My Name is Hiroshi Nohara, Star of Neon Film and Television! Chapter 205: The Midnight Diner Opening Theme! Guitar-Borne

When President Shimazu's departing figure vanished behind the heavy wooden doors, the wire-taut tension in the conference room finally loosened with a faint, resonant hum.

Sakata Nobuhiko, Asumi, and Takada Toshihide exhaled simultaneously — each breath carrying the bone-deep exhaustion of disaster survivors and the vertigo of having their worldviews fundantally upended.

"Hiroshi..." Asumi broke the silence first. His usually cheerful face now bore an indescribable complexity, the look of soone staring at a monster who'd just returned from another dinsion. "I always knew you were brilliant at making shows, brilliant at manga, brilliant at films... but I never — never in a million years — imagined you knew this much about... elections?!"

"Indeed, Hiroshi." Takada Toshihide's face carried a rare expression bordering on awe. "That 'Information Cocoon' concept you described was... terrifying. It goes far beyond re publicity strategy — it's practically a conspiracy aid directly at the human heart. I'd wager not even the veteran politicians who've spent half their lives crawling through Nagatacho could devise sothing so... precise and lethal."

Nohara Hiroshi rely smiled his calm smile — his modesty forming a sharp contrast with the image of the man who'd just been dictating grand strategy and stirring the winds of fate.

"You're both too kind." His tone stayed as even as if that discussion about national destiny had been nothing more than a routine program planning session. "I simply took the psychological analysis techniques we use when studying our audiences and... enlarged them slightly. At the end of the day, whether they're viewers or voters, what people want is the sa — a sense of 'being understood.'"

These breezy words sent another jolt through the three power brokers.

They exchanged glances, finding identical rueful smiles in each other's eyes.

"Slight techniques"?

These weren't "slight techniques." These were the dragon-slaying arts of mass psychological manipulation!

"Alright, let's set that aside." Sakata smiled and waved his hand. He walked to the window, gazing at the cityscape slowly turning gold under the setting sun, his eyes gleaming with the excitent of a new era about to dawn. "Regardless, President Shimazu has finally made up his mind. And TV Tokyo finally has a true helmsman."

He turned to face everyone, his smile genuine and warm.

"Everyone, starting next month, I, Sakata Nobuhiko, will officially assu the presidency. I look forward to your guidance and your support."

"President Sakata! You're far too modest!" Asumi was the first on his feet, bowing with deep respect. "Your appointnt as president is an honor for every person at TV Tokyo! You have our absolute support!"

"Indeed, President Sakata." Takada Toshihide hurried to rise as well, stealing a glance at Asumi before bowing. "Rest assured — the Production Bureau will be the sharpest blade in your hand!"

"Congratulations, President Sakata!" Nohara Hiroshi likewise stood and bowed.

"Very well." Sakata first looked at Nohara Hiroshi, then at these two proven commanders — once belonging to rival factions, now fighting side by side for the sa cause — and felt an inexpressible surge of pride.

He knew his era had arrived.

"'Guidance' is far too generous." He shook his head with a smile, then swept his gaze across everyone. "But we must not forget President Shimazu's faith in us. In this election, TV Tokyo must go all in! Not rely for President Shimazu's sake, but for our own — for the Greater Tokyo Faction — to seize a chance of survival in the coming storm!"

"Yes, sir!" ca the unified reply.

"That said—" Sakata's gaze settled on the young man who had remained calm throughout, strategic cunning glinting in his shrewd eyes. "Hiroshi, now that the broad direction for the election campaign is set, how do you think we should specifically integrate President Shimazu's platform with our programming? For instance... your Midnight Diner, which premieres tonight?"

"Simple." Nohara Hiroshi answered so fast he might not have thought at all — as though the answer had been brewing in his mind for an eternity.

"After each episode of Midnight Diner, we imdiately cut to a special interview segnt lasting roughly three to five minutes." He t their expectant gazes, confidence curving his lips. "We'll call it 'President Shimazu's Late-Night Chat.'"

"President Shimazu's Late-Night Chat?" Asumi's eyes lit up instantly.

"Exactly."

Nohara Hiroshi nodded and continued. "For example — episode one features the yakuza boss and the octopus wieners. The core the is 'contrast' and 'the softness hidden deep inside.' In the interview segnt, we'd have President Shimazu discuss his understanding of 'the complexity of human nature.' He could share stories from his youth — encounters with people who seed fearso but were genuinely kind inside. Then, naturally, the conversation pivots to his governing philosophy: 'Don't judge by appearances. Don't define by status. Listen with your heart to every citizen's innermost voice.'"

"Or episode two — the female singer and cat rice. The core the is 'dreams' and 'perseverance.' In the interview, we'd have President Shimazu talk about supporting young people's aspirations. He could describe his own journey from an unknown youth to realizing his life's ambitions. Then the topic shifts to his campaign promise: 'Providing a fairer, broader stage for every dream-carrying young person!'"

"Most critically," Nohara Hiroshi's voice dropped low and powerful, "the interview set must match Midnight Diner's aesthetic perfectly. Warm amber lighting, a wooden bar counter, a glass of sake, a plate of small dishes... We must make viewers feel that President Shimazu isn't so lofty politician, but a friendly neighborhood uncle willing to sit and chat with them over a late-night drink. A kindred spirit who understands all their loneliness and confusion."

"This way, we seamlessly transfer the warmth, the healing, the emotional connection that Midnight Diner builds — onto President Shimazu. The viewers who are moved by the drama will, without realizing it, beco President Shimazu's most loyal... voters!"

"Clap! Clap! Clap!"

The mont Nohara Hiroshi finished, Asumi couldn't contain himself. He slapped his thigh and burst into excited applause.

"Perfect! Absolutely perfect!" He exclaid. "Hiroshi! How is your brain even wired?! This is nothing short of a flawless campaign strategy!"

"Indeed, Hiroshi." Takada Toshihide's admiration was genuine. "rging program content with campaign ssaging so cleverly, so subtly — like spring rain moistening the earth in silence. This level of mastery is truly... breathtaking."

"That's what we'll do!" Sakata slamd the table, his excitent unmistakable. "The entire election campaign will follow Hiroshi's blueprint! I want Tanaka Mikami to learn what a real 'dia war' looks like!"

He paused, then turned his expectant, pressure-laden gaze back to Nohara Hiroshi.

"But Hiroshi, all of this depends on one prerequisite — Midnight Diner has to succeed. Tonight is its premiere. Are you... confident?"

Every gaze converged once more on the young man.

Nohara Hiroshi smiled his quiet smile, those clear eyes shining with an absolute self-assurance that could convince anyone.

"Of course." His two words rang like thunder.

...

Night — like the gentlest brush — painted Tokyo's steel forest in hazy, dreamlike hues.

The clock hands crept toward 8:50 PM.

The Nohara Independent Production Departnt's vast workspace blazed with light, buzzing with the unique anticipation and restlessness of a festival's eve.

"Quick, quick, quick! The beer and fried chicken are here! Everyone co grab yours!"

Kitagawa Yao flitted between workstations like a happy butterfly, cradling an enormous cardboard box overflowing with steaming bento boxes, fried chicken, French fries, and chilled beer and cola.

"Section Chief Yamamoto! Yours is the teriyaki chicken rice!"

"Director Sato! Yours is pork cutlet rice with double miso soup!"

"Oh, and these! I specially bought Midnight Diner replica octopus wieners from the convenience store downstairs! Everyone co try them!"

"Whoo—!"

An earthshaking cheer erupted across the office.

Everyone set down their work and crowded around, their young, vibrant faces radiating the excitent of witnessing a miracle about to happen.

"You guys are way too much." Yamamoto Takeshi accepted the bento from Kitagawa, caught sowhere between laughter and exasperation. "It's just a premiere. You're acting like it's a national holiday."

"Of course we are!" Kitagawa jutted out her chin with righteous pride, her shared glory making her especially radiant. "This is our Nohara Independent Production Departnt's very first TV drama of the year! And the Departnt Manager personally adapted it! We absolutely must welco its birth with the grandest ceremony!"

"Exactly! Exactly!" Several young employees beside her — fellow die-hard Midnight Diner manga fans — chid in, their eyes blazing with fanatical worship as they stared at the massive LCD TV mounted on the wall.

"Let tell you, I've been following Midnight Diner since chapter one!" A bespectacled young woman — a planner with an air of gentle refinent — now wore the expression of a battle-hardened veteran dispensing wisdom to her colleagues. "You have no idea what a sensation the first chapter 'Red Wieners and Tamagoyaki' caused in the manga world! Everyone said Departnt Manager Nohara was a god! That he could portray a fearso yakuza boss's deepest yearning for childhood innocence so... so tenderly!"

"Yes! Yes!" A slightly introverted male screenwriter joined in, pushing up his glasses, his usually stoic eyes now gleaming with sothing called "resonance." "And 'Cat Rice'! I was an absolute wreck reading it! That female singer — she had nothing, but she still had her dream, and that cat willing to share a bowl of cat rice with her! The warmth inside that loneliness was just... devastating!"

"I'm more partial to the 'Ochazuke Trio' myself!" A female employee who'd specifically co over from the Programming Bureau to watch declared excitedly. "On the surface they're saying 'n are all pigs,' but every ti they get together, they can't help discussing their own love problems! That perfectly bleak yet painfully real dialogue is basically a portrait of us older single won!"

"So that's exactly why the live-action version has most worried about the casting!" The female planner's face clouded with concern. "Especially the Owner! He's the soul of the entire manga! If the casting's wrong, the whole drama falls apart!"

"What's there to worry about!" Kitagawa waved dismissively, her gleaming eyes radiating absolute faith. "Have you all forgotten who our Departnt Manager is? He's the 'cultural monster' who can turn dross into gold! I trust that whoever he chose is absolutely the right person!"

Amid the spirited discussion, the massive LCD TV on the wall flickered and changed.

The TV Tokyo logo appeared — sleek and futuristic.

"It's starting! It's starting!"

Everyone held their breath instinctively.

The office plunged into anticipatory silence.

Only the television's sound remained — a wistful, world-weary guitar lody, drifting out like the gentlest evening breeze.

The Midnight Diner opening the had begun.

That familiar lody, those warm visuals, instantly transported everyone into that story-laden, warmth-suffused midnight world.

The guitar was soft — like the voiceless sigh of a lonely traveler at a midnight alley's entrance, like a handful of clear spring water flowing across the city's cold concrete. No elaborate arrangents, no driving drums — just six strings in their purest vibration, each note clean enough to wash away an entire day's exhaustion.

Then a slightly husky male voice — warm with the fragrance of everyday life — rose like gentle mist from that clear spring, singing without haste.

That voice bore no trace of technical polish, yet it tasted like aged whiskey — llow, warm, carrying just the right touch of world-weariness. Every word seed to tell a story long kept close to the heart.

On screen, Shinjuku's streetscape flowed gently beneath the cara, finally settling on that narrow alley, that amber lantern, that faded blue curtain.

The cara cut inside. The man in the deep indigo apron, scar on his face, stood with his back to the lens — unhurried in his compact kitchen, preparing ingredients.

Until the last note of the opening the — like a falling cherry blossom — drifted softly into nothingness.

The entire office remained silent.

Everyone was still suspended in that spell — finding profound aning in the mundane, warmth that lingered long after the music faded — unable to surface.

Then the Owner's rich, slightly husky voice erged like a voiceover, slow and steady.

"When the day ends and people hurry ho, that's when my day begins."

"The nu is limited, but if there's sothing you want — as long as I can make it — you can order it. That's my business policy."

"Business hours are from midnight to around seven in the morning. People call it — 'Midnight Diner.'"

Those words served as an anchor, instantly steadying every floating emotion within the tiny restaurant's walls.

"Hiss—"

A chorus of suppressed gasps rippled through the office, followed almost instantly — like a lit fuse — by an explosion of fervent whispers.

"Oh my god! That's it! That's exactly the feeling!" The bespectacled female planner clutched a colleague's arm, stars practically shooting from her wide eyes. "The Owner's silhouette! The kitchen atmosphere! And that opening the! It's exactly — exactly — what I imagined when reading the manga!"

"More than exactly!" Her introverted male colleague jumped in, pushing up his glasses, his calm eyes now ablaze with pure fervor. "I actually think the live-action is even better than I imagined! And that Owner's voice — the magnetism on it! Even a grown man like felt his heart lting!"

"Absolutely!" A young employee from the props review team exclaid. "Did you see that kitchen set? Unbelievably realistic! Those pots, pans, seasoning jars — it genuinely looks like a real restaurant that's been open for decades! I could practically sll the soy sauce and cooking oil!"

"I think the most incredible part was the opening the!" The female employee from the Programming Bureau couldn't help sighing. "That song is so beautiful! Warm, healing, with just a thread of loneliness! It's basically a tailor-made 'soul comfort song' for all of us urbanites slaving away in Tokyo!"

"I know, right! It made hosick..."

At the far end of the office, on the central sofa that symbolized the departnt's inner circle, Asumi, Takada Toshihide, Minamino Ken, and several other lead actors wore equally varied expressions.

"This opening the..." Asumi's emotions were complex. He looked at Nohara Hiroshi beside him like a man beholding sothing truly monstrous. "Although it's not the first ti I've heard it, hearing it now — it doesn't use any complex instrunts, not even drums. Just the simplest acoustic guitar and the most unpretentious voice, yet it instantly captures every ear and pulls everyone into the story. This ability to distill complexity into simplicity is... terrifying."

"Mm." Takada Toshihide nodded, his admiration genuine. "It's not rely a song — it's the creation of an atmosphere. In the most direct, most effective way possible, it sets the entire drama's tonal foundation — 'warmth' interwoven with 'loneliness' — so that viewers, before the main story even begins, have already subconsciously accepted the story's premise. This precision in reading audience psychology is simply... extraordinary."

"More than precision!" Minamino Ken — this veteran who'd spent half his life navigating the entertainnt world — couldn't help exclaiming. He gazed at Nohara Hiroshi with bone-deep reverence. "When we were on set filming, the Departnt Manager was right there beside us, personally strumming his guitar and singing this song. The mont I heard it, I felt my entire being sink deeper. This song has magic."

Amid the cascading praise, a young employee wearing headphones — apparently from the music team — suddenly removed them. Pride radiating from his face, he addressed everyone present.

"Everyone, this opening the was personally arranged by our Departnt Manager, who then invited an independent folk musician he greatly admires to perform it."

He paused, his voice turning more solemn, professional pride making him glow. "Furthermore, the Departnt Manager has personally decreed that this song — titled 'Omoide' (mories) — will be the permanent, fixed opening the for the entire Midnight Diner series. No matter how many seasons are produced, it will never be changed."

"What?!"

"The Departnt Manager personally arranged it?!"

"Oh my god! He knows music too?!"

Another earthshaking wave of astonishnt swept the office.

Yet that astonishnt quickly gave way to a sort of "of course he does" resignation.

"Sigh... I just knew it." The female planner exhaled a long, resigned breath — tinged with helplessness, wry amusent, and bone-deep worship. "Is there anything our Departnt Manager can't do?"

"Seriously." The male screenwriter nodded along, glasses glinting with practiced nonchalance. "At this point, if tomorrow's newspaper announced that the Departnt Manager was actually a Gundam-piloting alien, I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest."

"Ha ha ha ha ha!"

The office erupted in knowing laughter.

Everyone understood: in the presence of Nohara Hiroshi — this "cultural monster" — every "impossible" simply beca "inevitable."

"Shh! Quiet! The episode's starting!"

Kitagawa Yao suddenly pointed at the TV and made a hush motion.

Instant silence fell over the office once more.

Every eye locked onto that luminous world of stories, of warmth, of everyday life.

They watched the man with the scarred face and impossibly gentle eyes — unhurried in his tiny kitchen — prepare dish after heartwarming, stomach-warming dish for fellow lonely urbanites.

They watched guests of every stripe shed their masks in the dead of night, sharing joys and sorrows.

They felt as though they, too, had beco part of this little restaurant.

Their hearts — ward, saddened, and ultimately healed — moved with every beat of the story.

...

Tokyo City TV.

This newly completed building — all cold glass curtain walls and steel — lood like a steel beast opening its giant eye in the darkness. In its top-floor multipurpose screening hall, a grand and boisterous opening ceremony doubling as a premiere event was underway.

Crystal chandeliers flooded the hall with daylight brilliance, fracturing into glittering halos on the rim of every tulip-shaped glass brimming with top-shelf champagne. The air hung heavy with expensive cologne and luxury perfu, carving this space into a wholly separate world from the ordinary night outside the windows.

Tokyo City Mayor Tanaka Mikami occupied the central seat of honor, wearing an impeccably tailored dark kimono. His deeply lined face bore a politician's perfectly asured, warm smile.

But those hawk-sharp eyes — precise as searchlights — swept slowly across every face, missing nothing.

Beside him sat the mountain-like Chairman of Kirin Group, Sato Tokugawa, his alcohol-flushed, oil-sheened face radiating the swagger and arrogance of a self-appointed victor.

"Ha ha ha ha! Mr. Mayor! Just watch!" Sato Tokugawa hoisted his glass, his voice booming loud enough to rattle the ceiling. "Tonight, our Minamijima Afu and His Beloved Dog will be an instant hit! I guarantee the ratings will grind TV Tokyo's Midnight Diner... what's-it-called... into the dirt!"

"Easy now, Sato." Tanaka Mikami waved him off with a smile, his sovereign composure lending him striking gravitas. "Our Tokyo City TV exists to serve the citizens. None of that cutthroat comrcial competition. We simply need to do our work well and deliver the 'warmth' and 'care' we intend to give every citizen. That's enough."

His high-minded, watertight rhetoric imdiately drew a chorus of agreent.

"The Mayor speaks truth!"

"Exactly! What we're making is art! Sentint! Not that ratings-chasing fast-food culture!"

"This drama will absolutely be this year's phenonon!"

The invited dia reporters and film critics raised their glasses in turn, wearing professional smiles and offering precisely calibrated complints.

And tonight's undeniable stars — the three senior directors recruited at premium salaries by Sato Tokugawa, along with Kamiki Shunsuke and his entourage of idol perforrs — stood ramrod-straight, faces glowing with the self-congratulatory excitent of pioneers of a new era.

"Mr. Mayor, President Sato, mbers of the press." The director nad Tanaka rose first. "As the head director of Minamijima Afu and His Beloved Dog, I can tell you with full responsibility — this drama is the product of six months of ticulous effort by our team. A work of true sincerity, worthy of being recorded in the annals of Japanese television history!"

He paused, his voice intensifying, professional confidence making him radiant. "From the very beginning of production, we conducted the most precise big-data analysis of the entire Tokyo viewing market! We discovered that today's young audiences — won aged eighteen to thirty-five in particular — have an almost instinctive affinity for three keywords: 'pets,' 'protection,' and 'growth.' Our drama's core revolves entirely around these three keywords!"

"Precisely!" Director Suzuki chid in. "We're not rely telling a story — we're custom-building a dream designed to trigger powerful emotional resonance in our target audience! We use the most exquisite cinematography to showcase the natural beauty of a southern island, the most moving score to underscore the protagonist's inner loneliness and struggle, and the most adorable Akita dog to awaken their deepest maternal instincts! Every elent has been ticulously calculated! I guarantee that no female viewer can resist this drama's charm!"

"Brilliantly put, both of you!" The third director, Watanabe, clapped in admiration. "Art springs from life, but ultimately, it must serve the market! This drama represents the most perfect fusion of 'art' and 'comrce'! We have the most professional team, the finest production, the most precise market positioning, and..."

His gaze drifted slowly to the young man who had maintained an elegant smile throughout.

"...the most radiant star in all of Japanese entertainnt — Kamiki Shunsuke!"

"Whoosh—!"

Every eye converged on the young man who looked as though carved by divine hands — a perfect work of art.

Kamiki Shunsuke rose gracefully, first offering an elegant bow, then sweeping his peach-blossom eyes — capable of drowning any woman — across every person present.

"You're all far too kind." His voice was like the finest silk — smooth, magnetic, every word carrying a spell of reassurance. "I've simply done what any actor should do."

He paused, his lips curving into a smile of devastating charm, the confidence and magnetism of a top-tier idol making him absolutely luminous.

"However, I can promise you one thing." He t their eyes with certainty. "My fans are the most adorable and most loyal people in the world. Whatever drama I star in, they will pour their entire hearts into supporting and protecting it. So tonight's ratings — please, watch and see."

Breezy words, yet laden with force.

The subtext was unmistakable: with Kamiki Shunsuke on board, failure was impossible.

"Well said!"

"That's Shunsuke for you!"

"We believe in you!"

Several fellow idol perforrs echoed from behind him, their star-studded fervor pushing the screening hall's atmosphere to a fever pitch.

In this atmosphere of overflowing confidence and passion, the hall lights dimd slowly.

The massive screen blazed to life. Tokyo City TV's inaugural production officially began.

The opening was an upbeat, youth-infused pop song perford by a popular girl idol group. Sweet voices and dynamic rhythm instantly transported everyone into a world of sunshine and dreams.

On screen: azure sea, pristine white sand, lush coconut palms.

Kamiki Shunsuke's protagonist Afu — a fair-skinned, clear-eyed island boy — ran barefoot across the beach with wild abandon, his impossibly beautiful face beaming with boundless hope for the future.

Then the scene shifted to the bustling, cold expanse of Tokyo.

Afu, harboring dreams of becoming a top chef, arrived in this unfamiliar city. But reality was cruel — he hit wall after wall, endured scorn and cold shoulders, until finally a restaurant owner rcilessly threw him out.

The first episode's closing: a desolate Afu sat alone in the plaza before Shibuya Station, watching the ceaseless flow of humanity. For the first ti, his once-clear eyes filled with confusion and despair.

Just then, a dirt-covered stray Akita with equally clear eyes crept cautiously to his side and gently licked his palm with its warm tongue.

Afu froze. Looking at this kindred spirit — a fellow soul cast aside by the world — his reality-hardened heart lted in an instant, overwheld by a feeling called "warmth."

He reached out and pulled the little dog into a tight, tight embrace. His voice cracked, yet burned with indomitable fighting spirit.

"From now on, the two of us will fight hard together in Tokyo!"

The fra froze on this tender mont — one person, one dog, leaning against each other.

Credits rolled. Lights ca up.

"Clap! Clap! Clap!"

Thunderous applause swept the screening hall.

"Wonderful! Simply wonderful!"

"The story — so moving! I nearly cried!"

"Especially that final scene! Pure genius!"

"I even feel echoes of Hachiko Monogatari! Both about the bond between human and dog, both so warm, so healing!"

Reporters babbled incoherently, jostling to thrust microphones at the creative team.

Tanaka Mikami nodded with satisfaction. He turned to Sato Tokugawa and Kamiki Shunsuke, unconcealed approval in his eyes.

"Sato, Shunsuke — well done. This drama is polished and sincere. I'm sure the citizens will love it."

Yet in the corner, several seasoned film critics simultaneously furrowed their brows.

They exchanged glances, finding matching helplessness and... a trace of disdain.

They said nothing. They simply tucked their pre-written, praise-stuffed press releases back into their briefcases.

Soon the premiere ceremony ended. Amid the bluster and self-congratulation, Sato Tokugawa and Kamiki Shunsuke accompanied Mayor Tanaka Mikami out first, heading to a more private office.

anwhile, Takahashi and several station staff stayed behind, all smiles, escorting the reporters and critics to the elevator bank.

"Everyone, you've truly worked hard today." Takahashi said, smoothly collecting thick envelopes from his secretary and pressing one into each reporter's and critic's hand.

"Just a small token of our station's appreciation." He smiled, his voice carrying unmistakable implications. "On your way ho, please do say so kind words on our behalf."

"Of course, of course!"

"Mr. Takahashi, you're too generous!"

"Don't worry! We know exactly what to write!"

The reporters and critics exchanged knowing smiles.

They hefted the weighted envelopes, then departed in thorough satisfaction.

But when several critics who were close friends reunited in the underground parking garage, their professional smiles vanished without a trace.

"Sigh..."

A veteran critic nad Kimura exhaled a long breath. He pulled open the door of his Toyota and waved wearily to two equally glum colleagues.

"Get in. Let's talk."

The three climbed inside. Kimura retrieved three bottles of oolong tea from the glove compartnt and passed them around.

"Glug, glug."

After a satisfying round of gulping, suffocating silence descended on the car.

"Kimura-senpai," the youngest critic finally broke the silence. His usually sharp face now wore bitter resignation. "What exactly is it that we're even doing?"

"What else?" The middle-aged, bespectacled critic gave a cynical laugh, swishing his oolong tea with world-weary detachnt. "Taking people's money, solving people's problems."

"But... this is just too fake!" The young critic — Ono — burst out, eyes blazing. "That Minamijima Afu and His Beloved Dog — what IS that thing?! Cliché plot, broken logic, and apart from the Akita dog being sowhat cute, it's absolutely worthless!"

"Especially Kamiki Shunsuke!" He grew more heated with every word, even shaking his fists. "Is that what he calls acting? That's a personal music video! From start to finish — posing and preening! I genuinely suspect his crying scenes used eye drops!"

"That's enough, Ono." Kimura-senpai patted his shoulder with a veteran's resigned calm. "Is this your first day in the business? Haven't you seen enough of this?"

He paused, turning his gaze to the cold concrete forest bathed in the garage's dim light, a weary, indescribable exhaustion crossing his eyes.

"This drama was never made for people who actually know what they're looking at." He spoke slowly, his voice quiet yet dissecting the truth with surgical precision. "It was made for people who only need a pretty face and a touching story to willingly open their wallets and contribute to the ratings... fans."

"It's a ticulously packaged, glamorous product. And we're just the cheerleaders waving our pom-poms for the rchandise."

"But senpai!" Ono pressed, still unwilling to concede. "What about TV Tokyo's Midnight Diner? I've heard that one's a genuine work of conscience!"

"Midnight Diner?" A complex expression — hope mingling with concern — crossed Kimura-senpai's face.

"Yes." He exhaled a long breath, carrying admiration and deep respect for the young man nad Nohara Hiroshi.

"That young man — he's the one who truly treats television drama as art."

"Unfortunately..." He paused, then crushed the empty oolong tea bottle in his hand.

"In the end, it's still capital that has the final say. All we can do is watch the garbage that capital puts on a pedestal. We never get to witness what a monster-level genius creates."

His voice rang with infinite sorrow.

The others nodded silently, a glimr of defiance flickering in their eyes.