I, Hiroshi Nohara, the star of Japanese cinema!

boom!

It was as if something exploded in Suzuki Seito's mind.

He looked at Asumi's eyes that were burning with flames, and felt that his heart as a creator, which had been dormant for many years, was rekindled at this moment.

He stood up suddenly and bowed deeply to Asumi.

"Hi!"

……

When Suzuki Seito returned to the small office with the smoke of gunpowder and fighting spirit still on his body, he did not call everyone together.

Instead, he walked straight to the corner and came in front of the young man who was still quietly drawing something.

He also conveyed Asumi's words to Nohara Hiroshi exactly as they were.

He thought he would see the familiar confident smile on the young man's face.

However, Nohara Hiroshi simply put down the pen in his hand, raised his head, and for the first time, a sharp light like a sword drawn from its sheath flashed in his eyes, which had always been as calm as an ancient well.

"S-rank project? A real-life horror drama?"

He whispered, his voice filled with a hint of pleasure at finally being able to let go.

"interesting."

Chapter 37: Onibo Samurai Released

Monday, lunchtime.

Suzuki's classroom is filled with a unique atmosphere belonging to urban white-collar workers, a mixture of convenience store bento, cup noodles and canned coffee.

"Have you read today's newspaper?" Nancun Xing said, tackling the rice in his bowl, his voice filled with unconcealed envy. "Over at Iwata's classroom, it's absolutely overwhelming! 'Nitto Shimbun,' 'Yomiuri Shimbun'... the entertainment sections of several major newspapers are all praising their 'Kibo Samurai'!"

"It's more than just a newspaper." Hasejiro put down his chopsticks, picked up a newspaper and pointed at it. "Look, their script consultant is Mr. Matsumoto, the man who wrote 'A Hundred Demons Night Parade of Kyoto'! And the animation production is done by the industry-leading 'Windmill Studio'! I heard that the production budget for a single episode alone is dozens of times ours! This... this is not even on the same level."

His words instantly quieted the office, which had just been filled with a relaxed atmosphere.

This is a bit of a hurtful truth.

If they were a team of foot soldiers that were recruited temporarily, they could only rely on their genius tactical surprise attacks to fight a beautiful comeback.

The other side, however, was a regular army armed to the teeth, with samurai swords, cannons, archers, and everything else.

How can it be compared?

Kitagawa Yao nibbled on a fish-floss rice ball nearby and glanced at Suzuki Seito with some concern. "Section Chief, I heard from other departments that Iwata's department is already slated to win the April anime number one award. They also said... our Anshiji was just lucky and took advantage of an opportunity."

"Ahem! Why are you so worried!?"

A trace of embarrassment crossed Suzuki Seito's face. He coughed dryly twice, picked up the teacup and took a sip, then said in a tone of feigned casualness, "Don't listen to their nonsense! Ratings are the real deal! What we need to do now is to do our own thing well. In the future... in the future, we will have resources like this, and everything will be fine."

His words were more about comforting himself than comforting his subordinates.

Everyone was silent, eating their lunch boxes. The taste of the food seemed to have become a little bland.

Only Hiroshi Nohara in the corner seemed to be oblivious to all this.

He didn't join in the discussion, didn't even look up.

His world was confined to a small square drawing. The sunlight fell on his focused profile, outlining a soft yet firm outline.

His pen tip moved across the paper smoothly and confidently.

"Onibo Samurai"?

Mr. Matsumoto?

Windmill Studio?

To him, these were just insignificant nouns.

The only thing in his mind was the dark martial arts tournament that was about to create a huge wave in "Weekly Shonen Jump".

The despairing oppression of the Toguro brothers, Urameshi Onsuke's spiritual balls that repeatedly surpassed their limits, and the shining souls who fought for their respective beliefs...

In this world, no one understands better than him what is the true "kingly way" and what is the true "passion".

"Dark Zhiju" is a cold arrow he shot at the world, precise and deadly, enough to cause panic and awe.

And "Yu Yu Hakusho" will be the upright punch he throws, using the purest power to crush all the glitz and doubts.

The first chapter will be on the main page on Friday, and he has no time to be distracted by those imaginary opponents.

……

On Monday night, Suzuki's classroom held a celebration party at a well-known izakaya not far from the TV station.

The funds personally approved by Deputy Director Mingrihai made this celebration banquet seem very confident.

The table was filled with top-notch sashimi platters, steaming sukiyaki, and the ginjo sake that we usually wouldn't order.

Everyone gathered together!

Before leaving, everyone agreed to stay in front of the TV at 11 o'clock tonight to "study" the big production of Iwata's classroom.

Hiroshi Nohara didn't drink too much. He left the table early and returned to his small apartment in Kasukabe.

When he opened the door, a warm light and the aroma of food gently enveloped him.

Meiya came over wearing an apron, holding a bowl of steaming hangover soup. There was a hint of anger on her innocent little face, but more of it was the heartache that could not be hidden.

"Drinking again? Guangzhi-kun, your stomach is not in good condition, you should drink less."

She handed the soup bowl to him, and like magic, she brought out a small plate of cute apple pie that she had made herself from the kitchen.

"What a cute apple pie, Misae." Nohara Hiroshi reached out to take the apple pie, but put it directly on the table next to him, looking straight at her. It felt like all the fatigue of the past few days was completely melted away at this moment by the warmth of the bowl of soup and the sweet fragrance of the apples.

"Oh, you won't be in trouble again..." Meiya blushed immediately.

"Yes, of course I want to try that sweet apple pie!" Nohara Hiroshi pulled her to sit on the sofa.

There were no lights on, only the neon lights of the city outside the window, shining through the thin curtains, casting mottled light and shadows in the room.

An hour of tenderness brings a tranquility and beauty that is difficult to describe in words. It is the most genuine embrace of two souls.

Until the clock hands quietly slid towards eleven o'clock.

"It's started." Mei Ya leaned in his arms and reminded him in a low voice.

"Yeah." Nohara Hiroshi picked up the remote control tiredly, hugged Misae, who looked tired and lazy but extremely satisfied, and turned on the TV.

The opening credits of "Ghost House Samurai" arrived as expected.

One has to admit that Masao Iwata really spent his money wisely. The opening scene is a visual feast that can be called a carnival for animation fans.

An ancient temple where cherry blossoms fall like snow, the cold light reflected from the blades in the moonlight, a sword duel as smooth as flowing water, and the majestic and tragic soundtrack performed by a renowned symphony orchestra...

Every frame reveals a sense of luxury that comes from not being short of money.

"Wow...that's amazing!" Meiya couldn't help but exclaim in amazement: "This animation looks even better than the movie!"

Nohara Hiroshi didn't say anything, just watched quietly.

His eyes were like those of an experienced old craftsman examining an apprentice's carefully polished but gaudy work.

The thirty-minute animation ended quickly.

It's well-made, with beautiful graphics and smooth animation.

Nohara Hiroshi had a very good evaluation in his heart.

but.

That's all.

At its core, the story remains the same clichéd revenge tale he saw through: a warrior wrongly killed becomes a ghost, slaughtering innocents indiscriminately, only to be enlightened by a master, let go of his hatred, and attain Buddhahood.

All the twists and turns, all the foreshadowing, were within his expectations, without a single surprise.

"Guangzhi-kun, don't you think it looks good?" Meisai asked curiously when she saw that he had been silent.

Nohara Hiroshi shook his head, picked up a piece of apple pie from the table, and offered it to her before slowly speaking, "Mei-ya, this story might seem novel and interesting to people who don't know much about Japanese culture. Kendo, samurai, onmyoji, ghosts... these elements are enough to attract attention."

He paused, looking at the credits scrolling on the TV screen, a hint of sarcasm in his eyes.

"Ah?" Mei Ya tilted her head in confusion. How could a cute little girl understand all this?

But Nohara Hiroshi said nothing.

Because the fact is very clear, "Onii-bo Samurai" produced by Masao Iwata is like letting a Chinese person watch an extremely well-made animation of "Romance of the Three Kingdoms".

Guan Yu is still Guan Yu, Zhang Fei is still Zhang Fei, and the story is still the same story.

No matter how well-shot the pictures are or how dazzling the special effects are, its core has already been chewed over thousands of times and can no longer be tasted anew.

This kind of beauty built on cultural barriers is completely a castle in the air.

Looks gorgeous.

In fact, it falls down with just a push!

"Of course, if there was no Anzhijuu, perhaps Iwata Masao's Onibo Samurai would have been successful."

Nohara Hiroshi chuckled, picked up the remote control and turned off the TV.

There's no need to read on.

He now knew very well that Iwata Masao's gamble was doomed from the very beginning.

Because he was not facing an ordinary opponent.

It is a ghost that comes from the future, or a parallel world with more developed entertainment. It absorbs the essence of neon and can be said to be able to carry out dimensionality reduction attacks!

Chapter 38 Who won?

Tuesday's morning light shone on Tokyo, making this bustling and huge international metropolis seem to be bathed in holy light.

Tokyo TV Production Headquarters Building.

Nohara Hiroshi arrived first.

"Well, this smell is really frustrating." He frowned slightly, with a helpless look on his face.