I, Hiroshi Nohara, the star of Japanese cinema!

Silence returned to the room.

Misae leaned on Nohara Hiroshi's shoulder, smelling the reassuring scent on him, but still a little worriedly said, "Hiroshi-kun, are you really okay? Don't push yourself too hard."

Nohara Hiroshi turned his head and gently kissed her smooth forehead.

"Don't worry, Meiya."

There was a hint of laughter in his voice that only he understood: "For me, the thing that this world has the most is stories."

"Ah?" Mei Ya tilted her head in confusion.

She didn't know why.

"Okay, Mei-ya, it's okay if you don't understand." The expression on Nohara Hiroshi's face gradually became obscure: "I'll teach you."

Chapter 31 Good News

The next day, at the Tokyo TV production headquarters building.

On Thursday morning, sunlight filtered through the huge glass curtain wall, illuminating the corridor, like laying a silent carpet for a belated coronation ceremony.

The air was no longer filled with the stagnant, iron-like oppression of the past few days, but instead was filled with a strange undercurrent of curiosity and awe.

In Suzuki's classroom, the door that was always closed was open for the first time today.

There was neither the dead silence nor the bustle of yesterday, but a deeper heat and calmness, like the heat and calmness emitted by the lava after a volcanic eruption while it is still cooling down.

When Hashimoto Ichiro walked in with the report, his steps were light and floating.

He felt like he was not walking on a cold floor, but on a cloud called "happiness".

He didn't say anything, but just placed the thin piece of paper, which seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, gently in the middle of the table, as if he was placing a rare treasure.

"Late-night animation "Anzhiju", fifth episode rating: 3.51%."

“The ratings are excellent!”

3.51%.

Another new record.

The office was quiet for a moment, and then the ecstasy that had been suppressed in everyone's chest and fermented overnight finally found an outlet.

This time, there were no hugs, no tears.

Nancun Xing simply picked up a can of leftover, long-deficient Coke on the table, drank it down, and then let out a long sigh of extreme satisfaction.

Chang Gulu walked to the window and looked at the pedestrians downstairs who were as small as ants. For the first time, he felt that he was also a person worthy of admiration in this huge city.

Beichuan Yao sat at his seat, typing the number 3.51% countless times on a word processor, then deleted it all, just smiling foolishly.

The first taste of victory is like strong liquor, a kind of ecstasy. The second taste becomes an aged wine, a kind of intoxication.

The door of the classroom was not closed, so the aroma of the aged wine inevitably drifted out, attracting countless visitors who came for the scent.

"Section Chief Suzuki, congratulations! 3.51%! You are going to make history!" The director of the classroom next door, a middle-aged man who usually looks down on others, now has a warm smile on his face, and in his hands are two cups of hot coffee he just bought from the vending machine.

"No, no, it's just young people fooling around." Suzuki Seidou said modestly, but the wrinkles on his old face were brighter than blooming chrysanthemums.

"Suzuki-senpai, that's really not fair!" Another, less experienced director came over and said half-jokingly, half-seriously, "We all went to see 'Paper' last night. It's every office worker's nightmare! Our female assistant in the classroom came in this morning and said she'd never dare use the copy machine alone again! You have to give us some compensation for the damages!"

"Hahaha, easy to say, easy to say!"

For a moment, the small Suzuki classroom became the liveliest place on the entire floor.

There was an endless stream of people coming to congratulate, to learn from others, or simply to watch the fun.

They walked around Nancun Xing and Changgu Road, inquiring about the details of the creation, and their words were full of amazement and curiosity about this "Anzhiju type" creative technique.

"Actually...actually, we didn't do anything." Nancun Xing, surrounded by a group of seniors, was somewhat flattered, his face flushed, but he still straightened his back and said with great pride, "All the ideas, all the storyboards, all the core concepts were completed by Mr. Nohara alone! We just put what he had in his mind on paper."

"Teacher Nohara?" Everyone was stunned.

"He's the genius cartoonist who drew Yu Yu Hakusho!" Hase Jizo added proudly.

A stone stirred up a thousand waves.

The looks people gave that corner became increasingly complicated.

There, Hiroshi Nohara was sitting quietly, seemingly oblivious to the noise around him.

There was no drawing or information in front of him, only a cup of tea. The steam curled up, making his face a little blurry and even more unfathomable.

He didn't greet anyone, but just nodded to Suzuki Seito in the middle of all the noise, then stood up and walked into the independent office next door that had been vacant and used as a storage room, and closed the door gently.

Everyone looked at each other in bewilderment, a kind of awe that came unconsciously when facing a strong person.

He didn't want to chat with these people.

I still have to rush to finish the comics!

Nohara Hiroshi spread the drawing he brought from home on the table, picked up the brush that had long been in tune with his heart, and dipped it in ink.

The noise and glory outside the window seemed to be isolated from him.

Things were already on track at the TV station, the ball was already rolling, and he no longer needed to worry about it. He was like a skilled chess player, laying out a winning strategy before calmly turning to another, more expansive game.

The tip of the pen touched the paper, making a slight rustling sound.

That was Urameshi Onsuke's spirit pill gathering strength, Kurama's rose quietly blooming, and Hiei's Evil King Flame Killing Black Dragon Wave roaring to tear the world apart.

He knew that the success of "Anzhiju" was only the first step in his journey to gain a foothold in this world. It would bring him fame, status, and the qualification to have equal dialogue with great figures like Ming Rihai.

But this is not enough.

What he wants is real power that is not dependent on anyone and can control his own destiny.

And "Yu Yu Hakusho", a manga that was praised as a "genius work" in the previous life, is another sharper sword in his hand.

……

Time passed with the rustling sound of the pen tip, and the night of Tokyo fell again.

Friday morning, 12:20.

【Anzhiju·different level】

This time, the story takes place in a brightly lit department store.

A young father, his wife, and young son are choosing birthday gifts. The scene is warm and everyday, filled with the slightly exhausted happiness that is unique to urban families.

However, a call from his boss broke the peace, and his father had to rush back to the company to deal with an urgent matter.

The crying of the child and the look in his wife's eyes—a calm look yet with a hint of cold resentment, like a soft knife, pierced the father to the point of shame.

He apologized awkwardly, retreated hastily, and fled into an elevator that happened to open.

"Hey, someone can leave me alone for a moment..." He muttered to himself irritably in the small space.

The elevator was quiet, and he was the only one there.

Then, a cold, emotionless voice, as if coming from deep within the machine, sounded faintly.

"clear."

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..."