I, Hiroshi Nohara, the star of Japanese cinema

Chapter 39 Anger
Nohara Hiroshi chuckled.

He is very confident.

In Suzuki's classroom, the joy of waking up suddenly returned, and everyone's face was filled with smiles.

But at the other end of the corridor, Iwata's classroom.

But it's very dull here.

It was as if there was a huge hammer here that was heavy enough to crush everyone's spine!

Silence is the only main theme in this office at this moment.

A sticky, suffocating silence, like the earthy heat stagnating in the air before an afternoon thunderstorm.

Even the originally gentle sunlight, which now cut out strips of light and dark on the ground through the blinds, was like the iron bars of a cage in an oppressive cell, making everyone's face dim and unclear.

5.03%.

This number was placed in the center of the conference table, like a glittering golden trophy, but no one dared to touch it.

Because right next to it, there is another report with the words 4.97% on it like a ghost.

A ghost with a grin that silently laughed at them.

Won.

Yes, numerically, they won.

But everyone's heart felt like it was filled with a heavy lead block soaked in ice water, and they were unable to say anything.

I dare not say it out loud.

The confidant named Anren, who was usually good at using all kinds of gorgeous words to sing praises for his lord's victory, just lowered his head at this moment, staring at his shiny leather shoes, as if he wanted to see his future destiny from the smooth uppers.

The planner wearing glasses tapped his fingers unconsciously on the keyboard, but could not type a single word.

What kept echoing in his mind was not his own exquisite paintings or the majestic soundtrack, but the hellish dark red light that shone through the crack of the elevator door when he secretly watched "Anzhiju" last night.

At this time, Masao Iwata was standing by the window with his back to everyone.

He looked at the cold urban jungle made of steel and concrete downstairs and felt like he had become a trapped beast in this jungle, being targeted by an invisible hunter.

His face, which usually showed sarcasm and shrewdness, was now as tightly stretched as a piece of dried orange peel.

Every wrinkle is filled with gloom.

Because it's a shame.

His shame.

He had never suffered such shame before!

He mobilized the station's top resources, invited the most prestigious production team in the industry, and used a hugely expensive heavy artillery, enough to flatten a hill, in the prime late-night time slot that everyone dreamed of, to bombard a scarecrow made by a few poor people with bamboo poles and hemp ropes.

As a result, the shell missed its target.

Only the aftermath of the explosion burned off a tiny bit of the thatch on the scarecrow.

But under everyone's gaze, the scarecrow performed a weird and creepy dance, winning applause from the audience!
This is no longer a question of winning or losing.

This is a complete public execution in terms of intelligence, realm, and even... ability!

"Jingle Bell--"

In this desolate silence, the public phone on the desk rang without warning.

The voice was sharp and harsh, like an ice-hardened scalpel, which was about to cut through the thin film of decency in this office without any explanation.

The office assistant shuddered, like a sleepwalker awakened, and hurriedly picked up the phone.

"...Hello, this is Iwata's classroom."

She only heard half of the sentence, and her face, which was already pale to begin with, instantly turned paler than the wall.

She covered the microphone and, with a voice trembling with fear, almost whispering, looked at the figure with his back to them and said in a trembling voice: "Section...Section Chief...It's...it's Deputy Director Takada's secretary...I want you to come over..."

Iwata Masao's body visibly stiffened.

He turned around slowly, and all the gloom and unwillingness on his face faded away at this moment.

"I understand." Iwata Masao pursed his lips, his face showing only a deathly dejection. He didn't say much, just waved weakly at his assistant, and then took those leaden steps, one by one, toward the door to hell.

In Takada Toshihide's office, the sandalwood and sunshine are still there.

But today's sunshine seems particularly cold.

When Masao Iwata pushed the door open, Toshihide Takada was sitting behind his desk, holding the two ratings reports placed side by side in his hands, reading them very attentively.

He didn't raise his head, nor did he even glance at Iwata Masao. He simply asked in a tone so calm that it made one's heart palpitate, "Iwata-kun, you're here."

"Deputy... Deputy Director..." Masao Iwata's voice was as dry as if it had been polished with sandpaper.

"I heard you won." Takada Shunei slowly raised his head. His eyes, always filled with a warm smile, were now filled with a bottomless coldness, like a frozen pond. "A 0.06 percentage point lead. That's truly... a remarkable victory."

He gently swept the two reports in the direction of Masao Iwata, as if he was brushing off some insignificant dust.

Those thin pieces of paper, like a few dead leaves, fell lightly on Masao Iwata's face, and then slid weakly to the ground.

That action was extremely contemptuous and insulting.

Masao Iwata's body trembled violently. He lowered his head tightly and dared not say a word.

Because he knew that any explanation at this moment would seem pale and ridiculous.

What could he say?
Saying your opponent is too strong is like admitting your own incompetence.

Saying you're unlucky? That's an insult to your boss's intelligence.

He could not say anything and could only endure it all silently like a drowning dog being whipped by its master.

"I gave you the best resources, the best time, and even used my connections to hire a writer like Kato Nobuyuki for you."

Takada Toshihide's voice remained calm, but every word he spoke was like a red-hot steel needle, piercing Masao Iwata's ears.

"And you're going to repay me with a 0.06% 'victory'?"

"Are you telling me that my, Takada Shunei's, vision is only worth this 0.06%?"

"Are you telling the entire TV station that the trusted general I promoted is such a loser who can't even beat an intern?!"

Bang!
He finally couldn't contain his rage, slammed the table, and stood up suddenly. The long-suppressed rage of a superior erupted like a volcano!

Masao Iwata was so frightened that he trembled all over and fell to his knees in front of Takada Toshihide.

His head was pressed tightly against the ground.

As humble as a reptile.

And Masao Iwata endured the scolding, which was enough to crush the dignity of any working person, without saying a word.

Until a long time passed.

Takada Shunei sat back in his chair, breathing heavily, his chest heaving violently.

He knew that cursing any further would not help.

He looked at his confidant who was completely frightened, and a trace of extreme disappointment and a final unwillingness flashed in his eyes.

"Publicity." He squeezed out two words from between his teeth.

“…Yes?” Iwata Masao looked up blankly.

"I say, step up the publicity!" Takada Shunei's voice was filled with madness. "Throw all the money you can into it! Newspapers, magazines, radio stations, roadside billboards! Within this week, I want the name of 'Kibo Samurai' to be seen in every corner of Tokyo!"

He stared at Masao Iwata intently, his eyes like a gambler who had lost all his money.

"I don't care what method you use, I don't want to see any more so-called accidents! What I want is a crushing victory! An absolute, undisputed victory! Use your results to tell everyone who is the true master of this TV station! Do you hear me?!"

"At the end of this month, the station will be counting the top performers in each time slot! Let's see who comes out on top! I hope you're not just the top performer in the 11 o'clock late-night slot!"

"Still... an anime type! Do you understand!?"

"Hi!"

Masao Iwata seemed to have grasped the last straw and nodded heavily. His voice was hoarse as if he had survived a disaster, and he was determined to go all out.

(End of this chapter)