My Name is Hiroshi Nohara, Star of Neon Film and Television! Chapter 214: Family Dinner! The Hotel Manager's Shock! A Ver

The car door arced open in the attendant's hands. Kumamoto City's cool air, mingled with the opulent fragrance wafting from the hotel portico, surged in together.

"Wow..."

An inarticulate gasp — from the Koyama family's youngest daughter, Musae.

She poked her head out, those eyes that always carried a trace of sleepy innocence now completely ignited by the brilliantly lit building before her.

Crystal chandelier light cascaded through towering glass curtain walls like crushed starlight, flooding the front plaza into artificial daylight. She was utterly stunned.

"This place is... way too incredible?" Musae stepped out, head tilted back, mouth slightly agape — like a fledgling bird beholding the ocean for the first ti. "It doesn't feel a bit less impressive than that Imperial Hotel we stayed at in Tokyo with Nee-san last ti!"

"It's quite a stunning venue indeed." Eldest sister Masae walked behind her, adjusting her glasses, a barely perceptible note of admiration threading her tone.

She was steady by nature, but the sight before her was enough to send ripples across the usually still waters of her composure.

"Uncle, thank you for this generous hospitality today." Fujiwara Isshin stepped out of Masae's car, moved to the family patriarch Koyama Yoshiharu's side, and bowed slightly — his words earnest.

His courtesy and humility were refreshing as a spring breeze.

"My, this really is luxurious." Misae, arm linked with her husband Nohara Hiroshi, also erged from the car. Her eyes road between the mirror-polished marble floors and the immaculately mannered doorn — full of wonder and excitent.

Koyama Yoshiharu watched his daughters' and future sons-in-law's reactions. That face — usually cast in the stern mold of a Head Teacher's authority — was now heaped with barely disguised pride.

His wife Takasae beside him wore a similarly gratified smile.

"Ahem." Yoshiharu cleared his throat, hands clasped behind his back, struggling to make his voice sound casual — yet utterly failing to conceal his pride. "Isshin, Hiroshi — one is Masae's fiancé, the other is Misae's fiancé. This is the first ti you're formally accompanying us back to our Kumamoto ho. As a father, I have to show so proper hospitality."

He puffed out his chest, chin lifting slightly — the posture of a general reviewing his troops.

Just then, a hotel manager in a tailcoat with a gold naplate on his breast approached with asured, brisk steps.

His eyes swept the group. When they landed on Fujiwara Isshin's face, they flared with recognition. Instantly, the most professionally deferential smile materialized.

"Fujiwara-sama?" The manager's voice carried precisely calibrated surprise. He hurried forward, stopping before Fujiwara Isshin, and bowed deeply. "What an unexpected honor to see you here, sir."

He clearly knew Fujiwara Isshin.

Fujiwara smiled mildly, touching the man's arm. "Manager Takahashi — hello. Today isn't official business. I'm here for a family dinner with my girlfriend's family."

"Oh?" Manager Takahashi's gaze imdiately shifted to Yoshiharu and Takasae beside Fujiwara. His bearing grew even more deferential as he bowed again. "So these are Fujiwara-sama's father- and mother-in-law! Please forgive my ignorance! I'm Takahashi, manager of this establishnt. Welco, welco!"

He paused, voice brimming with warmth: "Of course I know Fujiwara-sama — a brilliant young talent at the Prefectural Ministry of Finance, the pride of our Kumamoto! I had no idea you were Mr. Koyama's son-in-law — this is truly... such an honor!"

Straightening, Manager Takahashi turned to the Koyama couple with a most genuine smile: "Mr. Koyama, Mrs. Koyama — for tonight, please allow us to offer you a twenty percent discount on everything. Additionally, I'll have the kitchen send out our very finest horse at sashimi and two bottles of 'Juyondai' sake — as our establishnt's tribute to Fujiwara-sama and your family."

"Oh my — that's really too kind." Yoshiharu's mouth voiced polite deflection, but the smile on his face was already blooming like an autumn chrysanthemum — impossible to hide. He shot a glance at his eldest daughter and Takasae, his eyes broadcasting: "See? My eldest son-in-law commands this kind of respect."

Takasae, too, bead and nodded demurely, basking in the reflected glory.

As Manager Takahashi's gaze traveled across the party, it happened to land on the tall, thick-browed, handso man standing beside Misae — the one with a gentle smile on his face. The manager froze — as though struck by invisible lightning.

He rubbed his eyes, as if not daring to believe them.

That face... though younger and more vivid in person than on television, those signature thick eyebrows and the light stubble on his chin were unmistakable.

Manager Takahashi's breathing turned suddenly rapid. The professional deference in his eyes was instantaneously replaced by a fusion of shock and fervent worship.

He asked tentatively, in a voice that nearly trembled: "Excuse ... are you... Nohara Hiroshi-san?"

Nohara Hiroshi hadn't expected to be recognized. He blinked, then broke into a friendly smile with a nod: "Ah — yes, that's ."

"Good heavens!"

Manager Takahashi practically yelped. The delight on his face seed ready to overflow. His entire body trembled with excitent. He took one step forward and delivered a ninety-degree bow — deeper, more devout, and more forceful than anything he'd offered Fujiwara or Yoshiharu.

"Master Nohara! It really IS you! I'm a fan! A DEVOTED fan!" He raised his head, eyes blazing with the light of soone eting their idol. "Your Yamishibai — that unique atmosphere of terror — absolute genius! And Tales of the Unusual — every single episode leaves you striking the table in admiration! I... my entire family are loyal viewers of Kasou Taishou — that show has literally REWRITTEN Japan's variety entertainnt history!"

His speech accelerated, as though unleashing every ounce of accumulated worship at once: "And... and Seven Samurai! My God — you actually remade Kurosawa's classic, and with an entirely fresh flavor — absolutely staggering! Hachiko Monogatari... I... I nearly DEHYDRATED from crying in the theater! And Midnight Diner — I follow it every day — it doesn't feel like a drama, it feels like LIFE itself!"

This machine-gun barrage of titles left everyone slightly dazed.

Koyama Yoshiharu's expression at this mont had transcended re "pride."

It was a complex blend of shock, elation, and enormous satisfaction.

Watching the hotel manager practically prostrate himself before his second son-in-law, Yoshiharu puffed his chest even higher.

He stepped forward, lightly patted Nohara Hiroshi's shoulder, and told Manager Takahashi — in a tone that aid for casual nonchalance but peaked at maximum boasting: "Yes, well — Manager Takahashi, this gentleman... is my second son-in-law."

"WH—?!"

Manager Takahashi's jaw nearly hit the floor.

He gaped at Yoshiharu, then at Nohara Hiroshi, then at the quietly smiling Misae beside him, and finally his eyes returned to the Koyama couple.

Inside his skull, countless fireworks detonated simultaneously.

One son-in-law: an elite Ministry of Finance official who commanded Kumamoto Prefecture's financial lifelines.

Another son-in-law: a genius director who'd swept Japan's television and film industries, revered by countless as a master.

This seemingly unremarkable man... what manner of deity was he? To possess TWO such sons-in-law?!

Manager Takahashi drew a deep breath and bowed deeply to Yoshiharu once more — this ti with an almost reverent tremor in his voice: "Mr. Koyama... you are... you are truly... EXTRAORDINARY!"

"Oh, please — the children are the remarkable ones." Yoshiharu waved dismissively while every wrinkle on his face folded into a beaming flower.

"Everyone, please! This way, please!"

Manager Takahashi snapped back to attention. He imdiately straightened, swept his arm in a welcoming gesture, and personally led the way — his bearing so reverential it seed as though he were receiving heads of state.

"For Fujiwara-sama and Master Nohara to grace our establishnt simultaneously — this is a once-in-a-century honor for our hotel! Tonight, our most exclusive private room, 'The Chrysanthemum Banquet' — please allow , on behalf of the hotel, to offer it to you all free of charge!"

The Chrysanthemum Banquet?

Yoshiharu's heart skipped. He'd heard of it — the hotel's ultimate private room, never open to the public, reportedly reserved exclusively for cabinet ministers or international dignitaries.

Free of charge?

This degree of deference — this face — made Yoshiharu feel as though his entire being had gone weightless, floating on clouds.

He felt he had never — in his entire life — been accorded such glory.

Behind him, the three Koyama sisters — Masae, Misae, and Musae — watched their father looking ready to take flight. They couldn't help exchanging smiles — tinged with mischief, and brimming with pride.

The party passed through the gilded lobby, crossing a gauntlet of curious and envious stares, until Manager Takahashi personally guided them to the deepest end of a corridor — before a heavy wooden door carved with exquisite chrysanthemum patterns.

"Please." The manager pushed the door open himself. Air scented with premium incense and fresh floral arrangents rushed to greet them.

The private room's opulence once again exceeded the Koyama family's imagination. Through enormous floor-to-ceiling windows: Kumamoto City's most dazzling nightscape.

Every decorative elent — from the master calligraphy and paintings on the walls to the antique porcelain in the corners — exemplified the highest taste and refinent.

"Fujiwara-sama, Master Nohara, distinguished guests — please enjoy your evening. I will imdiately arrange our finest cuisine and beverages. Should you need anything at all, please press the bell and I will attend to you personally." Manager Takahashi set everything in order, then prepared to withdraw with a bow.

Before leaving, his gaze unconsciously swept the room one final ti — settling on the youngest, Musae.

Inwardly, he marveled. What a family — the eldest and second daughters had both found such once-in-a-generation partners. Heaven only knew which prodigy was pursuing this youngest, most adorable one.

As if sensing the manager's gaze, the mostly quiet Musae suddenly pouted, muttering with a touch of gloom: "Sigh... I don't have amazing boyfriends like my big sisters... I'm still just a high schooler. No boyfriend in sight."

"Uh..."

Manager Takahashi's expression froze — then an embarrassed flush crept across his face. He hadn't expected this from the young lady. He hastily bowed and beat a sowhat awkward retreat, gently closing the door behind him.

Inside the room, Musae's out-of-nowhere remark produced a mont of silence.

Then — "Pfft" — Misae was the first to crack.

"Musae, why would you tell the MANAGER that?"

"I was telling the TRUTH!" Musae huffed, dropping into a chair upholstered in gorgeous brocade, swinging her legs. "Watching the two brothers-in-law be so impressive — the pressure is IMNSE."

"This child." Takasae shook her head — a mix of helplessness and indulgence.

At the head of the table, Yoshiharu sat with the quietly composed Fujiwara Isshin on his left and the gently restrained Nohara Hiroshi on his right. He looked at one, then the other, feeling his life had peaked at this very instant.

All the headaches of Head Teacher duties, all daily trivialities — before the monuntal glory these two sons-in-law brought — shrank to insignificance.

"Co, co — everyone sit, sit." Yoshiharu called out, face aglow. "Isshin, Hiroshi — tonight YOU are the stars. Please, make yourselves at ho."

Dishes arrived in a continuous stream — each one exquisite as a work of art.

After several rounds of sake, the atmosphere grew ever warr.

"Hiroshi," Yoshiharu raised his cup and sipped the premium Juyondai, feeling contentnt flow from head to toe. "I've always been curious — at TV Tokyo, how do you manage to create so many fascinating programs? Misae ntioned your world is called the 'entertainnt industry'? Sounds very impressive."

At this question, all eyes converged on Nohara Hiroshi.

Fujiwara Isshin watched with a curious smile.

Though both were Koyama sons-in-law, he understood well that his own bureaucratic world and Nohara Hiroshi's dazzling realm were completely different dinsions.

Nohara Hiroshi set down his chopsticks and dabbed his lips with a napkin. That air of warmth and gentleness he wore in public seed to deepen here among family — gaining an ineffable profundity.

"It's really not that mysterious, Uncle Yoshiharu." He smiled and began telling his story.

"When I first made Yamishibai, things were actually very rough." His voice was level and magnetic, carrying everyone back to that starting point of struggle. "It was a completely new format — still paintings paired with eerie narration to tell ghost stories. The station executives didn't believe in it. They thought it was niche, beneath the mainstream — gave a pitiful budget and stuck it in the dead-of-night ti slot where nobody watched."

"Then how did it catch fire?" Musae asked curiously.

"Because of 'emotion.'" Nohara Hiroshi's eyes grew distant. "My 'special ability,' simply put, is sensing and capturing emotions that ordinary people can't perceive — remnants lingering in spaces, objects, even in human hearts. Fear, sorrow, joy, resentnt... these emotions have power. Every story in Yamishibai is actually a crystallized fragnt of real emotion I've captured. Viewers may not know why, but from those simple images and sounds, they feel the most primal, purest terror. So it grew through word of mouth — fernting quietly in the dead of night — until it beca a phenonon."

Everyone listened, riveted. This explanation felt far more mysterious and convincing than re "genius creativity."

"What about Tales of the Unusual?" Masae couldn't help asking.

"Tales was the station's new project for after Yamishibai's success. This ti the budget was bigger, and I could capture a wider range of emotions." Nohara Hiroshi sipped his tea. "The absurdity within urban legends, the desires buried deep in the human psyche, confusion about the future, regret over the past... I wove these captured emotional fragnts into one twist-filled story after another. At the ti, all of Japan was at the peak of the bubble economy. Everyone seed happy — but beneath that happiness lurked enormous anxiety and emptiness. My stories happened to strike that exact nerve."

"So Kasou Taishou too?" Misae blinked — though she was his wife, many details she was hearing for the first ti told this systematically.

"Mm, Kasou Taishou was an accident." Nohara Hiroshi laughed. "I was at a celebration party when I inadvertently sensed that the entire banquet hall was wrapped in an emotion I'd call 'the joy of collective creation.' That pure, unselfish happiness — people working toward a shared goal for the sole purpose of making others smile — was trendously powerful, trendously infectious. So I proposed to the station chief: let's make an amateur creative show. It ended up outperforming all my previous works — because it touched humanity's most fundantal yearning: the desire to 'create' and 'share joy.'"

Yoshiharu nodded repeatedly. He raised his cup and addressed Nohara Hiroshi with gravity: "Hiroshi — a toast to you. Until today, I only knew you were impressive. Now I understand: your success is no accident. You truly observe this world with your 'heart.'"

Nohara Hiroshi clinked glasses with Yoshiharu and drained his cup.

"As for the three films that followed," he set down his glass, his tone dropping into quiet reflection, "that's a different matter entirely."

"Remaking Seven Samurai — it happened because I visited the original filming location. There, I sensed the powerful spiritual imprint left by Kurosawa and those actors — sothing belonging to an era, sothing I can only call 'backbone.' I wasn't remaking a story. I was paying homage to an era."

"Hachiko Monogatari — at Shibuya Station, I truly felt that Akita Inu's obsession, spanning decades and still undissipated: an emotion nad 'waiting.' That feeling was too pure, too powerful. I HAD to put it on film."

"And Midnight Diner..." Nohara Hiroshi's gaze swept across the dishes on the table, finally resting on Misae's face — eyes gentle as water. "That ca from countless late nights of overti, from every still-warm al waiting for . An emotion nad 'solace.' Behind every dish: one person's story, one life's journey. I simply recorded them."

The private room fell into perfect silence.

Every mber of the Koyama family — Fujiwara Isshin included — was profoundly moved.

The Nohara Hiroshi in their eyes was no longer rely a successful director, a talented artist.

He was a chronicler of an era — an observer who could penetrate human hearts and commune emotionally with all things in the world. His works moved hundreds of millions not through technique, not through cleverness, but because what he presented was the most authentic, most profound emotion of reality itself.

Yoshiharu gazed at his second son-in-law with unprecedented admiration and respect. He suddenly realized that the petty vanity he'd felt about his son-in-law's status — that had been painfully shallow.

Having such a son-in-law was, in itself, a pride that no money or position could asure.

He raised his glass once more — this ti, his voice carried utter solemnity.

"Hiroshi — our entire family is proud of you."

"Cheers!"

And so they raised their glasses.

Musae lifted her flute of champagne — the bubbles catching the window's view of Tokyo's molten-gold nightscape — and with a gentle swirl, looked toward the quietly commanding man at the head of the table. Her eyes held undisguised admiration and... a faint trace of awe.

"Brother-in-law, I really couldn't have imagined this before."

Her voice, flushed with tipsy warmth and heartfelt emotion, broke the mont's stillness in the private room.

"Imagined what?" Misae — her sister — was delicately working a piece of escargot with a small silver fork. She glanced up, face aglow with happiness and pride.

"Exactly — I couldn't have imagined ANY of it." Musae drained her glass, a pretty flush blooming on fair cheeks. "When I first heard Misae-nee was with brother-in-law, I just assud he was an ordinary office worker — cramming into trains, getting scread at by section chiefs, stressing over mortgage paynts that never end... Who could have known?"

She paused, sweeping the room — her parents, her sister, the ever-smiling, ever-silent Fujiwara Isshin — then her gaze returned to Nohara Hiroshi.

"Who could have known that my brother-in-law — who used to grin like an idiot over beer and bar snacks — was actually Japan's top manga artist? The YuYu Hakusho tankōbon are selling like crazy — elentary schoolers everywhere are mimicking that Yusuke kid shouting 'Spirit Gun!' Doraemon goes without saying — the Bamboo Copter and Anywhere Door are now every Japanese child's most-wanted birthday present. And Midnight Diner — the girls at my office who normally only read fashion magazines now all have a copy, debating the three ochazuke sisters and the yakuza boss's beloved red sausages every single day."

Musae rattled this off in one breath like pouring beans from a jar — yet every word struck ho.

"Yes, yes!" Her mother — Hiroshi's mother-in-law Takasae — nodded vigorously, face blooming like a chrysanthemum: "Last ti I went to the community center, all the ladies crowded around asking what Hiroshi-sensei would draw next. They said the stories in Midnight Diner feel like they're happening right next door — so warm inside that even we old folks love it!"

"Ahem." Their father — the famously stern forr Head Teacher Yoshiharu — cleared his throat, raised his sake cup toward Hiroshi in a distant toast, eyes complex yet excited: "Hiroshi, I once misjudged you. I always thought you were a slacker. I never imagined... you carried such an enormous world inside."

Nohara Hiroshi rely smiled, said nothing, and returned the toast.

His suit was impeccably tailored — no longer the cheap crumpled thing train commutes used to produce. A glimpse of watch at his wrist caught the crystal chandelier's light — a glint of quiet authority.

He hadn't changed — still the man with thick brows and chin stubble. But his entire bearing had been recast, as though tempered by Tokyo's steel and concrete: steady, restrained, unfathomably deep.

Just then, the room's door slid open soundlessly.

Waitstaff, moving like precision-trained pantomimists with featherlight steps, presented dish after dish in an elegant stream.

The air blood with a marvelous harmony of aromas.

On one side: the rich profundity of French cuisine — seared foie gras, its butter-fat fragrance mingling with black truffle's distinctive perfu. On the other: the crystalline refinent of top-tier Japanese fare — the crimson marbling of A5 wagyu, exquisite as art;

freshly sliced ōtoro tuna belly wearing a thin sheen of glistening fat, catching the light with tantalizing allure.

"Co on, everyone — eat up before it gets cold!" Misae called out warmly. She was becoming more the company president with every passing day.

"Hiroshi-kun is really sothing nowadays." Yoshiharu lifted a slice of wagyu — it lted in his mouth, making him close his eyes in contentnt. "My old colleagues are all jealous. They say I landed two amazing sons-in-law."

"Obviously!" Musae jumped in. "Brother-in-law's talents go WAY beyond manga!"

That comnt opened a new floodgate. The praise and reflections around the table, riding the waves of these exquisite delicacies, ascended to a new level.

Fujiwara Isshin, who had been silently listening with a mild smile, now set down his knife and fork. He dabbed his lips with a napkin — the gesture elegant as old-world aristocracy.

"Uncle Yoshiharu, Musae — what you've described is actually only the tip of the iceberg of Nohara-san's talent."

His voice wasn't loud, yet it possessed a strange penetrating quality that drew every eye.

Fujiwara Isshin — this Ministry of Finance insider — regarded Hiroshi with an expression of genuine recognition.

"Manga is certainly Nohara-san's starting point, but what truly astonishes is what he conveys through visual dia." Fujiwara leaned slightly forward, eyes blazing. "I've noticed that your animations, dramas, variety shows — and those three society-shaking films — all contain sothing profoundly deep within. I'd call it... 'educational significance.'"

"Educational significance?" Yoshiharu was taken aback. An old-school educator, he was sensitive to that term.

"Yes." Fujiwara nodded with certainty.

"Fujiwara-san is absolutely right!" Musae, as if finding a kindred spirit, jumped in excitedly: "Take Yamishibai and Tales of the Unusual — they're practically the founding works of urban horror! Now every late-night slot on every network is full of imitators, but NONE of them can capture that soul-piercing terror and reflection on human nature!"

"And Kasou Taishou!" Mother-in-law Takasae chid in enthusiastically. "I love watching that the most! Before, neighbors would just nod at each other in passing. Now it's different — several families in our neighborhood have ford teams to enter the show! For one creative idea, everyone gathers to discuss, rehearse — it's brought people together overnight! It's like the whole country's coldness has been lted a little by that show. Human connections are being rebuilt!"

"Exactly!" Yoshiharu nodded emphatically. This was his area. "People used to say Japan had beco a 'relationless society' — people growing distant. But Hiroshi, the shows you've made are like invisible threads, reconnecting people who were drifting apart. That's more effective than saying 'Be kind to each other' a hundred tis from a podium."

Fujiwara Isshin's expression showed an approving smile as he guided the conversation further: "And the films?"

"The films speak for THEMSELVES!" This ti it was the usually quiet Misae, gazing at her husband's profile with starlight in her eyes. "Seven Samurai — you think that was just a remake of Kurosawa's old film? The characters — Kanbei, Katsushiro, Kikuchiyo — they embodied a NEW bushido spirit for OUR era! Resilience, protection, hope in adversity! I've heard that many major corporations now include screenings of this film in their new-employee orientations!"

"And Hachiko Monogatari!" Misae's eyes glistened. "Brother-in-law, you know what? So many of my colleagues who own dogs — after watching the movie, they went ho and bawled while hugging their pets. What that film teaches isn't just loyalty — it's the purest mutual understanding and devotion between humans and animals, and between people too. So moving. Truly."

"Yes," Fujiwara murmured softly. "One film redefined the weight of 'loyalty' in modern society."

"Speaking of which," mother-in-law Takasae suddenly recalled sothing: "Hiroshi, your Midnight Diner drama is really remarkable. Not like other shows — always fighting or wild love affairs. Your diner has just the most ordinary food and the most ordinary people. But sohow, after watching, your heart feels so settled — as though no matter how badly the outside world treated you, you could go back to that little eatery, eat a bowl of the owner's pork miso soup, and everything would be okay. That's a kind of... healing power."

Everyone nodded. The room filled with a warm, reverent atmosphere. These works were no longer simple entertainnt products. They had perated — like air and water — the daily lives of countless ordinary people across the nation, reshaping their thoughts, soothing their souls.

And the architect of all this, Nohara Hiroshi, rely sat eating his salt-crusted grilled cod — as though the person being discussed had nothing to do with him.

Just then, Takasae spoke again, apparently struck by a thought: "Co to think of it, Hiroshi — weren't you received in person by the Governor of Akita Prefecture because of Hachiko Monogatari?"

The question redirected everyone's attention.

"Mm, once." Nohara Hiroshi answered concisely.

"Just 'received' — that's putting it mildly!" Musae's eyes were ablaze with yearning. "Akita Prefecture's Akita Inu have now beco the most popular dog breed in all of Japan! I want one SO badly! But you CAN'T get them!"

She pulled a long face, venting: "Nowadays the Akita Inu on the market are in crazy short supply — prices have multiplied several tis over! Especially the purebred puppies certified by the Akita Dog Association — reservations are apparently booked through next year! One dog, impossible to get! And it's all brother-in-law's fault for making Hachiko so cute and so human!"

This playfully accusatory complaint drew soft laughter all around.

Yoshiharu recalled sothing too, stroking his chin reflectively: "Musae's right. I read in the paper the other day — Akita Prefecture's tourism revenue this year has grown nearly tenfold compared to last year. Tourists are making special trips to Akita just to see Hachiko's holand and try to buy a purebred Akita Inu. You could say, Hiroshi — your single film completely put the entire Akita Prefecture on the map."

One film. Impacting an entire prefecture's economy.

The weight of that statent shifted the room's atmosphere yet again.

If the earlier discussion had been about cultural influence, this had crossed into tangible economic impact and regional prestige.

A keen light glead in Fujiwara Isshin's eyes. He'd been listening quietly throughout — like a seasoned hunter, patiently waiting for all the threads to converge.

From variety shows that eased social alienation, to films that reshaped national spirit, to cultural IP that drove regional economies... these seemingly unrelated points were gradually threading into a single, clear line in his mind.

He seed to arrive at a realization. He straightened further in his seat, his sharp gaze locking onto Nohara Hiroshi — and the surrounding air itself seed to gain three degrees of gravity.

He drew a deep breath and spoke with unprecedented solemnity.

"Nohara-san — forgive my boldness..."

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at him.

Fujiwara Isshin's voice dropped low, yet every word landed distinctly — like stones dropped one by one into a deep pool.

"If a single film can influence the Governor of Akita Prefecture..."

"Then... may I understand it this way..."

He paused, as though weighing his words — but his eyes never left Nohara Hiroshi's face, as though trying to divine from that placid, unreadable expression the earth-shaking secrets of all Tokyo, perhaps all Japan's future.

"...That even Governor Koike — who commands the entire Tokyo tropolis — has also... had occasion to collaborate with you... at a pivotal mont in an election?"