I, Hiroshi Nohara, the star of Japanese cinema

Chapter 243, "Neon Flavors on the Tip of the Tongue"! A resounding success! Everyone's excitement!
The screening room of Kanto TV was smaller than that of Tokyo TV. The walls were painted dark gray and covered with sound-absorbing cotton. Even the air smelled faintly of film.

The projection screen directly in front of them shone with a cold white light, and below it were two rows of black folding chairs. In the front row, there were three genuine leather sofas that Asumi had specially ordered to be taken out of the Kantodai warehouse, saying that it was "to make Suzuki-san and other old leaders more comfortable."

Hiroshi Nohara arrived at the screening room ten minutes early, carrying a film copy of the first episode of "A Bite of Japan," followed by Ichiro Hashimoto and Sakurako Honda.

Hashimoto Ichiro had the editing script tucked into his pocket, his fingers constantly stroking the pages, clearly showing some nervousness.

Sakurako Honda held her notebook tightly, pen tip hovering over the paper, ready to record feedback at any moment.

"Hiroshi-kun, are you sure you don't want to check it one more time?" Hashimoto Ichiro asked in a low voice. "I thought everything was fine in the editing room, but now that I'm in the projection room, I keep worrying that something wasn't edited properly."

Hiroshi patted him on the shoulder, his tone still calm: "Don't worry, everything that needs to be checked has been checked. The pacing, background music, and subtitles are all fine. The rest depends on everyone's feelings—after all, documentaries are about people's hearts, not about technical parameters."

As soon as he finished speaking, the door to the screening room was pushed open, and Asumi and Suzuki Seito walked in.

Kiyoto Suzuki was wearing a dark gray Zhongshan suit, his hair was neatly combed, and he was leaning on a black wooden cane. His steps were much more steady than when they last met.

Following behind them were several senior executives from Kanto TV: Takashi Yamada, deputy director of the production department; Ken Fujishita, director of the advertising department; Hiroshi Kimura, director of the personnel department; and Shigeru Saito, director of the technical department.

"Hiroshi-kun, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." Suzuki Seito said with a smile, his tone gentle like that of an elder. "I haven't been feeling well lately, so I'm a few minutes late. Please don't mind."

"You're too kind, Mr. Suzuki. We just arrived too." Hiroshi quickly stepped aside and pointed to the sofa in front of him. "Please sit here; you'll have the best view."

As everyone took their seats, Fujishita Kenji pulled out half a tuna sandwich from his suit pocket and secretly popped a bite into his mouth—he hadn't even had breakfast because his advertising deal with Asakusa had fallen through that morning.

Hiroshi Kimura pushed up his round-framed glasses, took out a small notebook from his briefcase, and held a pen in his hand, clearly preparing to take careful notes.

Saito Shigenori remained silent, sitting in the far corner, clutching a pager in his hand, his eyes fixed on the projection screen, his expression blank.

Once everyone was seated, Asumi stood up and cleared his throat: "Everyone, I've invited you all here today to watch the first cut of the first episode of 'A Bite of Japan.' This film was spearheaded by Hiroshi-kun, with Matsui-san and Honda-chan working together. It took a week to film, and it's about Nomizu Masayoshi at the Chiba Seafood Market. After watching it, please feel free to share your thoughts; don't be shy."

As soon as he finished speaking, Takashi Yamada coughed lightly, his tone hesitant: "Manager Asumi, not to be pessimistic, but our Kanto TV has produced similar short films before, such as 'Chiba Fishing Port Diary' last year. It took two months to make, and the final viewership was only 1.2%. The advertisers even complained that it was 'uninteresting.' Documentaries are not considered high-profile in the Japanese film and television industry—as you know, Japanese audiences only recognize animation and TV dramas now. Movies have to rely on big stars to make a splash, and variety shows can't even get on the big stage, let alone documentaries."

Kenya Fujishita nodded in agreement, still chewing on his sandwich, and mumbled, "That's right! Last time I talked to the person in charge of Marui Soy Sauce about advertising, they told me directly, 'Unless you hire Shunsuke Kamiki to make an idol drama, we won't invest any money.' Documentaries? They don't even want to hear about them, saying, 'Filming old fishermen hauling in their nets is less newsworthy than filming celebrities eating sashimi.'"

Hiroshi Kimura pushed up his glasses and added, "Moreover, the young employees in our station are not optimistic either. Yesterday I went to the production department and heard several directors saying, 'Documentaries are just about making old things that nobody watches. It's easier to make variety shows, and you can get high bonuses.' These days, young people are all thinking about taking shortcuts, and no one is willing to settle down and make slow-paced content."

Kiyoto Suzuki didn't speak, but looked at Hiroshi with a hint of expectation in his eyes: "Hiroshi-kun, I know documentaries are hard to make, but I trust your judgment. Back when you made 'Yamishibai,' everyone said that the midnight slot couldn't be saved, but you still made it. Today, I want to see if you can give us another surprise with this film."

Hiroshi nodded, turned to the projectionist and said, "We can begin."

The projector started with a "click," and the light on the projection screen suddenly dimmed, followed by the sound of waves—not the sound effects from the recording studio, but a live sound that Hashimoto Ichiro had specially recorded from the Chiba pier, carrying a hint of the salty dampness of the sea breeze, along with the sound of fishing boat horns in the distance.

The screen slowly brightens, and the Chiba Seafood Market, shrouded in morning mist, gradually appears on the backdrop.

The wooden cargo platform gleamed with an old luster, and the deck lights of the fishing boats were scattered like stars on the sea. Masayoshi Nomizu, wearing dark blue fishing pants, was bending down to untie the mooring ropes.

The camera didn't focus on his face directly, but instead showed his hands first—those hands were covered in calluses, with large knuckles, yet they were incredibly nimble, untying the knots in one smooth motion.

“This shot… is interesting.” Takashi Yamada sat up straight subconsciously and muttered to himself, “Usually when filming people, you shoot their faces first, but Hiroshi-kun is different. He shoots their hands first—but those hands look like they have a story to tell. They’re more interesting than shooting their faces directly.”

Kenya Fujishita forgot to eat his sandwich, his eyes fixed on the screen: "Look at the texture of this morning mist and the color of the sea, it's like a painting. Before, when our station filmed 'Chiba Fishing Port Diary,' the footage was all gray and hazy, like a VHS tape. It's nowhere near as clear as this."

Hiroshi Kimura also noted in his notebook: "The camera language is delicate and pays attention to detail, unlike the 'chronological record' of traditional documentaries."

The scene continues, and Masayoshi Nomizu is sailing out to sea in his fishing boat. The moment the fishing net is spread out in the air, the background music suddenly starts—it's a piano piece, not a famous one, but an old piece that Hiroshi dug out from the Kanto TV music library. The melody is very light, rising and falling like ocean waves.

As the fishing nets fell into the sea, the piano music gradually slowed down, leaving only the sound of the waves and the shouts of Ye Shui Zheng Tai.

"This background music is excellent!" Suzuki Kiyoto suddenly exclaimed, his tone filled with surprise. "I thought you would use a traditional shamisen, but you used a piano instead—it doesn't overshadow the music, yet it enhances the atmosphere, feels more modern than the shamisen, and highlights the gentleness of the 'sea.' Hiroshi-kun, was this background music specially commissioned? How efficient was that?"

Hiroshi smiled and shook his head: "It wasn't done on purpose. It's old material from the Kanto TV music library. I spent two hours yesterday afternoon looking through it and found this piano piece. I thought it matched the sound of ocean waves, so I had Hashimoto-san cut it in."

"Going through old material?" Takashi Yamada was taken aback for a moment, then sighed, "Our station's music library has been piled up with tapes for almost twenty years, and nobody usually cares about them. I didn't expect Hiroshi-kun to be able to find such a suitable song in there. If it were someone else, they would definitely just buy the copyright from outside, which would be both expensive and time-consuming. You are so decisive."

Kenya Fujishita nodded in agreement: "That's right! Last time we filmed 'Kanto Food Journey,' it took us half a month just to find the soundtrack, and we also spent five million yen to buy the rights. In the end, nobody watched the film, and all the money went down the drain. Hiroshi-kun's efficiency is much better than ours old bones."

Kiyoto Suzuki smiled and looked at his old subordinates: "Now you know why I trusted Hiroshi to take the lead, right? He never relies on technology alone, but more on 'heart'—he knows how to do the best with the least resources and knows what the audience wants to see. You guys are too bound by 'rules,' always thinking that 'you can't make good things without spending a lot of money,' and you've forgotten the essence of content creation."

Takashi Yamada scratched his head somewhat embarrassedly: "Suzuki-san is right, we really should change our old mindset. Nowadays, everyone in the station is afraid of taking responsibility. We have to hold meetings for half a month to discuss anything before we can do it. By the time we finish discussing, the opportunity has already been missed. Hiroshi-kun is much better. He just does what he thinks of and shoots such good footage in a week. He's much better than us."

Hiroshi Kimura sighed, “That’s right! Last time, a young director wanted to shoot a short film about ‘old street handicrafts,’ but after it was submitted, several departments discussed it for a month, and in the end, it was rejected because ‘the risk is too high.’ The Kanto TV station now lacks young people like Hiroshi who dare to take risks and do things—no wonder he has achieved so much at such a young age. If it were us, we would probably still be following the rules until we are forty.”

As they were talking, the screen showed the tuna auction segment.

Dozens of fish shop owners surrounded the counter, and the auctioneer's calls for bids rose and fell. Masayoshi Nomizu stood at the front of the crowd, his eyes fixed on the tuna on the stage.

The camera switches between the auctioneer, the bosses, and Masayoshi Nomizu. There is no extra narration; the tension is built up solely through the on-site audio and facial expressions.

"Two hundred thousand!" Masayasu Nomizu suddenly raised his sign, his voice booming.

The crowd fell silent instantly. The auctioneer banged the gavel: "Two hundred thousand once! Two hundred thousand twice! Sold!"

Masayoshi Nomizu smiled and strode to the counter, gently pressing his fingers on the tuna—the camera gave a close-up, showing the fish flesh slightly springing back under the pressure, its texture clearly visible.

Next, the scene cuts to Masayoshi Nomizu's eyes, which are full of wrinkles but very bright, as if reflecting the morning light.

"it is good!"

Kiyoto Suzuki couldn't help but clap his hands, "This scene is so vivid! Without a single line of dialogue, it perfectly captures Nomizu-san's appreciation for tuna and his dedication to the fishing industry—it's even more vivid than some TV drama character portrayals!"

Takashi Yamada echoed, "I always thought documentaries were just about 'recording the process,' but I never imagined they could be used to film people like this. Look at how Nomizu-san handles the tuna, look at his eyes—it's more real than any acting—this is what a humanistic documentary should be like!"

Fujishita Ken patted his beer belly, his tone tinged with excitement: "I just suddenly realized that if we cut this auction scene into the trailer, it would definitely attract viewers! Think about it, who among ordinary people has ever seen a tuna auction? This kind of tension is much more interesting than the melodramatic plot of an idol drama!"

Hiroshi Kimura scribbled rapidly in his notebook: "The characters are well-developed, the scenes are engaging, and it has the potential for widespread dissemination—I would suggest that the Municipal Publicity Department prioritize promoting this material."

Shigeru Saito finally spoke, his voice still low but with a hint of certainty: "The camera stability is excellent, and the lighting is handled well. Especially the backlighting in the auction area, which didn't overexpose and highlighted the figures' outlines—much better than the news footage the station shot before."

Hiroshi smiled and nodded: "This is all thanks to Saito-san. On the day of the shoot, the lighting in the auction area was too dim, so Saito-san specially adjusted the camera's aperture and added a reflector to achieve this effect."

Upon hearing this, Saito Shigeru's lips twitched slightly, but he didn't say anything more. However, the coldness in his eyes lessened, replaced by a warm feeling of being recognized.

The scene continues, showing Masayasu Nomizu slicing sashimi at a fish shop. The sound of the knife slicing through the tuna is exceptionally clear, and the "swish, swish" sound, combined with the piano music, is surprisingly harmonious.

Thin slices of raw fish, as thin as cicada wings, land on the bamboo curtain, their surface a fresh pink hue. The camera pans in slow motion, revealing even the texture of the fish meat clearly.

"Hiss—" Fujishita Ken gasped, "This sashimi looks so tempting! I didn't have breakfast this morning, and now I want to go eat a bowl right away!"

Takashi Yamada laughed as well: "When I used to photograph food, I always felt that 'being too straightforward would seem vulgar,' so I always shot blurry pictures. Hiroshi, on the other hand, went straight for close-ups and slowed down the motion, which actually made it feel 'fresh'—that's what good food should look like!"

Kiyoto Suzuki nodded, his tone tinged with emotion: "The Japanese always talk about 'restraint,' but they forget that 'authenticity' is what truly touches people. Look at Nomizu Sansai's focused expression on sashimi, look at the satisfaction of diners eating sashimi—these genuine expressions are warmer than any contrived 'elegance.' Hiroshi, your film truly understands 'eating,' and even more so, 'people.'"

Finally, the scene focuses on Masayoshi Nomizu standing on the pier, his shadow stretched long by the setting sun.

He looked at the fishing boats in the distance and said softly, "We will eat whatever the sea gives us; we cannot be greedy."

This sentence, without background music, only the sounds of waves and wind, is exceptionally powerful.

The projector clicked to a stop, the screen lit up again, and the projection room was quiet for a few seconds before erupting into a lively discussion.

"It's so good! This isn't a documentary at all; it's even more exciting than some anthology series!"

Fujishita Ken was the first to speak, his tone full of excitement, "I just counted, and there are three parts that the audience will remember: Nomizu-san's eyes when she pulls in the net, the tension during the auction, and the close-up of slicing sashimi—if these three points are used for promotion, they will definitely be a hit!"

Takashi Yamada nodded in agreement: "I agree with what Fujishita-san said. Especially the character development. Nomizu-san is a flesh-and-blood character, with both the stubbornness of an old fisherman and his love for fishing. He's much better than the paper dolls in TV dramas. Hiroshi-kun, how did you come up with the idea of ​​filming the character this way?"

Hiroshi smiled and said, "Actually, there's nothing special about it. It's just about chatting with Nomizu-san a lot. Before filming, I talked with him for three hours, listening to him talk about his childhood trips to sea with his father, why he insisted on using a wooden boat, and his understanding of tuna—these stories are more important than any technique."

Hiroshi Kimura adjusted his glasses, his tone tinged with admiration: "That's what makes you so amazing. When we used to make documentaries, we always thought about 'what to film,' but forgot about 'why we were filming.' You, on the other hand, understand people first, and then film them, which is why your footage has warmth. When I was watching the film just now, I thought of my grandfather several times—he was also a fisherman, and he always told me, 'The sea doesn't lie,' exactly what Mr. Nomizu said."

Shigeru Saito added, "Technically, there's nothing to criticize. The HD camera's image quality is excellent, and the audio recording is free of noise, especially the sound of the wind at the beach, which is handled very naturally and doesn't interfere with the conversation. It's more professional than any film the station has shot before."

Kiyoto Suzuki stood up, walked over to Hiroshi, and patted him on the shoulder: "Hiroshi-kun, I didn't misjudge you. This film can not only save Kanto TV, but also change the Japanese people's view of documentaries—in the past, everyone always felt that documentaries were 'uninteresting' because no one made truly heartwarming content. You did it, better than us old folks."

Asumi also said with a smile, "I just spoke with Director Takada on the phone. He said that as long as everyone feels there are no problems, we will arrange for it to air in prime time next week. We were worried that the prime time slot would be taken by the city station, but now it seems that our 'A Bite of Japan' can definitely compete with their 'Exploring the Tokyo Area'!"

"Prime time?"

Fujishita Ken's eyes lit up. "That's great! There are a lot of viewers during prime time. If the ratings can break 5%, advertisers will definitely come knocking on our door! I'll contact the person in charge at Marui Soy Sauce right now and have them watch this clip. Maybe we can win back the advertising deals that fell through before!"

Takashi Yamada added, "I went to the production department and told the young people to learn from Hiroshi-kun—don't always think about making lighthearted variety shows, but focus on creating content in order to produce good stuff."

Hiroshi Kimura picked up his notebook: "I will compile an audience feedback report, highlighting the character development and scene tension, as a reference for the city's publicity department. In addition, we can contact the Chiba Prefectural Government to ask them to help promote the film on local TV stations and newspapers, since the film is about Chiba's seafood, which will also benefit their tourism industry."

Seeing the lively scene, Shigeru Saito smiled, a rare occurrence for him. He walked over to Hiroshi and whispered, "If you need technical support for the next shoot, feel free to contact me anytime."

Hiroshi nodded: "Thank you, Saito-san. Next time we shoot 'Warmth on the Street,' we might need to shoot night scenes in the old street. We'll need your help adjusting the lighting then."

“No problem.” Saito Shigeru agreed and turned back to his seat.

The atmosphere in the screening room was exceptionally lively, with everyone's faces filled with anticipation and enthusiasm—the Kanto TV station used to be lifeless, with meetings either involving passing the buck or proceeding step by step; never before had they worked together so wholeheartedly for a single film. Looking at the scene before him, Hiroshi suddenly realized that so-called "reform" was never a one-man show.

It was thanks to the trust of Seito Suzuki, the support of Asumi, the cooperation of Takashi Yamada, Ken Fujishita, Hiroshi Kimura, and Shigeru Saito, as well as the efforts of frontline staff such as Yuichi Matsui and Sakurako Honda, that this film became possible.

Just like in the documentary "A Bite of Japan," a delicious sashimi dish requires fishermen to go out to sea to catch fish, auctioneers to set fair prices, chefs to prepare it carefully, and diners to savor it attentively—without any one of these steps, the story cannot be complete.

Looking at everyone busily working, Suzuki Seito said to Hiroshi, "Hiroshi-kun, do you know? This was the most glorious time for Kanto TV—everyone worked together wholeheartedly for a single film, without caring about personal gains or losses. Later, because of poor performance, morale collapsed, and that's how it became what it is now. Now, you've brought that drive back, which is more important than any achievement."

Hiroshi nodded, his eyes filled with determination: "Don't worry, Suzuki-san, we will continue to work hard to film 'the warmth of the streets' and 'the taste of home' well, so that 'A Bite of Japan' can become the signature of Kanto TV and also the signature of Japanese humanistic documentaries."

The setting sun streamed through the projection room windows, casting a golden glow on the screen and gilding the silhouette of Masayoshi Nomizu in the image. From the corridor outside, the laughter of the young people in the production department drifted over—they'd heard the film was excellent and were preparing to ask Hiroshi for filming tips.

The office building of the Kanto TV station hasn't been this lively in a long time.

Meanwhile, at Tokyo TV, Kazuo Takahashi was holding a report sent by the city's intelligence department, his face grim.

The report stated: "The initial cut of TV Kanto's 'A Bite of Japan' has been completed, and the internal feedback has been excellent. It is scheduled to air next week during prime time, and TV Tokyo has coordinated prime time support."

His fingers tightened around the report, crumpling the pages. He had previously thought that Hiroshi Nohara's documentary would air late at night and wouldn't pose a threat to "Exploring the Tokyo Area," but now it seemed he had underestimated Nohara's abilities.

"Looks like we need to adjust the plans ahead of schedule." Kazuo Takahashi muttered to himself, picked up the landline on the table, and dialed a number. "Have Section Chief Yamada and Director Sato come to my office immediately. There's an emergency to discuss."

A response came from the other end of the phone. Kazuo Takahashi hung up and looked out the window.

The setting sun in Tokyo is slowly sinking, casting a cool glow over the city.

He knew that a competition for prime time was about to begin, and Hiroshi Nohara and his "A Bite of Japan" would be the strongest competitor for the city's television station.

……

On her way back to Tokyo from Kanto TV, Asumi clutched the screening feedback form for "A Bite of Japan" in her hand the whole time, the edges of the pages crumpled from being squeezed.

He turned his head to look at Hiroshi Nohara beside him, who was resting with his eyes closed, and couldn't help but say, "Hiroshi-kun, aren't you nervous at all? We have to report to Director Takada later. If he thinks the film doesn't meet expectations, the prime time slot might be gone."

Hiroshi slowly opened his eyes, his tone still calm: "Being nervous is useless. The quality of the film speaks for itself. Takada-san is someone who understands content; he won't just look at the subject matter without considering the core message. Besides, we have Suzuki-san and the others' feedback to support us, so there's nothing to be afraid of."

As the car drove into the parking lot of the TV Tokyo headquarters building, the setting sun cast a warm golden glow on the "TV Tokyo" sign on the top floor.

As soon as the two entered the production bureau building, they were stopped by Takada Toshihide's secretary: "Nohara-san, Managing Director Asumi, Director Takada is waiting for you in the main conference room. Director Sakata and former president Shimazu are also here."

Asumi paused for a moment and subconsciously looked at Hiroshi—Shimazu Yoshihiro had focused on the mayoral election since stepping down as station director and rarely came to the station. His sudden appearance this time was obviously for "A Bite of Japan".

Hiroshi patted his arm calmly, signaling him not to panic, and then followed the secretary to the main conference room.

The moment the door was opened, Nobuhiko Sakata was sitting in the main seat, holding a document in his hand. Yoshihiro Shimazu was sitting to his left, wearing a dark suit, his hair was neatly combed, and his eyes had the sharpness unique to politicians.

Takada Toshihide sat on the right, with an empty coffee cup in front of him, clearly having been waiting for a while.

"Hiroshi-kun, Asumi, you've arrived." Nobuhiko Sakata spoke first, his tone gentle. "Please sit down. I just heard from Takada that your screening on Kanto TV went very well?"

After Hiroshi and Asumi sat down, Asumi immediately handed over the feedback form: "Director Sakata, you see, Suzuki-san and Yamada-san from Kanto TV both highly approve of it, especially the character portrayal and cinematic language."

Yoshihiro Shimazu took the feedback form, quickly flipped through a few pages, and looked up at Hiroshi: "I heard you finished filming the first episode in just one week? And you only used old equipment and music library materials from Kanto TV?"

"Yes."

Hiroshi nodded. "Although the equipment at Kanto TV is old, Saito-san has tuned it very well; although the music library's materials are old, they have a down-to-earth feel that matches the atmosphere of the seafood market—there's no need to waste time and budget in pursuit of 'newness'."

Takada Toshihide finally spoke, his tone tinged with scrutiny: "That's true, but the documentary market is what it is. In the past five years, the highest viewership rating for a Japanese food documentary has only been 3.5%. What makes you think your film can break through that barrier?"

Hiroshi didn't answer directly, but looked at Nobuhiko Sakata: "Director Sakata, do you remember before 'Midnight Diner' aired, everyone thought, 'Without big stars and big scenes, it definitely won't be a hit'? But what happened? It became a long-running drama for the station, and even secured a long-term sponsorship from Nissin Ramen."

He paused, then continued, "It's not that audiences don't like documentaries, it's that they don't like the kind of 'chronological' recording. When I made 'A Bite of Japan,' the focus wasn't on 'filming food,' but on 'filming people'—Ye Shui Sang's dedication to fishing, diners' nostalgia for old flavors—these are what can move the audience. Just like 'Midnight Diner' became popular because of its 'story,' our documentaries rely on 'human touch,' and they can attract audiences just as well."

Nobuhiko Sakata smiled and nodded: "I like your confidence. But talking is useless, did you bring the film? We'll know for sure after we see it ourselves."

Hiroshi immediately stood up and took out a film copy from his briefcase: "I brought it. We can start screening now."

The conference room lights were turned off, the projection screen lit up, and the sound of waves came first, followed by the Chiba Seafood Market in the morning mist—the hands of Masayoshi Nomizu untying the boat ropes, the arc of the fishing nets spreading in the air, the shouts of bidders during the tuna auction, scene after scene flowing on the screen.

Takada Toshihide was leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, looking scrutinizing.

But when the camera cut to the look in Nomizu Masayoshi's eyes as he closed the net, he subconsciously sat up straight and tapped his fingers lightly on the table.

Yoshihiro Shimazu took out his notebook, with a pen suspended over the paper, and occasionally jotted down a few sentences, mostly details such as "camera angle" and "soundtrack selection".

When Takada Toshihide saw the slow-motion shot of Masayoshi Nomizu slicing sashimi, he suddenly spoke up: "The lighting in this shot is quite good. The texture of the tuna is clearly visible, but it doesn't look greasy—who was in charge of the lighting?"

“It was Shigemitsu Saito from Kanto TV,” Hiroshi replied. “He adjusted the camera’s aperture and added a reflector to achieve this effect.”

Takada Toshihide nodded, said nothing more, and continued to stare at the screen. Until the very end of the film, when Nomizu Masayasu said, "We eat what the sea gives us; we can't be greedy," the meeting room was silent for a few seconds before Sakata Nobuhiko was the first to applaud: "Great! This film has warmth; it's much better than I expected!"

Yoshihiro Shimazu closed his notebook, his tone filled with obvious admiration: "I originally thought that documentaries would only film some boring processes, but I didn't expect you to bring the characters to life so vividly. The character of Nomizu-san has stubbornness, perseverance, and a reverence for the sea—he's more three-dimensional than some TV drama protagonists!"

Takada Toshihide also softened his tone, his previous scrutiny fading considerably: "I admit, I underestimated you before. This filming technique is quite unique, unlike the 'panoramic view + narration' format commonly used in Japanese documentaries these days. You focus more on details and on-site sound, which actually creates a greater sense of immersion. Did you specifically research this?"

“Yes.” Guangzhi nodded. “I have studied documentaries from home and abroad in recent years and found that today’s audiences care more about ‘immersion’. So I reduced the narration and used more live sound and close-up shots to make the audience feel like they are standing in the seafood market, watching Ye Shuisang catch and cut fish—this feeling of ‘being there’ is more convincing than narration.”

At that moment, a thought suddenly flashed through Hiroshi's mind—what would these people's reaction be if they knew that his filming techniques actually came from 21st-century documentaries from his previous life?

Documentaries of the past have long since broken free from the "preachy" framework, emphasizing "seeing the big picture in small details," using individual stories to reflect collective emotions, and employing techniques such as slow motion and micro-lenses to make the visuals more impactful.

Japanese documentaries from 1991 were still in the stage of "recording events," either filming grand narratives of history and culture or serious discussions of social issues. Few people paid attention to the details of ordinary people's lives, let alone presented them with delicate cinematic language.

Yoshihiro Shimazu was clearly unaware of Hiroshi's thoughts. He excitedly said, "I'm sure this film will win an award! Putting everything else aside, just the character development of Nomizu-san and the narrative logic of 'from sea to table' will make it stand out in the humanities documentary category! And since you're filming seafood from Chiba, it might even spark a sashimi craze in the Tokyo Bay area—when I run for mayor, I can use 'promoting local culture and tourism' as a pretext to garner votes!"

Nobuhiko Sakata added with a smile, "It's not just about winning awards; advertisers will definitely be interested too. Look at the tuna auction in the film, the sashimi at Nomizuya—these scenes can be used for product placement, such as sponsoring seafood markets or collaborating with knife brands—it's more natural than simple product placement in variety shows, and businesses should be willing to invest money."

Takada Toshihide nodded in agreement: "I was worried before that the documentary wouldn't be able to secure sponsorship, but it seems I was overthinking it. Tomorrow I'll have the advertising department contact the Chiba Prefecture Fisheries Association to see if we can reach a long-term cooperation agreement—it would both help secure sponsorship for the film and promote local seafood, a win-win situation."

Hiroshi spoke up at the opportune moment: "Takada-san, there's something else I'd like to discuss with you. Ishigami Honro-san from the Chiba Prefectural Government wants a sample copy in advance, saying he wants to show it at a cultural and tourism promotion event. Is that alright with you?"

"of course can!"

Takada Toshihide immediately agreed, "This is a good thing. It can help generate buzz for the film in advance and also improve relations with the local government—have the editing department make an extra copy, and have it sent over tomorrow."

Just then, Yoshihiro Shimazu suddenly paused, as if he had thought of something. He looked at Hiroshi and said, “Hiroshi-kun, I have an idea. Many TV Tokyo programs now add a segment at the end where I participate in a ‘national dialogue’ to talk to the audience about social issues. Do you think we could add a similar segment at the end of ‘Neon Flavors’? I could talk to Mr. Nomizu about the heritage of the fishing industry, or talk to the audience about ‘the significance of local cuisine’—this would increase the interaction between the program and the audience, and also help me increase my exposure and campaign for the election.”

Hiroshi immediately had a plan in mind, but he didn't agree right away. Instead, he pretended to think for a few seconds, then smiled and said, "Former President Shimazu, this is a great idea. I think we can design two scenes: First, you can go to Nomizu-san's house and eat sashimi with him, talking about his childhood experiences going to sea with his father, highlighting the theme of 'inheritance'; second, you can stand at Chiba Pier and talk to the audience about 'the gifts the sea gives us,' calling on everyone to pay attention to local fisheries—this way it won't feel abrupt, it will echo the content of the film, and it will also reflect your concern for people's livelihoods."

Yoshihiro Shimazu's eyes lit up, and he clapped his hands: "This design is excellent! It fits the tone of the film perfectly and conveys my political ideals—Hiroshi-kun, you've thought of everything!"

Nobuhiko Sakata also said with a smile, "Hiroshi-kun not only understands the content, but also knows how to combine it with real-world needs—in this way, the film has both cultural and social value, and can also help Shimazu win votes, achieving three goals at once."

Looking at the scene before him, Takada Toshihide thought to himself – Hiroshi Nohara is not only talented, but also adaptable, knowing how to satisfy the needs of various parties without compromising the core of the film.

He had previously worried that the young man was too stubborn and didn't understand workplace rules, but now it seems he had worried too much.

Yoshihiro Shimazu was clearly very satisfied with Hiroshi's plan. He stood up, walked over to Hiroshi, and patted him on the shoulder: "Hiroshi-kun, if you ever need my help in the future, just let me know. Whether it's election campaigning or resource coordination, I can help you—I've decided to be your friend!"

Hiroshi quickly stood up: "You're too kind, former president of Shimazu. It's an honor for me to be able to help you."

Nobuhiko Sakata glanced at the time and said, "Alright, it's getting late, everyone should head back. Hiroshi, tomorrow you coordinate with the editing department to add the segment featuring the former president of Shimazu, and try to get it airing on time during prime time next week. Takada, you're in charge of contacting Tadashi Hattori in the city's publicity department and ask him to help promote the trailer in the subway and newspapers—we need to let more people know about 'A Bite of Japan'."

"Yes!" Takada Toshihide and Hiroshi responded in unison.

As they left the conference room, Yoshihiro Shimazu deliberately followed Hiroshi behind, whispering, "Hiroshi-kun, I heard that Tanaka Mikami has been keeping an eye on you lately? If you run into any trouble, just give me a call—he wants to suppress local culture, and I'll be the first to object!"

Hiroshi felt a warmth in his heart and nodded, saying, "Thank you for your concern, former president of Shimazu. I will pay attention. If I encounter any problems that I can't solve, I will definitely ask you for help."

After Yoshihiro Shimazu left, Asumi approached him, her tone tinged with admiration: "Hiroshi-kun, the scene you just designed was brilliant! It satisfied the former president of Shimazu's needs without compromising the integrity of the film—I certainly wouldn't have thought of something so thoughtful."

Hiroshi smiled and said, "Actually, it's nothing. I just thought about it from his perspective. He needs exposure and to build an emotional connection with voters. The 'inheritance' and 'local culture' in the film just happen to fit his campaign philosophy. Combining these two points naturally leads to a solution."

As the two reached the elevator, Takada Toshihide suddenly caught up with them: "Hiroshi-kun, wait a minute. I just spoke with someone in the advertising department. The person in charge at Marui Soy Sauce heard the film was well-made and would like to meet with you tomorrow to discuss sponsorship—do you have time?"

"I have time," Hiroshi immediately agreed. "Tomorrow morning at ten o'clock is fine. Let's set the meeting place in the station's reception room."

Takada Toshihide nodded, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes: "Okay, I'll have my secretary liaise with them. Hiroshi-kun, do a good job. The future of TV Tokyo depends on young people like you."

The elevator doors opened, and Hiroshi and Asumi stepped inside. Watching the numbers rise in the elevator, Asumi suddenly said, "I'm increasingly convinced that Kanto TV's reforms were on the right track, that you were chosen to lead it, and most importantly, that it was the right decision—without you, Kanto TV might have been abandoned long ago."

Hiroshi looked at his reflection in the elevator door and said calmly, "It's not just my achievement. It's because everyone wanted to do things well. Suzuki-san's trust, Saito-san's skills, Matsui-san's filming, and your and Takada-san's support—nothing would have been possible without any of them."

When the elevator reached the first floor, it was already dark outside, and the lights of the Tokyo TV building came on, like a lighthouse standing in the night.

(End of this chapter)