corridor was just right, shining through the glass onto the old photos on the wall—a group photo from when TV Tokyo was first established, in which the people were wearing Zhongshan suits and their smiles were full of high spirits.

"Hiroshi-kun, shall we go to the technical department to check out the equipment now?" Asumi asked, his thermos steaming.

"Okay." Hiroshi nodded, feeling much happier.

With a budget of ten million yen, two new cameras, and the support of a cinematographer, the start of "A Bite of Neon" went much more smoothly than he had imagined.

As the two approached the technical department, they heard a familiar voice coming from inside—it was Shigeru Saito. He had rushed over from Kanto TV and was coordinating equipment with the technical staff: "The lens on this camera needs replacing. Sand got into it when we filmed the seafood market last time, so the footage was a bit blurry… Also, the recording equipment needs to be windproof; the wind is strong by the sea, so we don't want the wind noise to be recorded…"

Hiroshi and Asumi exchanged a glance and both smiled.

Pushing open the door, I saw Shigeru Saito squatting on the ground, holding a rag in his hand, wiping the camera lens. His face was still expressionless, but he seemed more lively than when he was on Kanto TV.

"Saito-san, thank you for your hard work." Hiroshi walked over and handed him a bottle of oolong tea—it was one he had just bought at the convenience store downstairs, and it still had ice crystals in it.

Shigeru Saito took the tea, nodded, and said in a low voice, "It's not hard work. Being able to make a good documentary is more important than anything else."

The head of the technical department also came over, holding an equipment list: "Minister Nohara, Managing Director Asumi, the two high-definition cameras are all tested and ready, with lenses, batteries, and memory cards all prepared. There are also three recording devices with windproof microphones and spare batteries. They can be delivered to Kanto TV today."

Asumi took the list, looked at it carefully, and nodded in satisfaction: "Thank you for your trouble. If the people at Kanto Station don't know how to use it, please send a technician over to guide them—make sure they don't break the equipment, it's a brand new machine that the station just bought."

"Don't worry!" the technical department director said with a smile. "I've already made arrangements. Xiao Tian will go to Kantotai with him and stay for three days to teach him how to use the equipment."

Hiroshi looked at everything before him—Saito Shigeru was inspecting the cameras, the technical staff were packing equipment, and Asumi was confirming details with the director. He suddenly realized that the so-called "reform" was never a matter for one person, but a matter of concerted efforts from a group of people.

Just like the stories that "A Bite of Neon" is about to film—fishermen rely on the sea for their livelihood and need the help of their families; the continuation of a steamed bun shop requires the support of old customers; and the buckwheat noodles made by farmers need the sharing of their neighbors.

The reform of the Kanto TV station required Sakata's trust, Takada's cooperation, Asumi's coordination, Saito's technology, and the efforts of Matsui, Honda, and others.

……

The small conference room on the top floor of Tokyo TV was much quieter than the offices downstairs. The wooden conference table was polished so clean it reflected a person's image, and a set of celadon teaware sat on it. A kettle in the corner emitted wisps of steam, occasionally making a soft gurgling sound—it was specially brought in by Nobuhiko Sakata, who said, "We need hot tea to calm our minds when discussing business." On the wall hung a painting of boats returning to shore, a gift from an old painter when Tokyo TV was established in 1945. The edges of the frame had faded a bit, which made the sunlight in the room seem to slow down.

Nobuhiko Sakata had barely sat down when he picked up his teacup and took a sip, his fingertips tracing the rim of the cup—he was still holding the "Kanto TV Reform Budget Sheet" in his hand, with "ten million yen" circled in red in the "Documentary Production" section, and "Expected Advertising Revenue: Unknown" written next to it.

He sighed softly and placed the watch on the table: "Shimazu-kun, you know, Hiroshi is really bold. He poured ten million yen into a documentary, and if the viewership doesn't even reach 3%, it will be even harder to collect the advertising fees owed by Kanto TV."

Just as Shimazu Yoshihiro loosened his tie, he raised an eyebrow upon hearing this, and reached out to pick up the budget sheet and flip through it.

He ran his finger over the lines about "Kamakura City Government subsidy of 50 yen" and "Gunma Prefecture Tourism Bureau support of 30 yen," and a smirk played on his lips. "Sakata-kun, you're just too conservative. What's the state of Kanto TV right now? Half of the equipment is broken, long-term employees haven't received their subsidies for three months, and if they don't make changes soon, they might not even be able to afford the office rent next year. Hiroshi's approach, at least, points them in a new direction—it's better than sticking to those local news stories that nobody watches."

He paused, tapping the words "humanistic documentary" on his fingertips, a hint of reminiscence in his eyes:

"Do you remember twenty years ago? Kanto TV was so popular back then. Their show, 'Kanto Local Customs,' had a viewership rating of over 15%, completely overshadowing our show, 'Tokyo Wide Angle.' At that time, Matsui Yuichi was just a naive young man in his thirties. He squatted in the snow for three days with his camera just to film the sunrise over Mount Fuji. Now? He even has to worry about whether the camera will turn on when filming a seafood market."

These words struck a nerve, piercing Sakata Nobuhiko's memories.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze falling on the picture of returning boats on the wall. His voice slowed down: "How could I not remember? Back in 1950, Kanto TV poached our station's star director and even snatched the annual advertising contract from Marui Soy Sauce. You had just taken over as station director at the time, and you held meetings overnight to change the program schedule, turning 'Tokyo Wide Angle' into a weekly program and adding 'Old Tokyo Stories,' which brought the ratings back—you didn't get a good night's sleep for three days during that period."

Yoshihiro Shimazu laughed upon hearing this, but the smile didn't reach his eyes: "That's right. Back then, the director of Kanto TV challenged me, saying, 'Kanto viewers should watch Kanto's own programs.' And what happened? They were too eager for quick success and then followed the trend of making idol dramas, losing all their original essence. Now, they have to rely on our Tokyo TV to save them—it's a bit of a sad story."

His tone carried a subtle arrogance, but it wasn't boasting; rather, it was more of a lament about his old rival's decline.

Nobuhiko Sakata saw this and gently shook his head: "Shimazu-kun, so many years have passed, why bring this up again? Now we're all one family. If Kanto TV does well, it will also benefit Tokyo TV—at least, the city TV station will have another capable ally."

Yoshihiro Shimazu waved his hand, picked up his teacup, took a sip, and the steam blurred the emotions in his eyes: "I'm not holding a grudge, I just feel it's a pity. If Kanto TV had continued to produce programs like 'Kanto Customs and Scenery' back then, it wouldn't have ended up in this state. But it's good, now we have Hiroshi, maybe we can bring it back—it's quite interesting to see our former rivals come back to life with our people."

Sakata Nobuhiko chuckled at his words, tapping his fingertips lightly on the table. "You still have the same temper. But now is not the time to think about these things. Your mayoral election is the most important thing. Tanaka Mikami has been quite active lately. Yesterday, he even went to Asakusa to campaign, saying he would 'continue to promote Tokyo's real estate development.' Many voters who own property have been attracted to him. You have to keep your temper in check and not get angry over this Kanto TV issue—your body can't take any more stress."

When Tanaka Mikami was mentioned, Shimazu Yoshihiro's face darkened.

He gripped the teacup tightly, his knuckles turning white. "I know. Last election, he used those underhanded tactics to spread rumors about me, sending me to the ICU. I haven't forgotten that. This time, I'm not fighting him for any faction; I'm just venting my anger—I want the voters in Tokyo to know who truly cares for them, not just those who make empty promises about real estate."

He took a deep breath, his tone softening slightly: "But don't worry, I won't joke around with my health. My campaign team arranges daily medical checkups for me, and someone is watching my diet—it's just that sometimes when I think of Tanaka's face, I can't help but get angry."

Nobuhiko Sakata nodded and picked up another document—the "Tokyo City Voter Opinion Survey Report," which showed in a bar chart that Yoshihiro Shimazu's approval rating had recently risen to 42%, while Mikami Tanaka's was 48%, a gap that had narrowed by 5 percentage points compared to last month.

He pushed the report to Shimazu: "Look, Hiroshi's idea of ​​'information cocoons' is really effective. For young people, we promoted a special edition of 'Campus Super Transformation,' using fun, culture, and liveliness to increase voter turnout; for office workers, we promoted a rerun of 'Midnight Diner,' using the concern for the mental and physical health of office workers as a starting point—different groups watch different content and see different points of support, so the approval rating naturally increases."

Yoshihiro Shimazu looked at the report, but his lips didn't curl into a smile: "Not enough. 42% versus 48%, that's a difference of 6 percentage points. Tanaka is relying on real estate now—you know, Tokyo's housing prices are rising every month. Ordinary people all own houses, who doesn't want their property to appreciate in value? Tanaka says 'we want Tokyo's housing prices to rise another 30%,' how can they not support that?"

Nobuhiko Sakata sighed, picked up his teacup, took another sip, and said with a hint of helplessness, "There's nothing we can do about it. It's a bubble economy, after all. Everyone thinks that housing prices will only go up, never down. My apartment in Shibuya cost 20 million yen last year, and now it's worth 28 million yen—even my wife is hoping that prices will rise a little more. Tell me, how can ordinary people not be tempted?"

"That's precisely why it's dangerous."

Yoshihiro Shimazu frowned, tracing the words "real estate" with his finger. "When I went to the US for research, I witnessed their real estate bubble burst, and countless people went bankrupt overnight. Japan's current situation is too similar to that of the US back then. But nobody listens—everyone only sees 'appreciation' and 'making money,' who thinks about the risks behind it?"

He paused, his tone tinged with weariness: "I spoke with Governor Koike, and he's worried about this too. But he's the governor of Tokyo, so he can't control what happens in Tokyo. Tanaka is focused on getting votes through real estate right now; as long as he gets elected, he doesn't care about the problems that might arise later."

Nobuhiko Sakata was silent for a moment, then suddenly remembered something, his eyes brightening: "By the way, Shimazu-kun, do you know? Hiroshi only owns a small apartment, which the station allocated to him last year. The station gave him a big apartment in Shinjuku before, but he actually sold it, got the cash, and invested it in an Akita dog breeding farm in Akita Prefecture—don't you think he's crazy?"

Yoshihiro Shimazu paused, his teacup hovering in mid-air. "Oh? He didn't buy any more houses? These days, which young person in Tokyo isn't desperately trying to buy a house in the city center? He has money, yet he doesn't buy houses and instead keeps an Akita dog? Is this kid out of his mind?"

He shook his head as he spoke: "No. Hiroshi, that kid, looks young, but he's more meticulous than anyone else. 'Yamishibai,' 'Seven Samurai,' 'Super Transformation,' which one wasn't expected to succeed by others, yet he still made them all? There might be a reason why he doesn't buy a house."

Nobuhiko Sakata nodded, his tone tinged with admiration: "That's what I think too. This kid has a long-term vision, unlike us, who only see immediate benefits. He might have already seen the risks in the real estate market—after all, he's different from us, he doesn't have that many 'habitual ways of thinking'."

Yoshihiro Shimazu put down his teacup, tapping his fingers lightly on the table, lost in thought. "I remember talking to economists in the US last year. They said that after the Plaza Accord, the yen appreciated too quickly, and the real estate and stock markets were overvalued, and something bad was bound to happen sooner or later. At the time, I didn't believe it, thinking that Japan's economy was strong and wouldn't be like the US. Now that I think about it, maybe Hiroshi heard something similar, which is why he didn't dare to buy a house?"

"possible."

Nobuhiko Sakata nodded. “Hiroshi may be young, but he’s read a lot and often chats with people like Eiji Kurosawa and Hattori. He has a broader perspective than us old folks. His decision not to buy a house but to invest in Akita dogs might be to diversify his risk—after all, Akita dogs are Japan’s national treasure, and even if the economy is bad, there are still people willing to buy them.”

Looking at the budget sheet on the table, Yoshihiro Shimazu's eyes held a different look—admiration for a young man, and a reflection on his own "habitual thinking."

He sighed softly: "If our voters had half the vision of Hiroshi, they wouldn't have been fooled by Tanaka's real estate slogans."

"Will be fine."

Nobuhiko Sakata patted him on the shoulder, his tone firm, “If Hiroshi’s ‘A Bite of Japan’ becomes a hit when it airs, we can use the ‘Kanto local culture’ as an excuse to give you another round of positive publicity. After all, you support ‘preserving local culture,’ while Tanaka supports ‘building more skyscrapers’—the audience will gradually understand which is better.”

Yoshihiro Shimazu nodded, picked up the budget sheet, and looked at the "ten million yen" budget again. This time, his eyes no longer held the previous doubts, but rather a hint of expectation: "Alright, then let Hiroshi do a good job. We will fully support the reform of the Kanto TV. If it requires dealing with local governments, I will have my campaign team help—after all, this is not only a matter for the Kanto TV, but also a matter for us to compete with Tanaka."

Nobuhiko Sakata smiled, picked up his teacup and raised it to him: "That's right. Here, have another cup of tea. This tea was a gift from Minister Hattori, Uji pre-Qingming tea, it tastes quite good."

Yoshihiro Shimazu also picked up his teacup and clinked it against his.

The temperature of the hot water seeped through the cup wall to my fingertips, warming them a bit.

The sunlight streamed in through the window, falling on the budget and public opinion reports on the table, as if coating these cold numbers with a layer of hope.

"Oh, right, Sakata-kun."

Suddenly remembering something, Yoshihiro Shimazu put down his teacup. "If Hiroshi encounters interference from the city TV station during filming, such as if Shunsuke Kamiki deliberately tries to film something, you'll have to help coordinate. After all, the city TV station is affiliated with Tanaka, and they might pull some tricks."

Nobuhiko Sakata nodded, his tone serious: "Don't worry. I've already spoken to Toshihide Takada and asked him to keep an eye on the city TV station's movements. If they dare to rush to film it, we'll air the trailer for 'A Bite of Japan' ahead of time to get a head start—Hiroshi's storyboarding is so good, the trailer will definitely attract a lot of viewers."

Yoshihiro Shimazu nodded in satisfaction and took another sip of tea.

The atmosphere in the meeting room gradually shifted from initial worry and sighs to a sense of determination and anticipation.

The two talked about Hiroshi's talent, the future of Kanto TV, and strategies for the mayoral election. Occasionally, they would also talk about the years of competition in the past—those past confrontations have now become topics of conversation in their memories, carrying a touch of the warmth of time.

Before I knew it, the sunlight outside the window had already begun to set in the west, falling on the picture of returning boats on the wall and casting long shadows of the fishing boats.

Nobuhiko Sakata glanced at his watch and stood up. "It's getting late. I need to check with the finance department to see if the 10 million yen budget has been transferred to Kanto TV's account. Hiroshi's filming starts next week, so we can't afford to delay it."

Yoshihiro Shimazu also stood up and straightened his tie: "I have to go to the campaign office too. There's a short speech for office workers this afternoon, so I need to prepare."

The two walked out of the small conference room together. The corridor was quiet, with only the occasional sound of typing and phone calls.

Nobuhiko Sakata walked ahead with steady steps; Yoshihiro Shimazu followed behind with determined eyes—one wanted to ensure the smooth launch of the reform of Kanto TV, and the other wanted to do his best for the mayoral election. And these two paths had the possibility of intersecting because of a young man named Hiroshi Nohara.

As they reached the elevator, Nobuhiko Sakata suddenly stopped and turned to Yoshihiro Shimazu: "Shimazu-kun, do you think Hiroshi will become the director of TV Tokyo someday?"

Yoshihiro Shimazu paused for a moment, then smiled: "It's hard to say. But I know that if he can save Kanto TV and produce a few more great shows like 'Seven Samurai,' his future achievements will definitely surpass those of you and me."

Nobuhiko Sakata nodded, his eyes full of satisfaction: "Yes. The younger generation is pushing the older generation aside, and it's time for us old guys to make way for the younger generation. As long as TV Tokyo gets better and better, as long as the people of Tokyo can live a good life, what does it matter who is the station director or who is the mayor?"

Looking at him, Yoshihiro Shimazu suddenly felt his anger subside and replaced by a sense of peace: "You're right. I was too focused on 'revenge' before, and I forgot the original purpose of the election. Thank you, Sakata-kun."

Nobuhiko Sakata smiled but didn't say anything.

The elevator doors opened, and the two stepped inside.

The elevator slowly descended, and through the glass, one could see busy figures inside the TV Tokyo office building—some typing, some discussing programs, and some moving equipment. These busy figures were like the pulse of TV Tokyo, and also like the pulse of the nation of Japan; though there were moments of uncertainty and difficulties, it was always beating, always moving forward.

The elevator arrived at the first floor, and the doors slowly opened.

Nobuhiko Sakata and Yoshihiro Shimazu said their goodbyes, one heading towards the finance department and the other towards the exit of the office building. The sunlight shone on them, warm but not glaring.

Yoshihiro Shimazu walked outside the office building and looked at the bustling crowd on the street—some people were hurrying by with briefcases, some were buying coffee at a convenience store on the roadside, and some were waiting for the bus at the bus stop.

He suddenly remembered what Guangzhi had said about "humanistic documentaries," and the stories of those old craftsmen and fishermen.

Perhaps Tanaka Mikami's "real estate" can bring temporary benefits to the people, but Hiroshi's "humanistic documentaries" can bring them a longer-lasting warmth and sense of belonging.

He took a deep breath, gripped his campaign speech tightly, and his steps became more determined.

He knew that the road ahead was long and the competition would be fierce, but he would not give up—for his beliefs, for the future of Tokyo, and for those like Hiroshi who were willing to work hard for "warmth" and "inheritance".

……

Meanwhile, Hiroshi Nohara, having finished his report to Tokyo TV and inspected his department's work, had arrived at Kanto TV.

Together with Yuichi Matsui and Sakurako Honda, we inspected the equipment we would be taking to the Chiba Seafood Market tomorrow.

Shigeru Saito squatted on the ground, adjusting the newly arrived high-definition camera. The lens was pointed at the sycamore leaves outside the window, and the veins of the leaves were clearly visible in the image. Yuichi Matsui held the shooting list and checked it one by one: "Two cameras, three recording devices, ten spare batteries, twenty memory cards... everything is complete."

Honda Sakurako held a notebook filled with information about Sato Seafood Restaurant: "Sato-san said that we're setting sail at 3 a.m. tomorrow, so we need to get to the dock by 2:30 a.m. He also said that there might be fog tomorrow, so we should bring an extra jacket."

Hiroshi nodded, a smile appearing on his lips as he looked at the busy crowd before him. He knew that filming for "A Bite of Neon" would officially begin tomorrow.

Although there will be difficulties in the future, with the support of Director Sakata and former president Shimazu, and with the efforts of Matsui-san, Saito-san, Honda-chan, and others, he believes that this documentary will definitely be a success.

The autumn wind blew gently through the window, rustling the sycamore leaves, as if offering a silent blessing for the upcoming filming.

The office building of Kanto TV was brightly lit, and everyone's face was full of energy and expectation. This place had once been desolate and confused, but now, because of a documentary and a young man named Hiroshi Nohara, the flame of hope has been rekindled.

PS: I'm still asking for more recommendation votes and monthly tickets. I hope everyone will support me. Thank you!

(End of this chapter)