I, Hiroshi Nohara, the star of Japanese cinema!

The air was so oppressive that it seemed as if water could be squeezed out of it.

Everyone had a dejected expression on their face, as if a loved one had died. They sat dejectedly at their workstations, like a row of eggplants hit by frost.

The TV set that they had placed high hopes on and used to broadcast the sample clips of the third season of "Dark Zhiju" was now pitch black, like a coffin tailor-made for their farce.

Just now, a notice from the top management of the production bureau was ruthlessly delivered here like a cold death sentence.

"——The third season of 'Anzhiju' fell seriously short of the ratings target and received extremely negative response from the audience."

"From now on, stop broadcasting!"

Just two lines of words were like the sharpest knife, completely shattering their pitiful fantasies.

An ace IP that created a myth of ratings was shamefully forced to be cut short after only one week and seven episodes in their hands.

This is no longer a simple failure.

This is a scandal!

It is enough to nail the entire Iwata classroom to the pillar of shame in Tokyo TV's history. What a disgrace!

In the corner, Hashijitaro's face was as pale as paper, his bloodshot eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, his lips moved unconsciously, and he repeatedly murmured those pale and weak words.

"Impossible...this is impossible..."

"I've learned it all... I've mastered it all... I've clearly figured out all his tricks..."

“Why is this happening…why…”

He was like a gambler who had lost all his chips and fell into a state of crazy self-doubt.

He couldn't understand why it was the same recipe and the same taste, but in his hands it became a pot of rotten rice that everyone hated?

In the office, those colleagues who once treated him as a guest of honor and called him "Deputy Section Chief Hashimoto" sweeter than their own father, now avoided him as if he were the plague.

The glances directed at him were no longer filled with flattery or awe, but only with cold, undisguised contempt and resentment.

It's like looking at a disgusting pile of garbage that has exploded the entire cesspool.

"Squeak-"

The door of Masao Iwata's office was pushed open.

He walked out in a daze, and his face, which always had a bit of arrogance, now looked dead.

Just like these people outside.

He had just received a call from Deputy Director Takada Shunei. On the phone, the man he had always regarded as his support spoke in an icy voice without a trace of warmth, and only said one sentence.

"Iwata-kun, come to my office."

Masao Iwata knew that the time of judgment had come.

His eyes swept across the lifeless office and finally landed on Hashimoto Ichiro, who was still in the corner, acting crazy and muttering to himself.

A nameless fire, mixed with resentment of being taken out on others, instantly shot up from the soles of his feet to the top of his head!

"Hashiichichiro!"

He rushed over and grabbed Hashijita Ichiro by the collar. A ferocious look like a trapped beast appeared on his iron-blue face.

"Didn't you say you've learned it all?! Didn't you say you've figured out all his tricks?! Now tell me! What the hell is going on?!"

"I... I..." Hashiji Ichiro was frightened by his ferocious appearance and trembled all over. His confused thoughts were finally brought back to reality.

He looked at Iwata Masao's distorted face, and his survival instinct made him subconsciously start to defend himself: "No... It's not my fault! It's... It's that artist! That artist's skills are too poor! He can't draw in Nohara Hiroshi's unique style at all!"

"And... and it was you! It was you who insisted on adding that weird Onmyoji into the script! I felt something was wrong right away! It was you who insisted on doing that! This has nothing to do with me!"

"Shut up!"

The ferocity on Iwata Masao's face instantly turned into pure rage. He raised his hand and slapped Hashiji Ichiro hard in the face with a loud slap!

"Snapped!"

The crisp sound was particularly harsh in the silent office.

"waste!"

Iwata Masao pointed at his nose and cursed, "At this point, you still want to shift the blame onto someone else?! I'm telling you, Hashiichi Ichiro, it's all because of you, a piece of shit! It's because I believed your lies! You've dragged our entire class down with you!"

His words were like the sound of a manhole cover opening.

In the office, the group of fence-sitters who had been holding back their anger for a long time instantly found an outlet to vent.

"That's right! It's your fault!"

"We followed you because you were so confident! What happened? You've ruined us all!"

"Traitor! Traitor! How dare you stay here? Get out!"

Curses and accusations came like a sudden rainstorm, overwhelming the man who had already lost his soul.

Hashijitaro covered his burning face and stared blankly at his colleagues who were flattering him last week but wanted to eat him alive today. The last ray of light in his empty eyes was completely extinguished.

He was like a stray dog ​​abandoned by its owner, and was driven into a corner by everyone with the most contemptuous eyes.

Masao Iwata ignored this useless piece of trash. He straightened his collar, which was a little messy due to anger, took a deep breath, and walked towards the corridor leading to hell with heavy steps.

He knew that he had to face the trial that would determine his ultimate fate.

When he passed by the door of [Nohara Hiroshi Special Production Team], the faint cheers filled with joy and pride coming from inside were like red-hot steel needles, piercing his heart fiercely.

He subconsciously quickened his pace, and his back looked hurried and embarrassed.

……

Takada Toshihide's office was as quiet as ever.

The second-in-command of the Tokyo faction was standing in front of a huge floor-to-ceiling window with his back to the door, overlooking the endless steel forest below. His well-tailored suit made his back look a bit desolate.

"Deputy Director...I..."

As soon as Masao Iwata entered the door, he could no longer maintain his pretended calmness. His legs went weak and with a thud, he did a standard kneeling posture, with his forehead pressed firmly against the cold floor.

"Deputy Director Takada, I was wrong! I deserve to die!"

Takada Toshihide didn't look back.

He just let out a breath slowly, and in that breath, there was a sense of helplessness and emotion like a hero in his twilight years.

"Get up." His voice was calm, and no emotion could be heard.

"Nohara Hiroshi... this young man is no longer someone that anyone can challenge. He's not a genius, he's a monster. A monster... capable of changing the rules of the times."

"I already know you don't have the ability to fight him. After all, he is a terrifying... monster."

Takada Shunying turned around with a gloomy face.

"Tell me about it, Iwata-kun."

He walked to the sofa, sat down, and poured himself a glass of whiskey: "Why did I lose... so badly?"

Masao Iwata's body trembled violently. He knew that this was his last chance.

He raised his head, and his face was already drained of all color, replaced by a desperate determination.

"It's Hashijitaro! Deputy Chief! It's all that loser's fault!"

He practically roared, pushing all the responsibility onto the chess piece he had long since abandoned:

"He assured me that he had completely grasped the essence of 'Urban Tales'! But in reality, he was nothing more than a half-witted fool! It was his clumsy imitation and his foolish suggestions that led to the complete failure of the third season of 'Dark House'! I... I was deceived by him! I easily believed the slander of this incompetent man!"

Takada Toshihide listened quietly without interrupting him.

Those bottomless eyes calmly looked at the man in front of him who, in order to protect himself, was willing to push all the blame onto his subordinates, and a trace of barely perceptible contempt flashed in his eyes.

Of course he knew that Masao Iwata was lying.

He knew his subordinate, who was related to him, too well. He was arrogant, incompetent, and ambitious.

Masao Iwata himself should bear at least 80% of the responsibility for the failure of "Anshijiri".

But so what?

He, Toshihide Takada, needs an explanation, a perfect scapegoat that he can explain to the board of directors, the entire TV station, or the Kanto faction.

And Hashiji Ichiro, the "traitor" who defected from the Kanto faction and had no foundation, is undoubtedly the best candidate.

"Really?" Takada Shunying shook the amber liquid in his cup and said lightly, "I'll send someone to investigate."

When Masao Iwata heard these words, his heart, which had been hanging in his throat, finally settled back into his stomach.

He knew he made the right bet.

He also knew that the heavy gold bars he had personally delivered to his cousin, the wife of Deputy Director Takada, last night had played a role.

"Go away." Takada Shunying waved his hand, as if he was shooing away a fly. "Iwata-kun, Nohara Hiroshi's rise is unstoppable. Even I can't do anything about him now. For once, let it go."

He paused, and his cold eyes fell on Iwata Masao like a knife.

Breath like a knife:

"But, that guy named Hashijita... you know how to deal with it."

"Hey! I understand! I understand everything!"

Masao Iwata felt as if he had been pardoned. He kowtowed heavily again, then used his hands and feet to embarrass himself and leave the office that made him feel suffocated.

'call! '

When the office door closed again, Takada Shunei drank the whiskey in the glass.

The spicy liquid burned his throat, but it couldn't dispel the chill in his heart.

He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked at the Tokyo Tower which was still shining brightly. A look of helplessness of a loser appeared on his always gloomy face.

"Asumi..." He muttered to himself: "You guy, this time, you really... found a treasure." Takada Shunying's eyes became more and more gloomy.

He planned to use his treasured 'treasures'.

Chapter 87 The storm continues! Hashijitaro is about to jump into the river!

The July wind, carrying the unique anxiety and restlessness of midsummer, blows across Tokyo, a steel forest that is bustling like a raging fire.

Time flies by and quietly slips into the second week.