I, Hiroshi Nohara, the star of Japanese cinema!

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." Masao Iwata pursed his lips, and there was only a kind of dejection on his face.

He didn't say much, just waved his hand weakly at the assistant, then took steps with his legs that seemed to be filled with lead, step by step, towards 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.

Chapter 40 Breaking 6!

On Wednesday, Nitto Shimbun and Yomiuri Shimbun...

Those papers that were scrutinized by countless pairs of eyes on the commuter train were now like declarations of war splashed with ink. On the entertainment page, the largest font and the most gorgeous words were used to play a deafening song of victory for the animation called "Onii-bo Samurai".

In the photo, Masao Iwata stands side by side with the famous Mr. Matsumoto, smiling so confidently as if he had already won the entire April in advance.

What is even more glaring is that in the gaps between these eloquent hymns of praise, there will always be a few "objective evaluations" about "Anzhiju" that are filled with contempt and pity.

"...the painting style is crude, the production is rudimentary, and it relies on cheap shocks to attract attention. It is ultimately not worthy of being presented in a high-class setting."

"...the short-lived popularity of late-night blockbusters will eventually reveal their small-scale nature in the face of truly epic blockbusters."

"asshole!"

In Suzuki's classroom, Nancun Xing slammed his fist on the table. His young face flushed crimson, filled with anger at being publicly humiliated. "What is this? Stepping on us to get to the top? That's despicable!"

"This is no longer propaganda, it's a personal attack!" Hase Luzui was so angry that he was shaking all over.

Suzuki Seito's face was as gloomy as the sky before a rainstorm.

He stared intently at Iwata Masao's smug face in the newspaper. His old-school producer dignity was completely ignited by this blatant slander. He abruptly stood up and said in a deep voice, "I'll go find him! This despicable tactic is a disgrace to us in television!"

"Professor."

A calm voice, like a cup of tea, extinguished the rage that was about to spread throughout the office.

Nohara Hiroshi had stood up from the corner at some point. He walked up to Suzuki Seito, gently pressed his shoulders and shook his head.

"There's no need to go."

He picked up the newspaper, his eyes scanning the harsh words, a playful smile curling his lips. "You see, the more they curse, the more they tie us to 'Kibo Samurai'. Tokyo audiences are extremely curious. They'll wonder what kind of 'trash' is that this newspaper would go to such great lengths to criticize?"

"So they'll come to watch 'Dark Zhiju' to see how bad it is. But once they come, can they really escape? Once they find out they've been deceived, they'll retaliate angrily!"

He paused, and in his clear eyes flashed an almost demonic light that seemed to see through human nature.

"Traffic that is tainted by the negative is still traffic, and black fans are still fans. Sometimes, curses spread faster than praise."

He gently put the newspaper back on the table, turned around and went back to his seat, and took out another thick stack of drawings from his bag. It was the "Yu Yu Hakusho" that he had just completed, the opening chapter of the Dark Martial Arts Association.

He carefully put the manuscript into a special envelope and prepared to send it to Shueisha's editor Tadokoro.

Seeing his composure and calmness, as if he was detached from the matter, the anger in their hearts miraculously subsided a lot.

As expected, Nohara Hiroshi's prediction was verified with an almost eerie accuracy in the following days.

On Wednesday, the ninth episode of "Dark House" titled "The Trouble" was aired, and the ratings broke through the 5% mark, reaching 5.02%.

However, the brief cheer in the office was soon overshadowed by another report - the second episode of "Ghost Shop Samurai", 5.68%.

On Thursday, the tenth episode of "Anzhiju" "Moon", 5.22%. "Onibo Samurai", 5.89%.

On Friday, the eleventh episode of "An Zhi Ju" - "Videotape" - had a 5.35% share, while "Kimono Samurai" - had a 6.07% share.

Masao Iwata's reckless publicity campaign, like a flood and a beast, brought with it huge capital power, pushing the ratings of "Onibo Samurai" to a new peak.

The wind direction within Tokyo TV also began to change quietly. The praise for "Kibo Samurai" was endless, while the miracle of "Anshiji" was gradually exaggerated into a "lucky" accident.

In Suzuki's classroom, the fire of hope that had just been ignited was suppressed by the cold data, leaving only a faint flame.

The air became oppressive again.

Everyone worked in silence, as if holding their breath underwater.

They knew that there were only two episodes left in the first season of Dark House, and the end of the month was just around the corner.

The title of "No. 1" that symbolizes glory, and the planning approval that determines whether "An Zhi Ju" can have a second season, are like swords hanging over his head.

Only Nohara Hiroshi remained calm as usual.

He seemed to be completely unconcerned with the outside noise. He only occasionally raised his head in between drawings and glanced out the window at the sky that was shattered by steel and concrete. His eyes were so deep that no one could understand.

Saturday morning arrived quieter than usual.

The office was filled with a silence as if fate was approaching. Everyone arrived early, but just sat silently in their seats, waiting for the final judgment to come.

'Bam—! '

At this moment, the door of the classroom was suddenly slammed open by a huge force.

Hashijita rushed in.

Suzuki Seito was sitting outside at the time. Seeing Hashishita's sudden advance, which was very rude, he couldn't help but frown and said, "Hashishita, you are so rude!"