My Name is Hiroshi Nohara, Star of Neon Film and Television! Chapter 201: Mizukami Sho's Daily Life! A Happy Daughter and

The six o'clock morning light — still untouched by the city's clamor — carried a clarity like the finest rice paper, unfurled by invisible hands across the jumbled rooftops of Shinjuku Ward.

It slipped through the spotless glass window of Mizukami Sho's ho and fell upon a bowl of miso soup still sending up delicate wisps of steam from the dining table, turning the tiny chopped scallions floating on its surface an impossibly vivid green.

The air was suffused with the clean fragrance of rice, the salty richness of grilled fish, and the deep, llow aroma of soy sauce — together composing the warm overture that belonged uniquely to a family morning.

"Good morning, Papa!"

A voice rang out, clear as a wind chi.

Mizukami Sho's daughter, Mizukami Sayuri, sat primly at the dining table. She wore a brand-new private school uniform — a crisp dark-blue blazer skirt with a burgundy bow at her collar — that made her already pretty face look even more adorably refined.

She watched her father erge from the bedroom, her eyes — so like Mizukami Sho's own — shining with undisguised adoration.

"Good morning, Sayuri." A gentle smile crossed Mizukami Sho's face. He walked to his daughter and softly tousled her silky hair.

"Darling, co eat — the food's getting cold." From the kitchen, Mizukami Sho's wife, Mizukami Misaki, erged carrying a freshly made tamagoyaki on a plate.

She wore a floral apron, and her well-kept face radiated a contentnt and happiness that ca from the very depths of her heart.

Looking at her husband, her perpetually gentle eyes now held a touch of inexpressible excitent and emotion.

"Papa! I'm going to my new school today for enrollnt!" Sayuri shoveled rice into her mouth as she spoke, her words coming out half-garbled, her excitent practically bursting from every pore. "I couldn't sleep a wink last night! I still can't believe it — I'm really going to attend Keio Girls Senior High School!"

She paused, set down her chopsticks, and fixed her wide, shining eyes on her father with an unblinking gaze of near-physical worship. "Papa! You're so amazing! You actually know the legendary Mr. Nohara Hiroshi! And he invited you to act in his new drama! As the lead! Oh my god! This is more unbelievable than if I'd gotten into Tokyo University!"

"Yes, darling." Misaki sat down beside her husband, serving him rice. Her eternally gentle eyes now glistened with faint tears. "I couldn't sleep last night either. It all feels like a dream. You're... you're finally going back to that stage you loved so much."

She studied the story-etched scar on her husband's face, her gaze full of heartache, relief, and the profound emotion of sothing lost and found again.

"It's only because Mr. Nohara saw sothing in ." Mizukami Sho rely smiled calmly, picking up a piece of golden tamagoyaki and chewing it slowly. The fluffy texture and sweet-savory flavor brought him a quiet sense of peace.

That equanimity — unmoved by either favor or disgrace — ford a curiously trustworthy contrast with the fierce-looking scar on his face.

"What do you an, 'saw sothing in you'?!" Misaki shot him a reproachful look, her voice carrying equal asures of exasperation and stubborn pride. "Have you forgotten how popular you were when you were young? Back then, you were hailed as the 'Last Idol Prince of the Millennium'! If you hadn't offended that damned talent agency — if they hadn't blacklisted you — you'd be the biggest star in Japan by now! That Kamiki Shunsuke wouldn't even be worth ntioning!"

"That's enough, Misaki. It's all in the past." Mizukami Sho shook his head with a smile, reaching out to gently clasp his wife's hand. The warmth and reassurance instantly cald her. "These days, I'm just a cook. Being able to quietly make the food my custors enjoy — that's enough for ."

"Papa is NOT just a cook!" Sayuri protested imdiately, sitting up straight with a daughter's fierce pride blazing from her small fra. "You're about to star in Mr. Nohara Hiroshi's new drama! Once it airs, you're going to be a hundred tis more famous than that Kamiki Shunsuke!"

"Ha ha ha ha!" Mizukami Sho couldn't help but laugh, ward by the sight of his daughter's fiercely protective adorableness.

He knew this ho was his most steadfast harbor — the warm shore where he could always find refuge.

After breakfast, Misaki took their daughter — brimming with limitless hope for the future — to complete the new school enrollnt.

Mizukami Sho changed into clean, simple clothes — a white dress shirt and dark-blue jeans. Unassuming, yet they outlined his still-upright fra to good effect despite his middle years.

He stepped outside, drew in a deep breath of the cool morning air, then set off with steady steps toward TV Tokyo.

Standing before the towering steel behemoth of TV Tokyo's Production Bureau building, even a man as weathered by life's ups and downs as Mizukami Sho couldn't suppress a surge of awe.

He pulled out his phone and dialed the number Nohara Hiroshi had given him — Kitagawa Yao's.

Before long, a girl with a high ponytail, radiating youthful energy, ca jogging out of the building.

"Hello! Are you Mr. Mizukami Sho?" Kitagawa Yao looked at the middle-aged man before her — striking in both appearance and bearing — her bright eyes sparkling with barely contained excitent and curiosity.

"Yes, that's ." Mizukami Sho nodded.

"Wonderful! I'm Departnt Manager Nohara's assistant, Kitagawa Yao! He's already given instructions — I'm to take you directly to his office!" Kitagawa Yao said enthusiastically, efficiently handling his visitor registration as she spoke.

When Mizukami Sho followed Kitagawa Yao into the Nohara Independent Production Departnt — that realm within a realm — his long-stilled heart was once again overwheld by an entirely new wave of astonishnt.

The vast office space teed with people — not a seat unoccupied.

Young staff in all manner of creative, individualistic attire rushed between workstations.

Phone rings, conversation, the scratchy whisper of pens on notebooks, and impassioned discussions blended into a symphony that belonged to this era — pulsing with vitality and ambition.

"In-incredible!" Mizukami Sho murmured, taking in this space crackling with creative energy. Even his usually placid eyes now glead with sothing long absent — the fire of passion.

"I know, right?!" Kitagawa Yao bead with the shared pride of a TV Tokyo employee, standing tall and radiant. "Our Departnt Manager is the youngest and most brilliant producer at TV Tokyo — in all of Japan's television industry, really!"

She lowered her voice conspiratorially, like a miniature spy sharing classified intel. "You have no idea — our Departnt Manager was just twenty-three when he beca head of the Independent Production Departnt! In just one year, he accomplished a triple-jump promotion that most people couldn't manage in an entire career! From an anonymous assistant director, he was promoted directly to a Level Four Director with his own independent section! Then in six months, on the back of Tales of the Unusual and Kasou Taishou — those cultural phenona — he was promoted again to Level Three Director, gaining the largest and most autonomous Independent Production Departnt in the entire Production Bureau! In our TV Tokyo's entire history, this is an unprecedented exception!"

Mizukami Sho listened quietly, his storm-weathered heart now holding nothing but marrow-deep reverence.

"This is... the privilege of genius?" he murmured to himself.

"Exactly!" Kitagawa Yao nodded vigorously, then looked at Mizukami Sho with curious, bright eyes. "But anyway, Owner Mizukami, what brings you here today?"

"Mr. Nohara invited to play the lead in his new drama, Midnight Diner." Mizukami Sho replied.

"Huh?!" Kitagawa Yao's eyes went round. She clapped a hand over her mouth, her vibrant face frozen in disbelief.

She'd half-guessed, but hearing the confirmation in person still left her dizzy with shock.

"You're really going to play the Owner?!"

"Yes."

Just then, a slightly tired yet thoroughly excited voice called out from the side.

"Owner Mizukami? Why are you here?"

Mizukami Sho turned to see a middle-aged man in black-frad glasses, looking sowhat disheveled, staring at him in astonishnt.

"Ah, it's you." A warm smile crossed Mizukami Sho's face. "I rember you — you ca to my shop just the other day to have a tamagoyaki."

"That's right! That's right!" Sato Kenji nodded eagerly, striding over in three quick steps. His excitent was palpable. "I'm Sato Kenji — the director for this Midnight Diner production. Never expected we'd et again so soon! What a coincidence!"

"Director Sato, nice to et you." Mizukami Sho extended his hand politely for a handshake.

"Director Sato, perfect timing!" Kitagawa Yao said with a smile. "The Departnt Manager was just asking to fetch you! Since you're already here, let's go see him together!"

"Right!"

Just then, the innermost office door swung silently open.

Nohara Hiroshi's tall, upright figure appeared in the doorway.

He wore a simple white T-shirt and jeans, his easy confidence forming a strikingly trustworthy contrast against the tense, busy atmosphere around him.

"Everyone's here." His voice was quiet but carried the precision of a perfectly struck note, instantly drawing every eye in the room.

"Since we're all assembled, let's not waste ti." He surveyed the group, his clear eyes gleaming with undeniable authority and confidence. "Today, we begin filming."

"What?!"

Mizukami Sho and Sato Kenji jolted simultaneously, eyes going wide.

"T-Today?!" Sato Kenji's voice trembled slightly. "D-Departnt Manager! Isn't that too fast?! We haven't even found a filming location! And the actors—"

"Director Sato." Nohara Hiroshi smiled calmly, placing a reassuring hand on Sato Kenji's shoulder. "Go contact the production crew and the cast imdiately. I want everyone assembled within one hour at that alley in Shinjuku's Kabukicho."

He paused, then turned his gaze to Mizukami Sho, a playful glint in his clear eyes.

"As for the filming location..." A mysterious curve ford at Nohara Hiroshi's lips. "We'll use your restaurant. On-location filming."

"Huh?!" Mizukami Sho's eyes went wide again. A rare flash of panic crossed his usually stern face. "But... my shop is tiny and run-down, and there's clutter everywhere — it can't possibly—"

"Owner Mizukami." Nohara Hiroshi simply smiled, raising his hand to cut him off gently. "What I want is precisely that authentic feeling of 'tiny and run-down.' What I want is exactly that warmth and vitality of real life."

He paused, sweeping his gaze over the two n — both rendered speechless by his lightning-fast decisiveness — and let a confident curve play at his lips.

He clapped his hands once.

The sound was soft, but it resonated like the most resolute war drum.

"Alright, everyone."

"Move out."

Mizukami Sho stood rooted in place, staring at Nohara Hiroshi's impossibly young yet unfathomably deep face. His long-weathered heart now held but one thing — the utter fervor of total conquest.

He felt as though he'd been plunged into so fantastical adventure dream.

And the young man nad Nohara Hiroshi was this dream's creator god.

"Um... Director Sato..." He instinctively tugged at the sleeve of the equally "frozen" man beside him, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Is Departnt Manager Nohara always... like this?"

Sato Kenji exhaled a long, long breath — tinged with resignation, with a rueful smile, and with a composure born of sothing called "getting used to it."

He turned, regarded Mizukami Sho's face full of shock and bewildernt, and offered the knowing smile of a veteran.

"You'll get used to it."

"Our Departnt Manager has always been like this."

...

The Toyota Crown's sleek black fra slid through Shinjuku's Kabukicho streets in broad daylight like a silent beetle.

The district looked like a diva stripped of her heavy stage makeup — the neon and roar of night peeled away, revealing a complexion that was slightly weary, even pale.

Behind closed shutters lurked the residue of last night's alcohol and hormones. The air carried a faint, hung-over languor.

The streets were nearly deserted. Only a few stray cats rummaged near garbage bins with a nonchalance that exceeded even the occasional haggard commuter passing by.

"This is the place." Nohara Hiroshi parked the car, his voice as calm as if stating the most mundane fact.

But when Yamamoto Takeshi and Sato Kenji stepped out and stood before this familiar yet unfamiliar alley once more, their shock-numbed hearts couldn't help surging with tidal force yet again.

"D-Departnt Manager, you really intend to... film on-location, right here?" Yamamoto Takeshi's voice trembled ever so faintly. He stared at the tiny shop with its faded blue curtain, his gaze like that of a man witnessing stone about to turn to gold.

"Where else?" Nohara Hiroshi countered, surveying the quiet alley with almost childlike satisfaction in his clear eyes. "The bustle of nightti is all for show. Only this dayti stillness and solitude — that's life's true canvas. The story of the Midnight Diner should begin from a place exactly like this."

The mont he finished speaking, several vehicles marked with the "TV Tokyo" logo — prop trucks and equipnt vans — rolled silently into both ends of the alley like disciplined soldiers.

"Seal off the alley!"

"Lighting crew, prepare! Cara A position over there!"

"Props team! Quick! Raise that black canopy! Today, we're hiding the sun!"

At Yamamoto and Sato's commands, the entire production crew sprang to life like a precision instrunt given its soul, operating with seamless efficiency.

An enormous black canopy rose like the wings of night, completely severing the alley from the pale sky above.

Then, one by one, high-powered studio lights blazed to life, cleverly positioned on rooftops and corners. Their beams, filtered through diffusion panels, transford into streams of moonlight — cool yet gentle — that fell with precision upon the Midnight Diner's faded blue curtain.

The props team, working like master interior designers, placed one life-saturated detail after another inside the already cozy restaurant.

Hand-written nus on the walls. An array of sake bottles along the counter. A wooden rack in the corner, hung with bottles custors had stored there.

In barely an hour, this unremarkable dayti alley had been transford — forcibly, brilliantly — into a late-night stage brimming with stories and the warmth of human life.

Mizukami Sho stood to the side in a daze, watching his familiar little shop slowly morphing into that place from the manga — so familiar yet so surreal — under these professionals' hands. His still-water heart held nothing now but marrow-deep awe.

"Mr. Mizukami."

A suited middle-aged man carrying docunts approached respectfully.

"Hello, I'm the executive director for this production. My na is Minamino." He bowed politely, then extended the docunts. "Here is your acting contract and the location rental agreent. Please review them."

Mizukami Sho accepted the papers with so awkwardness — an ordinary man's nervousness making him reluctant to et the other's eyes directly.

But when his gaze fell on the prominent figures printed on the contract, that nervous heart was instantly replaced by a far greater shock.

"This... this..." His voice trembled. His usually calm eyes went round, his face a mask of disbelief.

"Actor's fee: one million yen per episode. Location rental: one million yen per episode. Total: two million yen per episode." Executive Director Minamino's voice was calm and asured, as though the number he'd cited — one capable of transforming an ordinary family's fate — were nothing more than a routine report.

"T-Two million yen... per episode?!" Mizukami Sho felt his heart might leap out of his throat.

He instinctively glanced at the contract figures again. Each crisp "0" hamred against his reality-worn heart like a precision strike.

His little shop — early to rise, late to close, grinding away month after month — might net fifty thousand dollars of pure inco in a good month, after all costs.

In a bad month, it was less than thirty thousand.

Yet now, Nohara Hiroshi — this absurdly young man — had casually waved his hand and offered him two million yen per episode!

This was more surreal, more staggering than robbing a bank!

"Um... Director Minamino..." Mizukami Sho's voice carried a near-imperceptible tremor. His eyes were filled with gratitude and... a hint of unease. "This is far too much. I'm just an ordinary person — I can't possibly be worth this. And my shop is so small and shabby—"

"Mr. Mizukami." Executive Director Minamino simply smiled, genuine admiration crossing his face. "You're worth every yen. Because you were personally chosen by Departnt Manager Nohara."

He paused, his tone growing more solemn. "And your shop isn't small and shabby. It is the soul of this drama. So please — accept this contract without any burden."

Mizukami Sho stood frozen. The words filled his shock-numbed heart with an entirely new emotion — one that could only be called "being deeply moved."

He understood that this contract represented more than money. It was respect and recognition from Nohara Hiroshi himself.

"Th-Thank you! Thank you, Departnt Manager Nohara!" He bowed repeatedly, his heartfelt gratitude overflowing.

Yet into this atmosphere of gratitude and emotion, a slightly hoarse yet powerful voice cut like a sudden winter wind.

"Save the thanks for after we've finished filming."

Nohara Hiroshi had appeared behind him at so point.

In his hands were a deep indigo kimono and a thick stack of paper covered in storyboard sketches.

He held the kimono out to Mizukami Sho, his clear eyes shining with absolute confidence.

"Put this on."

He paused, then pressed the stack of storyboards into Mizukami Sho's hands.

"Then morize these lines. Every last word. Not a single mistake."

Mizukami Sho snapped to attention. Looking at that impossibly young yet impossibly deep face, his excitent was instantly overtaken by an even greater wave of tension.

"Yes, sir!" He nodded hastily, his deanor as respectful as a new recruit about to charge into battle.

"Owner Mizukami, don't be so tense." Sato Kenji stepped in with a reassuring smile, patting Mizukami Sho's shoulder. His directorial steadiness made him particularly reassuring. "Setting up the location and adjusting the lighting will take at least three more hours. You have plenty of ti to study the script and find your groove. Take it slow — no rush."

"Thank you, Director Sato." Mizukami Sho nodded, looking down at the thick stack in his hands. His mind — long rusted by years of ordinary life — began spinning at full speed.

He found a quiet corner and carefully opened the storyboards.

The seemingly casual sketches, to his trained actor's eye, were pages from a spellbook — every line, every angle suffused with breathtaking artistry.

He gazed at the figure on the page — the scarred yet infinitely gentle man — and the heart called "actor," dormant for twenty years, began beating fiercely once more.

Just then, the sound of lively chatter drifted from the alley's entrance.

A dozen or so middle-aged actors — mostly in their forties and fifties, dressed in various styles but all sharing that unmistakable steadiness and confidence of seasoned veterans — were approaching in small clusters.

"Now look here, old Tanaka, that's not very sporting of you!" A slightly heavyset man with an ever-present genial smile was grumbling at a wiry, bespectacled man beside him. "At the Tales of the Unusual wrap party, you promised — promised! — that the next ti Departnt Manager Nohara had a production, you'd tell first! And then what? If I hadn't seen it in the newspaper, I wouldn't have known!"

"You've got nerve complaining!" The man called 'old Tanaka' pushed up his glasses, a mischievous glint in his cool eyes. "Last ti you got drunk, you clung to my wife, sobbing and begging her to run away with you! The fact that I didn't block your number is already generous!"

"I-I was drunk!" The heavyset man's face turned crimson as he sputtered his defense.

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

Everyone burst into good-natured laughter.

Without exception, they were veteran actors from the Kanto Faction — "old comrades" who'd worked closely with Nohara Hiroshi during Tales of the Unusual.

They were long accustod to his boundless imagination and lightning-fast work style.

"Alright, alright, enough fooling around." The eldest and most respected among them — a female actress — spoke with an amused smile, her well-maintained face full of fond exasperation. "Go collect your storyboards. If you're late, Departnt Manager Nohara will make you copy the script as punishnt."

Knowing smiles all around.

They collected their storyboards from Executive Director Minamino with practiced ease, then scattered into quiet corners to study them intently.

Their focus and professionalism left the watching Mizukami Sho sowhat stunned.

"They don't seem surprised at all," he whispered to Sato Kenji, who was adjusting a monitor nearby. "When I used to act, we'd get the script first, do a group read-through, and then start rehearsals. But here at Departnt Manager Nohara's, he just hands out storyboards directly?"

Sato Kenji offered the knowing smile of a veteran.

He pointed at the actors murmuring over their storyboards, his gaze full of admiration and a touch of envy.

"Owner Mizukami, you don't understand." He lowered his voice conspiratorially, like a miniature spy sharing state secrets. "Our Departnt Manager — he's a monster. What's inside his head isn't a script, it's the finished, edited final cut."

"Final cut?" Mizukami Sho blinked again.

"That's right — the final cut." Sato Kenji nodded, smiling at Mizukami Sho's bewildered expression. "So what he gives us isn't a conventional script — it's the 'instruction manual' for that finished product."

Just then, the heavyset man who'd been bickering with old Tanaka noticed them. He strolled over carrying a cup of hot tea and a broad smile.

"Well, well! This must be the soul of our show — 'the Owner' himself, in the flesh?" He studied Mizukami Sho with warm, curious eyes. "Hello, hello. I'm Minamino Ken — also Executive Director Minamino's father. In this drama, I play a yakuza boss who likes red wieners. Pleasure to et you — I'll be in your care."

"H-Hello, Mr. Minamino." Mizukami Sho stood up hastily, shaking his hand with so awkwardness.

He knew this man by reputation, of course — one of Japan's most acclaid character actors, famous for countless iconic yakuza roles. His commanding presence was the stuff of legend.

"Co now, Minamino-senpai, don't tease Owner Mizukami," Sato Kenji said with a grin. "This is his first ti experiencing the Departnt Manager's production thod. He's still getting his bearings."

"Getting his bearings?" Minamino Ken let out a hearty laugh, clapping Mizukami Sho on the shoulder. The breezy reassurance brought Mizukami Sho's nervous heart a few degrees of relief.

"Owner Mizukami, you worry too much!" He grinned. "I'll tell you — working under our Departnt Manager Nohara is the simplest and happiest thing in the world!"

"Oh? How so?" Mizukami Sho asked curiously.

"Because..." A mysterious smile crept across Minamino Ken's face. He pointed to his own storyboard, his eyes blazing with fervent worship. "Look here."

He spread the storyboards open before Mizukami Sho.

"See this panel." He pointed to the scarred, infinitely gentle man on the page, and slowly recited the line — a line that would drive any actor wild.

"'Whatever you'd like to eat — if I can make it, you can order it.'"

He paused, then pointed to another panel.

"Now look at this." He indicated the man silently frying red wieners for the yakuza boss, his expression radiating quiet acceptance.

"And this." He pointed to the final panel.

"You see, our Departnt Manager hasn't just drawn the fras, the cara angles, the dialogue. He's even annotated — for every wrinkle on your face — when it should move, what emotion should trigger it. For every trace of gentleness in your eyes — when it should appear, what story should prompt it. For the calloused hand that places food before soone — the exact angle, the exact pressure it should use to complete the gesture. Everything. He's marked it all out — clear as crystal, unmistakable."

"So, Owner Mizukami." A brilliant smile broke across Minamino Ken's face, its genuine ease and joy infectious. "You don't need to think about anything. You don't need to worry about anything. All you need to do is beco the man on the storyboard."

"All we need to do is beco the characters on the page."

"That is the most formidable — and most terrifying — thing about our Departnt Manager Nohara."

Mizukami Sho listened in a trance. He looked at the stack in his hands — those seemingly casual pages harboring infinite magic.

He felt as though he'd been transported back twenty years, to that sumr blazing with dreams and passion.

...

Nohara Hiroshi is practically a god!

Over the next three hours, that phrase echoed through Mizukami Sho's mind like an incantation.

The artificial "night" created in the alley seed to possess genuine magic, compressing and folding ti in ways that defied reason.

"Scene one, take one! Red wieners! Action!"

At Sato Kenji's command, Mizukami Sho instinctively — almost on pure muscle mory — mirrored the man on the storyboard and picked up the frying pan.

Heat the pan. Pour the oil. Slide the octopus-shaped red wieners into the sizzling surface.

"Sizzle—"

The sound, the aroma, the bright clink of the spatula against iron — all exactly the sa as twenty years of cooking in his own kitchen.

"Good! Relax your expression a little more, Owner Mizukami! You're not acting right now — you're making food for your custors!" Nohara Hiroshi's voice ca from behind the monitor, calm yet penetrating.

Mizukami Sho took a deep breath, looked at Minamino Ken in character as the yakuza boss, and slowly let the tension on his face lt into a cook's focused calm.

"Cut! Perfect! Moving on!"

"Scene two, take three! Tamagoyaki! Ready!"

"Cut! Excellent! The emotion is spot-on! Next!"

"Scene five, take two! Aryu's mories! Lighting crew — soften the light! I want that warm amber tone, like an old photograph!"

"Cut! Brilliant! That's exactly the feeling!"

One shot after another flowed past like clouds over water, progressing at a speed that left Mizukami Sho in disbelief.

No retakes. No argunts. Not even minor blocking adjustnts.

Everything unfolded as though they'd rehearsed a thousand tis — every person, every gesture landing precisely on the perfect mark.

When the clock struck eleven-thirty — when Minamino Ken's yakuza boss contentedly ate his last red wiener, left his paynt, and turned to vanish into the alley's "night" — Nohara Hiroshi's calm voice sounded once more.

"Cut! That's a wrap! Episode one, filming complete!"

"Huh?!"

Mizukami Sho's head snapped up. He stared at the crew already packing up equipnt, his usually stern face blank with disbelief.

It was... done?

An entire episode of a TV drama... just like that?

He felt as though he'd rely blinked — then woken from a brief, vivid dream.

"Alright everyone, great work!" Nohara Hiroshi rose from behind the monitor with a satisfied smile. "Excellent performance all around, very efficient. Break for lunch now. Two o'clock sharp, we reassemble here to film episode two — 'Cat Rice.'"

"This afternoon... we're filming episode two?" Mizukami Sho's voice quivered. He looked at Nohara Hiroshi the way one might look at a genuine monster.

This wasn't filming a drama — this was an assembly line producing works of art!

"Ha ha ha ha! Owner Mizukami, you didn't know?" Minamino Ken burst into laughter, clapping him on the shoulder with hearty reassurance. "This is our Departnt Manager Nohara's 'Hiroshi Speed'! You'll get used to it — just give it ti!"

Just then, Nohara Hiroshi walked over to Mizukami Sho.

"Owner Mizukami," he said, his eyes full of genuine appreciation, "your acting is excellent. Your cara instincts are impressive, too — you don't look like an amateur at all."

"Departnt Manager, you don't know the half of it," Sato Kenji chid in with a smile, admiration and a touch of envy in his gaze. "Owner Mizukami was an actor in our industry twenty years ago. Back then, he was hailed as the 'Last Idol Prince of the Millennium' — hugely popular. It was only because of certain... circumstances that he left the business."

"Oh? No wonder." Nohara Hiroshi nodded with a look of understanding, beneath which lay a faint trace of regret. "A senior in the profession — my apologies for not recognizing you sooner."

"No, no, Departnt Manager, please don't say that!" Mizukami Sho waved his hands frantically. Looking at this absurdly young yet bottomlessly deep man, the reverence in his bones made it impossible to stay composed.

"This is all thanks to you." His voice ca out hoarse, the bone-deep shock leaving even this veteran "ex-idol" slightly unhinged. "I've never seen filming this simple."

"In the twenty years since I stopped acting, I've kept an eye on the industry. I know how hard and exhausting making a drama is. But here, with you, I feel like... like a puppet on strings. I just follow the storyboard's instructions — make the right movents, say the right lines — and everything else, you've already thought of."

He paused, his voice carrying the fervor of total surrender.

"I even feel that all of us — actors, directors, lighting technicians, cinematographers — all of us together are nothing but brushes in your hand. And you... you are the one who truly created this world. A god."

Now, Mizukami Sho wholeheartedly endorsed this assessnt!

To mass-produce art at assembly-line speed — and from everything he could see, at an extraordinarily high level of quality?

If that didn't qualify as godlike, what did?

Nohara Hiroshi rely shook his head with a smile and joked, "Let's not throw around words like 'god.' In the end, only the ratings tell the story. But I imagine that once this airs, your midnight diner will be overflowing with custors. No more peace and quiet."

Everyone burst into laughter.

The atmosphere was warm and perfect.