My Name is Hiroshi Nohara, Star of Neon Film and Television! Chapter 199: The Real Midnight Diner! Nohara Hiroshi's Grand

Yamamoto Takeshi and Sato Kenji looked up instinctively.

At the far end of the alley stood a tiny, utterly nondescript restaurant — one that didn't even have a proper sign — sitting quietly in the darkness of night.

That warm, amber glow filtered through a wooden sliding door, tinting the faded blue cloth curtain hanging at the entrance in a wash of gentle color.

The look of it, the atmosphere, the feeling...

It was identical — absolutely identical — to the world Nohara Hiroshi had drawn in his manga!

The two n locked eyes, finding in each other's gaze the sa shock, the sa euphoria, the sa... disbelief.

"The... Midnight Diner?" they whispered in unison.

Nohara Hiroshi didn't answer. He simply smiled and took the lead, sliding open the creaking wooden door.

"Ding—"

A clear, bright wind chi sounded, and a warm fragrance — a blend of soy sauce, miso, and faint wisps of cooking oil — instantly enveloped all three of them.

The interior was small — just an L-shaped counter wrapping around an open kitchen, seating roughly ten or so. At the mont, the place was empty save for a middle-aged man in a deep indigo kimono and white apron, his back to them, ticulously wiping down the counter.

At the sound of the chi, the man turned slowly.

"Welco." His voice was low, magnetic, carrying the steady weight of a life fully lived.

But the mont his gaze fell on Nohara Hiroshi, his sowhat stern face blood into a smile — warm as winter sunlight breaking through clouds.

"Welco back, Hiroshi."

"Boom—!"

That simple greeting detonated like a nuclear warhead inside Yamamoto Takeshi and Sato Kenji's minds!

Both n jolted, their eyes going round as saucers, their faces stricken with utter disbelief.

The owner knew Nohara Hiroshi?!

They stared at the little eatery — the familiar wooden counter, the simple nu posted on the wall, the sake bottles in the corner — every single detail a perfect, flawless match for the manga!

They exchanged another dumbfounded glance, reading in each other's eyes that sa astonishnt threatening to overflow.

This... this was actually the real Midnight Diner?!

"I'm back, Owner Mizukami." Nohara Hiroshi rely smiled with quiet calm, as natural as if he were coming ho.

He removed his coat with practiced ease, hung it on the wall rack, then guided his two thoroughly petrified companions to seats at the counter.

"The usual." His voice carried a note of relaxed comfort. "Three craft beers to start. Then I'll have a plate of red wieners cut into octopus shapes, a tamagoyaki, a salt-grilled sanma, and a bowl of white rice."

"Coming right up."

Owner Mizukami Sho nodded with a smile. He reached beneath the counter into a chiller and produced three bottles of craft beer fogged with condensation, popped them open with a satisfying "pop," and filled three glasses with practiced precision.

Fine foam, golden liquid, an enticing aroma of malt.

Only then did he turn his warm, mildly curious gaze toward the two n who had been thoroughly "frozen" since walking through the door.

"What can I get for you two?" Mizukami Sho's voice remained perfectly calm. "The nu may be short, but anything I know how to make is fair ga."

Yamamoto Takeshi and Sato Kenji snapped out of their trance with a start.

They studied the owner before them. A scar ran from his left eyebrow down to his cheek, rendered strikingly vivid under the warm amber light — yet far from making him look nacing, it lent him a uniquely magnetic, story-laden charm.

Wasn't this the spitting image of the manga's owner?!

At this point, both Yamamoto and Sato felt their brains short-circuiting.

"Um... uh..." They stamred for half a minute, minds completely blank, unable to formulate an order.

"If you'd rather not overthink it," Mizukami said, reading their predicant and offering a compassionate smile, "I make a special tonjiru miso soup every day. Rich, savory, and delicious over rice."

"Yes! That! We'll have that!" Their eyes lit up instantly — wasn't this exactly the set al that appeared in the manga more than any other dish?!

"Please and thank you!"

They nodded frantically, clutching at this lifeline. Their total helplessness stood in stark contrast to the commanding strategists they were back at the Production Bureau.

"Of course. Just a mont."

Mizukami Sho smiled again, then turned and stepped into the compact kitchen — tiny in footprint yet brimming with the warmth and vitality of real life.

With a "sizzle," the burner ignited. The clink of pots and pans blended with the crackle and hiss of ingredients eting hot oil, composing the most beautiful symphony a late night could offer.

Only then did Yamamoto and Sato finally exhale.

They seized their beers and took a long, desperate gulp. The ice-cold liquid slid down their throats, bringing their shock-numbed hearts several rciful degrees closer to normal.

"D-Departnt Manager..." Yamamoto Takeshi's voice trembled almost imperceptibly. He looked at Nohara Hiroshi the way one might look at an omnipotent deity. "So... so the best-selling heartwarming food manga in all of Japan, Midnight Diner, was actually... actually inspired by this very place?!"

"That's right." Nohara Hiroshi smiled calmly, lifting his glass for a sip. "I stumbled upon this shop by accident. After a few visits, I realized Owner Mizukami's cooking was genuinely wonderful, and the atmosphere here sparked so ideas."

"'So ideas'?" Sato Kenji couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head in sincere admiration. "Departnt Manager, that wasn't 'so ideas' — you've stuffed an entire world inside this little restaurant!"

Just then, the deep indigo curtain over the kitchen doorway was gently pushed aside.

Mizukami Sho's scarred face peered out from behind it, wearing a shy yet genuine smile.

"Hiroshi is far too talented." He chuckled with a note of elder appreciation. "Honestly, when I read his manga, even I was amazed. All those custors, all those extraordinary stories — I've never served a single one of them, never encountered anything like that. And yet he wove them together with my little shop, with my cooking, into sothing seamless and perfect. Even I — the actual owner — was completely engrossed."

"Ohhh—!"

Yamamoto and Sato's eyes went wide again!

They stared at Mizukami Sho's face — the warm eyes, the bashful smile, the story-etched scar...

This man was an absolute carbon copy of the manga's protagonist — "the Owner"!

"The resemblance is uncanny!" Yamamoto couldn't contain his outburst. "Departnt Manager! Your manga's main character — don't tell he's based on..."

"Owner Mizukami was certainly a reference." Nohara Hiroshi admitted with a grin.

"Oh co now, Hiroshi, you're teasing again." Mizukami Sho scratched his head self-consciously, a rare flush of embarrassnt coloring his typically stern face. "Actually, quite a few manga readers have tracked this place down already. They all say I look just like the owner in the manga. And many of them say my shop feels like a real-life 'Midnight Diner.'"

"Then you must be famous now, Owner!" Yamamoto asked with curiosity.

In his mind, this was trendous luck! Fa ant foot traffic, foot traffic ant revenue!

Yet Mizukami Sho rely shook his head with a gentle smile, his eyes filled with the serene contentnt of a man unburdened by worldly ambition.

"I'm just a cook. All I want is to quietly make the food my custors enjoy." His voice was soft and sure. "Fa? I don't aspire to that. I prefer the simple life I have now."

That detachnt from fa and fortune drew genuine admiration from both n.

They exchanged glances, reading the sa emotion in each other's eyes.

This Owner Mizukami — in both appearance and temperant — was virtually indistinguishable from the manga's protagonist!

"That's exactly who Owner Mizukami is," Nohara Hiroshi agreed, looking at Mizukami with evident appreciation. "I've invited him multiple tis before, hoping he'd play the lead in the live-action Midnight Diner. But he's turned down every ti."

He paused, a mysterious curve forming at his lips, a deep perceptiveness gleaming in those clear eyes.

"But this ti, Owner Mizukami, I really do need your help."

"Hm?" Mizukami blinked, confusion filling his gentle eyes. "What is it, Hiroshi?"

Nohara Hiroshi set down his glass. His usually calm expression took on a carefully asured gravity.

"Here's the thing, Owner Mizukami." His voice was quiet but resonant with conviction. "My manga Midnight Diner is about to be adapted into a live-action TV drama. So I'd like to formally invite you once more to take on the role of the male lead."

"Hiroshi, I—" Mizukami started to decline, his instinctive aversion to the spotlight already kicking in.

But Nohara Hiroshi simply smiled, raising a hand to gently cut him off.

"Owner Mizukami, don't say no just yet." He grinned, his clear eyes shining with quiet, absolute confidence. "I know you don't like being in the public eye. But I heard your daughter will be starting junior high this year?"

Mizukami Sho's expression shifted. His usually gentle eyes went wide, sothing strange and guarded flashing across his features.

He stared blankly at Nohara Hiroshi, his mind going blank — because he had never ntioned his daughter to anyone!

How did he know?!

"Y-You..." Mizukami stumbled over his words.

"Please don't worry — I an no harm." Nohara Hiroshi smiled, the warmth and reassurance in his voice gradually steadying Mizukami's racing heart. "I simply think that with your daughter's talent, she deserves a better school and a better education."

He paused, then slowly, deliberately, laid down the one offer no father could refuse.

"How about this, Owner Mizukami? If you agree to appear in the drama, I'll imdiately arrange to have your daughter transferred to one of the top three private girls' junior high schools in all of Tokyo tropolis. All tuition and fees — covered entirely by TV Tokyo. What do you say?"

Mizukami Sho stood rooted to the spot. That heart of his — long since weathered into a state of still water by years of hardship — was now engulfed by towering waves.

One of the top three private girls' junior high schools in Tokyo tropolis!

That was a world so far beyond the reach of a man running a small diner that he'd never dared dream of it!

He knew that if his daughter could enter a school like that, her future would be luminous beyond asure.

His jaw clenched. That serene detachnt clashed violently, in that instant, with a father's love — deep as the ocean — in a fierce, internal battle.

At last, he exhaled a long, long breath — tinged with resignation, with compromise, and with desperate hope for his daughter's future.

He looked at Nohara Hiroshi. His usually stern face wore a complicated, rueful smile. "Hiroshi... you really do know how to find a man's weakness."

A radiant grin broke across Nohara Hiroshi's face.

He knew he'd succeeded.

Turning to the two n — both rendered utterly speechless by this "masterstroke" — the corner of his mouth curved with satisfaction.

"Well then, Section Chief Yamamoto, Director Sato." His voice ca light yet firm. "The lead has been found. The supporting cast — that's on you two."

Yamamoto and Sato snapped out of their stupor at last.

Gazing at Owner Mizukami — a man whose appearance and presence aligned with the manga's protagonist in absolute perfection — their shock-numbed hearts were once again ignited by a blazing, all-consuming fire called "passion."

"U-Understood, Departnt Manager!" They answered in unison, voices brimming with fighting spirit.

They knew that under the leadership of Nohara Hiroshi — the "cultural phenonon" — what they were about to create would be more than just a TV drama. It would be a legend capable of healing an entire era!

Nohara Hiroshi rely smiled with quiet calm.

Internally, he was deeply satisfied.

Not only did the real-life owner match the manga character almost perfectly — this man, Mizukami Sho, bore an uncanny resemblance in both appearance and aura to the actor from his previous life, Kobayashi Kaoru, who had brought "the Owner" to unforgettable life on screen!

It was as if he had been born expressly for the live-action Midnight Diner.

"Well, now that everything's settled — let's eat." Nohara Hiroshi patted both n's shoulders with an easy grin, as though the negotiation that had just decided a family's entire future were nothing more than a brief aside while ordering dinner.

"Sir!" Yamamoto and Sato ca to their senses at last, and the hunger they'd been suppressing erupted like a volcano.

"Grrrr—"

They looked at each other, saw identical embarrassnt mirrored back, and broke into sheepish, hearty laughter.

Mizukami Sho shook his head with an amused smile, retreated to the kitchen, and deftly began plating the dishes he'd prepared.

First ca Nohara Hiroshi's order.

A plate of small red wieners, seared until the skins were crisp and golden while the insides remained juicy and tender, each one carefully cut into adorable little octopus shapes — appetite-whetting at first sight.

Then a thick, fluffy tamagoyaki — layer upon golden layer of egg, exuding a rich fragrance of egg and the umami sweetness of dashi broth.

Next, a salt-grilled sanma, its skin roasted to a perfect crunch. A gentle nudge with chopsticks revealed the snow-white, delicate flesh beneath, sending an intoxicating wave of oily aroma through the air.

Finally, two steaming bowls of tonjiru miso soup — thick, hearty broth loaded with sliced pork, daikon, carrots, and konnyaku noodles, topped with a sprinkle of bright green scallions.

"Here's so extra tempura I made specially today — consider it a welco gift for Hiroshi's friends." Mizukami brought out a large platter of golden, crispy tempura: prawns, eggplant, kabocha squash, and green peppers, each piece coated in a delicate, paper-thin batter that looked impossibly inviting.

"Mmm—!"

Yamamoto and Sato's eyes blazed. Before them lay a table overflowing with the warm vitality of real food, and their ravenous hunger peaked in that instant.

"Then we won't hold back!"

They shouted in unison, seized their chopsticks, and tore through the feast like wind sweeping away clouds.

"Mmm! Incredible!" Yamamoto bit into a piece of tamagoyaki, his eyes narrowing with bliss. "This tamagoyaki is to die for! Better than anything I've had at the finest ryotei!"

"Absolutely!" Sato echoed, face buried in his bowl of tonjiru miso soup. The rich broth and generous ingredients made every pore in his body open with contentnt. "This soup... this soup tastes like ho! Pure warmth!"

"Owner Mizukami, with skills like yours, it's a tragedy you haven't opened a proper restaurant!" Yamamoto marveled.

Mizukami Sho responded with another bashful smile, scratching his head. The shyness ford a peculiarly endearing contrast with the story-etched scar on his face.

"Oh, please — I only know how to make simple ho cooking." He laughed, the modesty leaving both n montarily stunned.

The resemblance! It was uncanny!

Wasn't this exactly the manga's owner — the man who silently prepared heartwarming als for his custors, never once boasting about his craft?!

They exchanged yet another glance, that bone-deep fervor blazing in each other's eyes!

They knew: this drama was going to succeed.

Just then, the door slid open again.

"Ding—"

Wind chis tinkled as several custors — looking freshly off work, traces of fatigue still on their faces — filed in one after another.

"Evening, Owner."

"Good evening. A beer and a potato salad, please."

"Owner, any tamagoyaki left? I'll take one."

"Cat rice for . Extra bonito flakes."

The custors settled into their seats at the counter with easy familiarity, ordering their favorites as though this were their second ho.

None of them paid much attention to the three n sitting in the corner. They simply chatted among themselves.

"Hey, did you hear? That Midnight Diner manga is apparently really getting a live-action drama!" A man in a business suit leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

"Seriously?!" The fashionable young woman beside him lit up instantly. "I'm a diehard fan of that manga! It's literally my 'spiritual nourishnt'! Every ti my boss chews out or a client gives grief, a few pages of that manga and I feel recharged!"

"Right? Right?" A bespectacled, sowhat plain-looking man chid in. "That manga isn't just about food — it's about life! Every story is so ordinary, yet so real, so moving! I honestly think the mangaka must be soone who's lived through many stories himself — a gentle soul."

Listening to these heartfelt accolades from nearby, Yamamoto and Sato couldn't suppress proud smiles — the quiet pride of n who'd earned the right to share in that glory.

They sat up straighter, the producer's pride making them feel as though they were already part of this legend.

"But you know—" The fashionable girl's face clouded with worry. "Manga-to-live-action adaptations carry huge risks! What worries most is the casting! Especially the Owner — he's the soul of the entire manga! If they pick the wrong actor, the whole thing falls apart!"

"Totally!" The glasses-wearing man agreed. "The Owner seems simple to play, but he's actually the hardest role! Not too handso, not too plain — he needs this unique quality that's both stern and gentle, mysterious yet approachable! Where on earth do you even find an actor like that?"

"Don't worry about it." The suit-wearing man grinned, taking a confident sip of his drink — as if he himself were the show's producer. "The man behind this drama is Nohara Hiroshi! The 'cultural phenonon' who can turn lead into gold! I'm absolutely certain he'll find the perfect actor for the Owner!"

"Exactly! I believe in Departnt Manager Nohara!" The fashionable girl declared passionately, her bright eyes blazing with fervent light. "He's the pride of Japan! Every drama he's ever made has been amazing!"

At that mont, Mizukami Sho erged from the kitchen carrying a steaming bowl of tonjiru miso soup.

He set it gently before the suited man, a gentle smile on his face.

He said nothing — but shot an almost imperceptible wink toward Nohara Hiroshi.

That glance was full of good-natured teasing.

Nohara Hiroshi caught it and shook his head, torn between laughter and exasperation.

He picked up his chopsticks, popped a piece of tempura into his mouth, and savored the crispy texture and rich flavor with quiet satisfaction.

"Hey! Look at the TV! Look at the TV!"

Suddenly the bespectacled man pointed excitedly at the small television mounted in the corner. "Yamishibai Season Six! It's premiering today! It's starting! It's starting!"

"No way! For real?! I've been waiting forever!"

"Excellent! That's the ultimate dinner companion show!"

"Owner! Turn it up, please!"

The entire restaurant buzzed with excitent.

Every eye locked onto the tiny screen.

On it, the familiar, eerily atmospheric opening animation was already playing.

The kamishibai man — yellow mask, riding his bicycle — appeared once more.

"This ani is sothing else!" The suited man sighed between bites of potato salad. "Each episode is only a few minutes long, yet it scares half to death! What on earth goes on inside Nohara Hiroshi's head?!"

"I know, right?!" The fashionable girl agreed, peeking at the screen through her fingers despite her terror. "I heard this ani is absolutely massive online! Young people everywhere are saying it's the scariest, most addictive ani they've ever seen!"

"Ani is just the beginning!" The glasses man pushed his fras up, his usually blank eyes now shining with undisguised worship. "You have no idea — Nohara Hiroshi is a total Renaissance man! Ani, dramas, variety shows, films, manga — he does everything! And everything he touches turns to gold! I honestly believe he's the one who'll carry Japanese culture to the world stage and conquer it!"

Listening to these fervent — almost fanatical — testimonials, Yamamoto and Sato exchanged yet another silent look.

They watched the young man with his head down, quietly eating his rice, and felt in their bones nothing but profound, marrow-deep awe.

They knew they were following not rely a producer, but a man on the verge of birthing an entirely new era — sothing close to a god.

"Even gods need to eat." Nohara Hiroshi's calm voice snapped both n back from their near-religious reverence.

He gestured with his chopsticks at the still-steaming dishes on the table, his expression utterly matter-of-fact — as if the strategic mastermind they'd just witnessed were rely a fignt of their imagination.

"Hurry up and eat. We need to go ho and sleep — there's a mountain of work waiting tomorrow. Can't have Tokyo City TV thinking the people at TV Tokyo operate by being 'divine beings' instead of actual workers."

"Pfft—"

Yamamoto nearly sprayed his mouthful of beer. He looked at Nohara Hiroshi's deadpan face, then at Sato beside him — red-faced and fighting desperately not to burst — and finally lost it, erupting into laughter.

"Yes! Yes, sir! The Departnt Manager is absolutely right!" Yamamoto grabbed his chopsticks between laughs, seized a massive golden prawn tempura, and bit down with gusto. "Can't lose on stamina! Gotta eat more if we're going to fight!"

"Damn right! Bottoms up!" Sato shed his earlier inhibitions entirely. He raised his glass, clinked it firmly against Yamamoto's, and drained the golden liquid in one long pull — as though he were swallowing all his past anxieties and uncertainties along with it.

"Ahh—! Perfect!" He set the glass down, exhaled deeply, then grabbed his chopsticks and joined the assault on the feast.

"These red wieners! Departnt Manager, how did you even think to cut them into octopus shapes? It's like... a taste of childhood!"

"And this tamagoyaki! Sweetness is just right — fluffy as a cloud! Owner Mizukami, do you have so kind of secret recipe?"

"This tonjiru is the real showstopper! So much stuff in here! Pork, daikon, konnyaku... I could drink three huge bowls of this!"

They ate and praised in equal asure, their genuine satisfaction and joy filling the tiny midnight diner with an atmosphere that could only be called "happiness."

anwhile, the other custors were riveted to the TV screen, where Yamishibai Season Six was playing, their gasps and sharp intakes of breath punctuating the darkness.

"Oh my god! This episode is terrifying!" The fashionable young woman was now clinging tightly to the suited man's arm, her perfectly made-up face etched with horror. "That woman... that woman doesn't have a shadow!"

"Shh... quiet!" The suited man said, though his own eyes — locked unblinkingly on the screen — betrayed his equal terror. "The big mont's coming! The kamishibai man is about to drop one of his spine-chilling twists again!"

"I... I can't watch!" The girl buried her face in the man's chest, her voice half a whimper.

Then the screen shifted, and the familiar, eerily atmospheric ending the began to play.

"...It's over?" The girl peeked up cautiously, her wide eyes brimming with the relief of a disaster survivor.

"It's over." The suited man exhaled long and hard, realizing his entire back was drenched in cold sweat.

"Honestly... it terrifies every ti, and yet I can't stop watching." The girl pouted, her complaint laced with unmistakable sweetness. "It's all Nohara Hiroshi's fault! He's literally a demon!"

Listening to these "love-hate" reviews, Nohara Hiroshi simply smiled, finished the last bite of rice from his bowl, and set down his chopsticks.

"Let's head out." He rose, addressing Yamamoto and Sato.

"Huh? Already?" Both n clearly wanted to linger.

"Business is done, dinner is done — unless you'd rather stay and let the fans mob us?" Nohara Hiroshi teased, pulling several ten-thousand-yen notes from his wallet and offering them to Mizukami Sho.

Mizukami shook his head with a smile and pushed the money back. "Hiroshi, you've done an enormous favor today. This al is on ."

"Business is business." Nohara Hiroshi firmly tucked the bills into Mizukami's apron pocket. "If you really want to thank , just save the title of 'godfather' to your daughter."

"Ha ha ha ha! You rascal!" Mizukami laughed aloud, regarding Nohara Hiroshi with the fond indulgence of an elder who'd grown deeply attached to a brilliant junior.

Nohara Hiroshi said nothing more. He turned to leave, but just before stepping out, cast one last aningful look back at Mizukami Sho.

"Owner Mizukami, don't forget our agreent." He smiled, his voice carrying quiet, absolute certainty.

Mizukami Sho's smile grew solemn. He nodded firmly, his gaze equally resolute.

"I won't, Hiroshi."

But just as Nohara Hiroshi was turning to leave with his two thoroughly fed and satisfied "gluttons" in tow, an uncertain voice called out from behind.

"Excuse ... p-please wait!"

It ca from the suited man — the sa one who monts ago had been discussing Yamishibai with the fashionable girl.

He stood frozen in place, his eyes round as dinner plates, his face a mask of incredulous shock.

His finger, trembling faintly, pointed at Nohara Hiroshi's retreating back, his voice stuttering with excitent.

"You... you wouldn't happen to be..."

Nohara Hiroshi paused mid-step. He turned slowly, a perfectly calibrated look of mild resignation crossing his calm features.

"Ah. I've been spotted." His tone suggested not a celebrity caught by fans, but a man who'd accidentally stepped on the neighbor's cat's tail.

"BOOM—!"

That understated admission detonated inside the tiny diner like a depth charge!

"WHAT?!"

"What?! He... he's Nohara Hiroshi?!"

"Oh my god! It really is Departnt Manager Nohara! In the flesh! A living, breathing human being!"

"Wow— he's even more handso in person than on TV!"

After a heartbeat of stunned silence, the restaurant erupted in earth-shaking screams!

The fashionable girl was the first to rocket from her seat, hands clamped over her mouth, her eyes instantly brimming with tears of excitent!

Then the plain-looking glasses man, and every other custor in the shop, sprang up like switched-on automatons and surged toward Nohara Hiroshi!

"Departnt Manager Nohara! Is it really you?!"

"Sir! I'm... I'm your biggest fan! I absolutely love your Tales of the Unusual! Every episode blows my mind!"

"Sir! Could... could you sign my shirt? Right here on the shirt!"

"Sir! Can I shake your hand? I've dread of shaking your hand!"

In an instant, the little midnight diner was transford into a full-blown fan et.

Everyone was babbling incoherently, their eyes fixed on Nohara Hiroshi, blazing with fevered adoration.

Yamamoto and Sato, anwhile, had already been floored by this sudden onslaught. They instinctively flanked Nohara Hiroshi, left and right, looking for all the world like two loyal bodyguards.

"Wait! Wait!" The fastest-reacting suited man suddenly pointed at the restaurant itself, a flash of epiphany blazing in his shrewd eyes. "This shop... the decor... and this owner... This is the Midnight Diner from the manga!"

The instant his words landed, every eye swiveled to Mizukami Sho, who stood in the kitchen doorway looking thoroughly helpless.

"It really is! An exact match!"

"Oh my god! Even the scar on his face is the sa!"

"Does this an... does this an the live-action version is actually happening?! And the Owner is being played by this actual owner?!"

Unbridled joy and anticipation flooded every face.

They knew that tonight, they hadn't rely bumped into their idol — they had witnessed the beginning of a legend!

Looking at these "ordinary people" — faces flushed with excitent, eyes sparkling like stars — Nohara Hiroshi's ever-calm heart couldn't help but ripple with warmth.

He smiled, raising one hand and gently pressing it downward.

That composure and confidence quieted the entire clamoring space in an instant.

"Everyone, please — calm down." His voice was soft, yet like the gentlest spring breeze, it instantly soothed every racing heart. "I'm just an ordinary office worker tonight, who got hungry and ca here for a bowl of rice. Please don't get so worked up."

His breezy nonchalance against the backdrop of their wild frenzy created a contrast that was equal parts absurd and endearing.

"But... but, Departnt Manager!" The fashionable girl summoned her courage. Her bright eyes shimred with unspoken hope. "The live-action version..."

A mysterious smile crossed Nohara Hiroshi's face.

He raised his index finger and placed it against his lips in a "shh" gesture.

"So things have to stay secret." He dropped his voice, a mischievous glint in those clear eyes.

He paused, then leaned in conspiratorially, speaking in a tone of mock-solemn confession — just loud enough for them all to hear:

"I absolutely will not tell you that the live-action version starts filming next month, and that the Owner will be played by Owner Mizukami himself. That is classified information! And you must absolutely not share it with anyone!"

"Pfft—"

After one beat of stunned silence, the restaurant exploded with thunderous laughter!

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

"Departnt Manager, you are too funny!"

"We absolutely won't breathe a word! Absolutely not!"

"Don't worry, sir! Our lips are sealed!"

Everyone was thoroughly undone by Nohara Hiroshi's playful "worst-kept secret" routine.

The heartfelt joy filled the tiny midnight diner with an atmosphere that could only be called "pure happiness."

They knew that Nohara Hiroshi — the man hailed as a "cultural phenonon" — possessed not just talent, but charisma and genuine human warmth.

anwhile, Mizukami Sho stood in the background with his hands on his hips, watching the crowd's adoring frenzy, a look of fond reminiscence softening his features.

Back when he was young, he too had once been this popular.