I, Hiroshi Nohara, the star of Japanese cinema

Chapter 32 Breaking 4%
"Huh?! Who's talking!?"

My father was startled, realizing something was wrong with this elevator. The lights were dim, the air was filled with the smell of stale rust, and the floor indicator lights weren't on at all.

He looked at the elevator lady next to him. She was wearing a uniform and a hat, with her head lowered and motionless.

Her father reached out his trembling hand and gently touched her shoulder.

The touch was cold and hard.

It's plastic.

It's a fake person.

Just when his scalp felt numb, the elevator stopped with a ding.

The door slowly opened.

Outside the door, it wasn't any floor of the department store. Instead, it was an endless, swirling expanse of dark red lava, a hellish scene. Countless faceless black figures swam and wailed in the lava.

My father's face was instantly filled with fear. He let out a muffled, strangled scream and turned his head sharply.

I saw that the elevator that was supposed to be empty was now full of people.

Those people wore the same suits and ties as him, and had the same numb and tired expressions on their faces as him, caused by overtime and the pressure of life.

They all looked at him silently with blank expressions.

Then, the play ends.

……

Friday morning, Suzuki classroom.

When Hashimoto Ichiro walked in with the latest ratings report, his hands had stopped shaking. His face wore the calmness that comes from someone accustomed to miracles, a mixture of pride and numbness.

"3.77%." He put the report on the table and spoke in a steady voice.

"Long live! Long live! Long live!"

A suppressed, satisfied cheer rang out in the office.

This time, Hashiji Ichiro brought another thing.

A copy of the Nitto Shimbun just published this morning.

He unfolded the newspaper and turned to the entertainment section. In the most conspicuous position, in bold black letters, was a headline that would catch the attention of all television viewers.

——"Anzhiju: A Gentle Horror Ritual Dedicated to the Modern City".

Signed: Shin Kato.

"Kato Nobu..." Suzuki Seito's eyes suddenly lit up as he read the name. "The Kato Nobu, who has the sharpest pen? He...he actually writes film reviews for us?"

He couldn't wait to take the newspaper and read it word by word.

"...it abandons its cheap reliance on blood and ghosts, instead using its scalpel to precisely penetrate the softest, most vulnerable nerves of modern urbanites. Apartments, workplaces, families, transportation... these daily necessities we rely on for survival, through the lens of "Dark Zhiju," are transformed into abysses leading to the unknown. It reminds us that true terror may not come from evil spirits with green faces and fangs, but from our day-to-day numbness and exhaustion, and the despair of longing for 'quiet time' when we are overwhelmed by life..."

"...This isn't a simple shock, but a gentle ritual. It gently tears away the surface of your accustomed life, revealing the terrifying cracks hidden beneath. In the most extreme way, it forces us to re-examine our lives, to examine the silent gazes from our surroundings that we have ignored..."

The article is not long, but every word is precious.

After reading it, Suzuki Seito felt a surge of blood rushing from the bottom of his heart to the top of his head.

confidant!

This Kato Nobu is truly their confidant! He completely understood the core of "Anzhiju" and understood Nohara Hiroshi's brilliant conception!
"Good! Good! Good!" Suzuki Seito excitedly slammed the table, his eyes burning with fighting spirit: "Everyone! We can't rest this weekend! We must press on! Show your best form and your best work! Let everyone see what our Suzuki Classroom can achieve!"

He looked at everyone and spoke in a strong and powerful voice.

"Working overtime on the weekend! Is that a problem?!"

"No!" This time, no one felt it was exploitation. Everyone's face shone with a passionate, fervent light, as if they were dedicating themselves to a great cause.

……

Saturday morning, 12:20.

【Anzhiju Luggage Rack】

A crowded, swaying tram car.

A man in a suit and tie was squeezed in the crowd, his face full of fatigue and boredom.

"I'm so tired...it's so noisy...when will we arrive at the station..." He kept complaining in his heart.

Inadvertently, he raised his head and his eyes fell on the luggage rack above his head.

There, there was something wrapped in white cloth. It was impossible to tell what it was, but it was moving slightly and regularly.

The man frowned, thinking it was a pet left behind by a passenger. He looked around, only to find that everyone around him was oblivious to the incident. Some were reading newspapers, while others were resting their eyes, as if the wriggling thing didn't even exist.

At this moment, the tram braked suddenly and everyone in the car fell to the ground.

The man steadied himself and subconsciously glanced at the luggage rack again.

That thing is gone.

He breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he was dazzled.

But the moment he lowered his head, he felt something slowly hanging down from the top of his head.

He raised his head stiffly, bit by bit.

He saw the thing wrapped in white cloth, squirming constantly, hanging upside down in front of him, less than ten centimeters away from his face.

Under the white cloth, it seemed as if something was struggling to break out of the cocoon.

The man wanted to scream and retreat, but his body seemed frozen and he couldn't move.

The voice in his heart echoed in his ears again.

"I'm so tired... I really want to rest..."

"It's so noisy... I really want some quiet..."

"Life... is so hard... I really want... to be free..."

As the negative and death-seeking emotions in his heart grew stronger, the thing wrapped in white cloth in front of him squirmed more and more violently.

It seemed to be feeding off his despair.

Then, a corner of the white cloth was slowly, slowly lifted...

……

On Saturday morning, when the sun once again illuminated the city, a ratings report that would go down in the history of Tokyo TV was delivered to the desks of every classroom in the production department.

"Late-night animation "Anzhiju", the sixth episode has a viewership rating of 4.07%."

“The ratings are phenomenal!”

The entire production team was completely speechless.

Even in Takada Toshihide's office, the secretary who had just delivered the briefing quietly retreated, moving very lightly, as if terrified, and sat back in his seat, not daring to make any noise.

Because she knew very well that Takada Toshihide, the deputy director of Tokyo TV, was really angry.

(End of this chapter)