I, Hiroshi Nohara, the star of Japanese cinema

Chapter 33 Anger

The green smoke of sandalwood rose in the overly bright office, but it failed to bring a trace of Zen and tranquility to this space filled with coldness and anger.

It seemed to be frozen, circling stiffly, and then dispersing weakly, as if even the fragrance itself was afraid of the thundering wrath of its owner.

Masao Iwata stood in front of the shiny ebony desk with his head lowered. Out of the corner of his eye, he could only see his shiny Italian handmade leather shoes and a small carpet covered with intricate Persian patterns.

He felt as if his neck was filled with lead, so heavy that he could neither lift it nor turn it.

'Dong-dong-dong! Boom, boom, boom! '

He could clearly hear the dull and panicked pounding of his heart in his chest. Every beat seemed to be the death knell for his ridiculous arrogance and stupidity.

Toshihide Takada did not sit down. He paced back and forth in front of Masao Iwata like an anxious lion trapped in a cage.

His well-tailored suit drew a sharp and elegant arc as he moved, but beneath that arc lay a brutality that was enough to burn everything.

Finally, he stopped and turned around. His face, which usually wore a warm smile that seemed to embrace everything, was now covered with a dark cloud. He didn't roar, his voice was even calm, but it was this calmness that frightened Iwata Masao more than any roar.

"Iwata-kun."

Takada Shunying spoke slowly, each word seeming to be squeezed out from the cracks of a glacier: "Can you explain to me what's going on?"

He pointed his finger at the open copy of Nitto Shimbun on the table.

On it, Kato Nobuyuki's name and the title "Anshibaju: A Gentle Ritual of Horror Dedicated to the Modern City" were like two glaring brands, burning Masao Iwata's retinas.

"why?"

"Why did the page that was supposed to be warming up for 'Kibo Samurai' turn into a stage for singing praises for that old guy Seito Suzuki?"

"Why would the writer we paid a lot of money to pay for this turn around and praise a piece of rubbish that cost less than 100,000 yuan?"

"Didn't you tell me that everything was arranged?!"

Finally, he couldn't suppress his voice any more, and it suddenly rose to a higher pitch, like an ice-hardened knife, piercing into Masao Iwata's heart.

Masao Iwata's body trembled violently. He looked up in astonishment, his face filled with shock and confusion even more intense than that of his boss.

"I...I don't know, Deputy Chief!"

His voice was tearful, filled with the grievance of being wronged. "I scheduled the promotion for today, Saturday, and Sunday! I'm using the weekend's newspaper circulation to make a final push for next Monday's broadcast! Friday... I didn't schedule any promotion at all for Friday!"

Takada Shunei stared at him intently, his deep eyes flashing with scrutiny and suspicion.

He wanted to find even the slightest trace of lying on Masao Iwata's face.

However, he only saw pure, undisguised confusion and panic.

There was a dead silence in the office.

Only the sandalwood smoke stubbornly swirled. The two men stared at each other, one burning with rage, the other utterly bewildered. A fear of losing control began to creep between them.

"Phone." Takada Toshihide finally broke the silence, his voice very hoarse.

Masao Iwata woke up as if from a dream, quickly took out his mobile phone, and tremblingly dialed the number of the deputy editor-in-chief of the entertainment section of "Nisshin Shimbun".

That was a connection he had spent a lot of money to establish.

The call was quickly connected, and before Iwata Masao could even exchange pleasantries, he barged in with a barrage of criticism: "Mr. Yamamoto! What's going on with that review of 'An Shiba' in today's newspaper?! Didn't we agree that the space would be reserved for 'Kibo Samurai'?!"

Deputy Editor-in-Chief Yamamoto on the other end of the line was clearly surprised. He paused, then said in a rather innocent tone, "Section Chief Iwata, please don't get too excited. We didn't arrange this article. It was Kato-sensei who asked to write it himself."

"He wants to write it himself?" Masao Iwata felt that his brain was not enough.

"Yes," Deputy Editor-in-Chief Yamamoto said with a hint of helplessness. "You know, Mr. Kato holds a very high position in our newspaper. Even the editor-in-chief can't easily control him. Yesterday afternoon, he suddenly came to me and said he wanted to temporarily change the manuscript. He wanted to give the space originally reserved for someone else to that 'Anzhiju'. He said he had discovered a work that was 'truly worth writing about,' and that... if we didn't let him, he would take it to another newspaper."

"We can't do anything about it, Section Chief Iwata. Mr. Kato's column is the gold standard of our newspaper. And..." Deputy Editor-in-Chief Yamamoto paused, his voice lowered. "Moreover, Mr. Kato also said that this is to support Tokyo TV, to support you in discovering such a promising work. He said that this is an extra favor for your station..."

Favorite...

Masao Iwata held the phone, then slowly hung up, his whole body frozen in place.

He slowly turned his head and looked at Takada Toshihide. The expression on his face was uglier than crying.

Takada Toshihide's expression had already changed from anger to gloom.

They all understand.

This is not betrayal, not defection, and not even a conspiracy by that guy Asumi.

This was a complete accident caused by the quality of the work itself.

An opponent whom they despised and disdained the most won the heartfelt praise of the ally they most wanted to win over in a way that they could least understand and control.

This was more humiliating to them than any political failure.

"Waste..." Takada Shunying sat back weakly in his leather boss chair. He looked at the bustling city view outside the window and felt for the first time that this city, which he once thought was under his control, had become so strange and unreasonable.

He was silent for a long time before he slowly spoke, his voice filled with a fatigue and determination he had never had before.

"Iwata, now, we have no way out."

He turned his head and stared at his trusted general, with the last glimmer of madness burning in his eyes.

"Next Monday, your 'Ghost House Warrior' must win. At any cost, do you hear me? At... any cost!"

Iwata Masao looked at the deputy director's distorted face and nodded heavily. He knew that this was no longer a simple battle for ratings; it was a war that gambled their entire future and dignity.

(End of this chapter)