My Name is Hiroshi Nohara, Star of Neon Film and Television! Chapter 220: Kumamon's Silly Antics! Production Is Underway!

Night fell earlier in Kumamoto than in Tokyo. Barely past seven, and only a handful of convenience stores still glowed warm yellow on the darkened streets.

Hiroshi set down his pencil — knuckles aching from hours of drawing. He rubbed his wrist and was about to head downstairs for dinner when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out. "Asumi" flashed on the screen. He raised an eyebrow and answered.

"Good evening, Nohara-san." Asumi's steady voice ca through, background noise hinting at the TV station's ever-present discussions. "Hope I'm not interrupting your rest?"

"Not at all, Deputy Director. I just finished a few storyboard pages — was about to eat dinner." Hiroshi walked to the window and pushed it half open. Evening air carried the faint perfu of cherry blossoms. "Calling this late — is sothing urgent?"

Asumi chuckled, unmistakable delight in his voice: "Nothing urgent — but definitely good news. Those award nominations you were up for? Results are in. The Television Drama Academy Awards, the Mainichi Film Awards, the Tokyo Drama Awards — all three that our station was tracking — you cleaned HOUSE."

Hiroshi's fingers paused on the phone. Not entirely surprised — he just hadn't expected results this quickly.

He'd been absorbed in manga and helping Isshin refine the Kumamon plan, and had completely forgotten about the ceremony.

"What specifically did I win?" he asked, leaning against the windowsill, tone as level as if inquiring about soone else's affairs.

"Your composure is sothing else." Asumi clicked his tongue twice, the award-listing filling with barely suppressed excitent: "Television Drama Academy Awards — Best New Director, Best Original Screenplay, AND Tales of the Unusual won Best Anthology Series. The Mainichi Film Awards were even bigger — you received a Best Director nomination. You didn't win, but being nominated alongside legends like Kurosawa Eiji-san is already massive recognition. The real kicker is the Tokyo Drama Awards — Best Animation went to Yamishibai, Best Variety Show to Kasou Taishou, and Best Creative Concept was ALSO yours. All told, seven or eight awards big and small — you're draining this year's entire prize pool!"

Asumi's tone turned reflective: "Honestly, Nohara-san — when I was your age, I was still fetching coffee for my seniors. Getting a nomination in so minor category was enough to brag to coworkers for half a month. You? You just swept the core prizes of three major awards. A director in his twenties achieving this — in ALL of Japan's entertainnt world, you're the first."

Hiroshi's lips curved slightly, but he didn't ride the praise, answering simply: "It's all thanks to the station. Bureau Chief Sakata gave the Independent Production Departnt's authority. Section Chiefs like Yamamoto Takeshi kept their eyes glued to every project. Without them, I couldn't have won any of these alone."

"Always so modest." Asumi laughed helplessly. "Bureau Chief Sakata was just saying in the office — if you didn't always deflect credit onto others, every dia outlet in Tokyo would be camped at your door by now. Oh — Director Kurosawa Eiji, upon hearing the results, specifically asked to tell you: when you return to Tokyo, he wants to treat you to his private sake collection. He almost NEVER praises anyone like this."

Hiroshi recalled Kurosawa Eiji during the Seven Samurai shoot — sixty-four years old, arriving on set at five AM every morning, scrutinizing the props team's katana polish until even the wood-grain on the scabbard matched historical records.

Having such a fanatically devoted filmmaker acknowledge his work — that ant more to him than any award.

"When I'm back in Tokyo, I'll definitely pay Director Kurosawa a visit." Hiroshi agreed. "By the way, Deputy Director — you didn't call this late just to share good news, did you?"

He knew Asumi too well. This vice director from the Kanto Station had always been thorough — if it were just awards, a pager ssage would suffice. No need for a long-distance call.

Asumi fell silent for two seconds, then his tone darkened: "There IS sothing else. You might not have been following this in Kumamoto — but here in Tokyo, Tokyo City TV just made a complete embarrassnt of itself and torpedoed the Tokyo Drama Awards in the process."

"Tokyo City TV?" Hiroshi frowned. That station had been established after Tanaka Mikami won the Tokyo City mayoral election last year, set up by Takahashi Kazuo — essentially the city governnt's "mouthpiece station." It had barely made a ripple before. Why the sudden commotion?

"Understandable you hadn't noticed — they'd been shooting forgettable municipal propaganda. Nobody watched."

Asumi's voice carried a sardonic edge: "For this Tokyo Drama Awards, they went all-in. Gave Best Actor to Kamiki Shunsuke, Best Actress to so newcor they'd just signed, even awarded Best Romance Drama to their own production 'Tokyo Love Song.' The mont results went public, Tokyo's entire dia EXPLODED — allegations of rigging, calls for boycotts. Even our own Matsumoto Keiko said in an interview: 'These results are an insult to the audience's intelligence.'"

Hearing "Kamiki Shunsuke," Hiroshi's eyes cooled.

He'd previously dealt with Kirin Talent Agency's president Sato Tokugawa — knew this Kamiki was Sato's "golden canary." Abysmal acting, perpetually trying to buy his way to the top.

There had already been an unpleasant incident. Apparently this guy was still ddling.

"Kamiki Shunsuke winning Best Actor — with THAT acting?" Hiroshi's voice carried open contempt. "He needs eye drops for crying scenes in 'Tokyo Love Song,' and delivers lines like he's reading a textbook. Tokyo City TV thinks the audience is stupid?"

"No kidding." Asumi sighed. "Word is Sato Tokugawa invested five billion yen into Tokyo City TV for this, plus secured several real-estate advertising sponsors. Tanaka Mikami pushed things from behind to please Sato — after all, Sato's real-estate projects are crucial for his reelection campaign next year. Result? The mont awards were announced, the Tokyo Drama Awards' credibility cratered. Even their OWN station's viewers are mailing protest letters — saying they'll never watch this ceremony again."

Hiroshi leaned against the windowsill, fingers unconsciously tapping.

He wasn't surprised that capital infiltrated award selections — Japan's entertainnt world was never a clean pond. He just hadn't expected Tokyo City TV to be this desperately short-sighted, abandoning even basic decorum.

"Our station never really expected this award to be fair, honestly."

Asumi's voice eased: "The Tokyo Drama Awards was always a local Tokyo-area prize. We only participated to give Tanaka Mikami face. Now that they've destroyed their own brand, it actually BENEFITS us. Think about it — we have Tales of the Unusual, Kasou Taishou, all these flagship shows, plus your fresh batch of major awards. We have zero need for a regional award to prop us up. But Tokyo City TV? They have NO noteworthy productions. They were banking entirely on this award to boost their profile. Now that the award's beco a joke, who's going to watch their shows?"

Hiroshi nodded slightly. Asumi was right.

TV Tokyo was a legacy dia powerhouse — controlling Japan's widest distribution network. The Kanto region alone gave them triple Tokyo City TV's coverage, plus long-standing partnerships with the Asahi Shimbun and Yomiuri Shimbun. Exposure was never an issue.

Tokyo City TV, on the other hand — signal coverage limited to the Tokyo city center, viewer base inherently small, and now hemorrhaging credibility from the awards scandal. Recovering would be practically impossible.

"Takahashi Kazuo must be losing his mind right about now." Asumi's tone held a hint of schadenfreude. "He'd been privately boasting about building Tokyo City TV into 'Tokyo's premier cultural platform.' Less than six months in, and THIS scandal breaks. Tanaka Mikami summoned him to City Hall for a dressing-down yesterday — apparently he walked out looking whiter than paper."

Hiroshi pictured Takahashi — the man transferred from City Hall's PR departnt, always in a crisp suit, speech calculated and watertight, yet lacking real substance.

At a TV Tokyo reception once, Takahashi had specifically approached him — every sentence reeking of "let's collaborate." Now, clearly, the man didn't even understand basic industry rules.

"Shortsighted fools." Hiroshi's voice carried a cool edge. "They only see imdiate gains, forgetting that a dia organization's foundation is CREDIBILITY. Capital can buy award outcos, but it can't buy the audience's discernnt. If viewers don't buy in, no amount of awards or ratings ans anything — it's all hollow."

"Couldn't agree more." Asumi resonated deeply. "Executive Deputy Director Takada was saying in the office today that Tokyo City TV is 'digging its own grave.' And I also know that last month, Kanto Station faced an attempt by capital to interfere with program production — Takada shut it down cold. In dia, if you can't even defend your own bottom line, what separates you from money-obsessed rchants?"

At the ntion of Takada Toshihide, Hiroshi raised an eyebrow.

This Executive Deputy Director had been a core Tokyo Faction figure, openly looking down on Asumi who'd co from Kanto Station. He'd even clashed with Hiroshi over Seven Samurai's production rights.

Now even HE was saying things like this. Apparently the factional strife within TV Tokyo had genuinely eased.

"Executive Deputy Director Takada sees clearly."

Hiroshi remarked calmly: "But it's only natural. The Greater Tokyo tropolitan Area plan is already on the agenda. If the station clings to 'Tokyo Faction vs. Kanto Faction' ntalities, it will eventually be outcompeted. Bureau Chief Sakata told before — TV Tokyo needs to pursue 'Greater Tokyo Integration,' with no more internal divisions. If Takada-san couldn't see even that much, he wouldn't have risen to Executive Deputy Director."

Asumi laughed on the other end: "You've really figured out Sakata-san's thinking. Honestly, Nohara-san — Sakata-san values you more and more. At the last board eting, soone proposed promoting you to Level 2 Director. He imdiately vetoed it, saying: 'Wait a little longer — Nohara-san's abilities deserve sothing BETTER.' In all of TV Tokyo, you're the only person he protects like that."

Hiroshi didn't respond. He knew Sakata Nobuhiko's support stemd not just from results, but from their shared conviction about "dia responsibility."

Sakata had always envisioned TV Tokyo as "dia with warmth." Hiroshi's Kasou Taishou had breached Japanese social apathy, Tales of the Unusual had sparked national discourse on social issues, Seven Samurai had transcended the traditional sword-fighting genre — all perfectly aligned with Sakata's philosophy.

"By the way — when are you heading back to Tokyo?" Asumi suddenly asked. "Bureau Chief Sakata says he wants to throw you a celebration dinner when you return. Kurosawa Eiji-san and Matsumoto Keiko-san have both confird attendance. Also, the Midnight Diner live-action sequel's prep work is nearly done — Sato Kenji has been pushing several tis, wanting to discuss script details with you."

Hiroshi glanced at the Kumamon designs on the desk, still bearing sticky notes with mascot production reminders.

He thought for a mont: "Things aren't wrapped up here in Kumamoto yet. The Kumamon plushie samples I arranged for the Prefectural publicity departnt won't be ready until next week, and we haven't finalized short film shooting locations. I estimate another two weeks in Kumamoto. Once things are on track here, I'll return to Tokyo."

"That works — take your ti." Asumi agreed readily. "I'll stall on the celebration dinner. For the Midnight Diner script, I'll have Ito Kenji draft a first version — you can revise it when you're back. Oh — how are you and Misae-san doing out there?"

At the ntion of Misae, Hiroshi's tone softened considerably: "Very well. She's been busy with manga work. This trip to visit her parents — I'm planning to finalize our wedding plans. We can't keep putting it off."

Asumi exclaid in delight: "Really? Congratulations! Misae-san is a wonderful girl — gentle and capable, a perfect match for you. You MUST invite to the wedding!"

"Absolutely." Hiroshi smiled. Outside, the night had deepened further. Misae's voice floated up from below: "Hiroshi, dinner's ready — co eat!"

"I need to go — Misae's calling for dinner." He picked up his phone. "I'll be in touch when I'm back in Tokyo."

"Sure — go eat. Good night." Asumi hung up.

Hiroshi pocketed his phone and headed for the stairs. At the top, he spotted Misae below, holding a bowl of tempura, face lit with a sweet smile: "Who were you on the phone with? You talked so long — the food's almost cold."

"Asumi-san at TV Tokyo. Award stuff." Hiroshi descended, taking the bowl from her. "Oh — forgot to ntion. We won quite a few awards. When we're back in Tokyo, Sakata-san wants to throw a celebration dinner. I'll bring you along."

Misae's eyes sparkled: "Really? Will I get to et Kurosawa Eiji-san? When I watched Seven Samurai, I absolutely loved his carawork — so powerful! And Matsumoto Keiko-san — I watched her Yesterday's Cherry Blossoms multiple tis. Cried my eyes out every ti!"

Seeing Misae's excitent, Hiroshi couldn't help ruffling her hair: "Of course — I'll introduce you. But right now, we need to eat. The tempura won't stay crispy much longer."

"Mm!" Misae nodded emphatically, pulling Hiroshi by the hand toward the dining room.

Inside, Yoshiharu and Takasae were already seated. The table held tempura, chicken corn soup, sashimi, and a plate of fresh dorayaki — all Hiroshi's favorites.

"Who were you calling, Hiroshi?" Yoshiharu poured him a beer. "Misae said it was soone from TV Tokyo?"

"Mm — Deputy Director Asumi, regarding the awards." Hiroshi sat and picked up a tempura piece. The crisp shell crackled open to reveal succulent shrimp — the taste of his mories. "Won a few awards. Station Chief Sakata says he'll throw a celebration dinner when I'm back in Tokyo."

Yoshiharu's eyes lit up: "What awards? The ones you ntioned before?"

"Mm. Television Drama Academy Awards, Mainichi Film Awards, Tokyo Drama Awards — all of them." Hiroshi spoke as though discussing the weather.

Takasae's chopsticks clattered to the table. She snatched them up: "Are you SERIOUS? Those are the most prestigious awards in all of Japan! Hiroshi — you won ALL of those?"

Misae grabbed Hiroshi's arm excitedly: "Hiroshi, you're incredible! I KNEW you could do it! When we get back to Tokyo, I'm going to brag to everyone at the comic club — tell them my boyfriend is the greatest director in all of Japan!"

Watching the family's excitent, warmth flooded Hiroshi's heart.

He raised his beer glass: "Uncle, Auntie, Misae — thank you for always supporting . This toast is for you."

Yoshiharu raised his glass too, eyes reddening slightly: "WE should be toasting YOU. Hiroshi — so talented yet so thoughtful. Our Misae being with you — that's HER blessing. Whatever cos, the Koyama family will always have your back."

Takasae nodded, continuously adding food to Hiroshi's plate: "Exactly — eat more. You must be exhausted lately. Tomorrow I'll make your favorite salmon ochazuke, plus a restorative chicken soup."

Misae sat beside him, eyes overflowing with adoration and love.

She recalled the first ti she'd t Hiroshi — at the station platform, him in a crisp suit, asking for directions. They happened to share the sa route, talked throughout the train ride, and the rest was history.

Even then, she'd sensed this man was exceptional. Now, clearly, her instincts had been spot on.

...

Kumamoto's dusk settled faster than Tokyo's. Barely past six, and the Fujiwara estate's garden was already veiled in pale blue-gray.

Fujiwara Isshin dropped his Prefectural Office briefcase on the entryway cabinet — the clasp's tallic click still carrying traces of unspent exhaustion. He'd spent the entire afternoon at the Prefectural Office grinding through Kumamon's budget tables with the planning section. No ti even for hot tea. His shoulders felt leaden.

"Welco ho, Young Master Isshin."

The housekeeper, Auntie Kukuho, erged from the kitchen in a navy kimono, towel in hand, her smile carrying the familiarity of years tending this family. "The Master arrived not five minutes ago — he's changing in the inner room. Dinner is prepared: your favorite Chikuzen-ni stew and grilled mackerel. Ten more minutes and it's on the table."

"Thank you, Auntie."

Isshin took the towel, fingertips tracing its fine weave — only then did his taut nerves begin to ease.

He bent to change shoes. The wooden-clog sound alerted the inner room, and the sliding door rattled open. Fujiwara Honmaru erged in loose cream-colored loungewear, silver hair catching the warm lamplight.

"Why are you half an hour later than usual?" Honmaru's voice carried the seasoned composure of a veteran bureaucrat. He settled at the low table, sipped cold tea, gaze sweeping his son's pallid face. "Held up at the Prefectural Office again?"

Before Isshin could answer, brisk footsteps ca from the kitchen. Fujiwara Temari appeared bearing a plate of freshly sliced apple, red pieces still beaded with water droplets.

She placed the dish between them, pressed a hand to her son's forehead, voice tightening with concern: "Isshin — why do you look so worn? You have dark circles! Haven't you been sleeping well?"

"I'm fine, Mom — just busy." Isshin deflected her hand, grabbed an apple slice and bit in. The crisp sweetness barely dented his fatigue — if anything, the dryness in his throat grew more pronounced.

He seized the tea bowl and drained most of it in one go before recovering.

Temari wouldn't let it go. She sat opposite, fingertip tapping the table: "Whatever's wearing our Isshin down to THIS state — it can't be trivial. Tell your mother. Is the Prefectural Office piling on difficult assignnts again? That director nad Nohara Hiroshi you ntioned helping with publicity — is this related?"

At "Nohara Hiroshi," Isshin's movents paused.

He set down the tea bowl, unconsciously rubbing its rim, then nodded after a few seconds: "Yes — it's Kumamon business. Had a budget eting with the planning section today. They thought mascot production and short film shooting costs were too high. Took all afternoon to barely finalize the numbers."

"Kumamon?" Temari's eyes brightened. She leaned in, curiosity evident: "The cartoon bear that Nohara Hiroshi designed? You ntioned it before — using it to promote Kumamoto's specialties and attractions, right?"

"Right." Isshin nodded, recalling the design — roly-poly black body, red-cotton blush patches, a red bib printed with mandarins, endearingly silly.

He smiled as he explained: "Hiroshi-san says this character can shatter the old 'volcanoes and samurai only' impression, making young people see Kumamoto as cute and approachable."

Honmaru, who'd been silent, suddenly set down his teacup. His gaze fixed on his son with fresh interest: "Oh? The Nohara Hiroshi who's been making waves in Tokyo's entertainnt world? I just read about him in today's Asahi Shimbun — his animations and dramas won multiple awards, he's being called the 'progenitor of new-wave samurai films.' Collaborating with him — that IS interesting."

"Father, you know about his awards too?" Isshin was surprised. He'd assud his father only read political news — he hadn't expected entertainnt coverage on his radar.

Honmaru smiled, tapping the table: "At yesterday's Prefectural Office eting, Governor Muto Masao even brought him up — said his Hachiko campaign for Akita Prefecture and Tokyo tropolis was very successful, and Kumamoto should learn from it. Though I didn't pay much attention — a twenty-sothing kid, however talented, how much can he really achieve for regional promotion? Probably just so trendy ideas young people like."

At this, Isshin imdiately straightened, voice urgent: "Father, you can't say that. Hiroshi-san doesn't just deal in trendy ideas — his work is extraordinarily ticulous. Take the Kumamon design: he thought of EVERYTHING, including a ventilation layer inside the mascot suit. He specifically mandated local red cotton for the blush — showcasing regional identity while supporting local industry. He also said to build recognition locally first, then leverage TV Tokyo's variety shows for national rollout. Every single step is mapped."

Honmaru raised an eyebrow, sipped more tea: "Oh? However good the planning, what matters is results. Has Kumamoto not done enough promotion? A few years back we pushed the 'Mount Aso Tourism Express Line' — spent tens of millions of yen, and tourist numbers barely rose five percent. Last year we tried pushing horse-at sashimi — even set up counters in Tokyo departnt stores — and it fizzled because nobody had heard of it. A cartoon character is going to outperform all those concrete efforts?"

"Father, this is DIFFERENT!" Isshin nearly leaped from his seat. Recalling Hiroshi's "cute mascot concept," he rushed to explain: "Hiroshi-san says Kumamon isn't just a promotional tool — it needs to beco Kumamoto's 'cultural symbol.' Like Disney's Mickey Mouse — hear it, think happiness. Hear 'Kumamon,' and people should think of Kumamoto's warmth and charm. Plus, he promised to feature Kumamon on Kasou Taishou — that's Japan's highest-rated variety show! If we can get on THAT program, the entire country sees Kumamon!"

Temari nodded enthusiastically beside them: "I've watched Kasou Taishou too — it's SO fun! Last ti I watched it with the neighbor, we laughed till we cried. If Kumamon appeared on it, people would definitely love it."

But Honmaru still shook his head, voice level: "Isshin, you're still too young — oversimplifying things. Getting on a TV Tokyo variety show isn't that easy. Even if it works, one appearance of a cartoon character — that's enough for people to rember Kumamoto? I doubt it. Kumamoto's promotion needs solid policy and industry — relying on gimmicks won't cut it."

"Father!"

Isshin dug into his briefcase and slapped a newspaper on the low table with a rustle, jabbing a finger at the article: "LOOK! This is yesterday's Yomiuri Shimbun — it says Hiroshi-san won both Best Director and Best Screenplay at the Television Drama Academy Awards, AND his Kasou Taishou broke FORTY percent ratings! Could soone without real talent achieve this? When he says Kumamon will catch fire — it WILL!"

Both Honmaru and Temari's eyes fell on the newspaper.

The headline in bold: "23-Year-Old Director Nohara Hiroshi Sweeps Three Major Entertainnt Awards." Below: a photo from his first award ceremony — black suit, standing on the podium holding a trophy, eyes steady and resolute, looking nothing like soone in his twenties.

The article detailed his achievents: Yamishibai pioneering the "urban horror animation" genre, Tales of the Unusual sparking nationwide social discourse, Seven Samurai hailed as "a classic transcending traditional sword films." Even his manga — YuYu Hakusho and Doraemon — had beco bestsellers, breaking a million copies.

Temari marveled: "My goodness — this Nohara Hiroshi is EXTRAORDINARY! All these awards at twenty-three — a year younger than our Isshin! You're incredibly lucky to be working with him."

Honmaru's expression shifted. He picked up the newspaper and studied it closely, finger tracing the article, voice newly grave: "I had NO idea this young man was this capable."

"So you believe NOW, Father?"

Isshin's voice carried a hint of triumph: "Hiroshi-san doesn't just have talent — he understands exactly how to move an audience. When he says Kumamon will sweep Japan, he doesn't say it lightly. We've already confird with the Prefectural Office: plushie samples next week, short films by month's end, and by next spring, Kumamon will be on TV Tokyo's programs!"

Honmaru set down the newspaper and regarded his son's animated face, lips curving slightly: "All right — Father was wrong. Since you're this confident, and you have soone this talented backing you, then do this project well. If it succeeds, it won't just boost Kumamoto's economy — it'll be excellent for your career at the Prefectural Office."

"Thank you, Father!" Isshin finally exhaled, the first genuine smile of the day crossing his face.

Just then, Auntie Kukuho's voice ca from the kitchen: "Sir, Madam, Young Master — dinner is ready."

Temari stood, patting her son's shoulder with a smile: "Enough about work — let's eat first. You've been running all day, you need the fuel. I had Auntie make your favorite Chikuzen-ni — with konjac and quail eggs, just the way you like."

"Mm!" Isshin nodded, following his parents to the dining room.

Warm lamplight illuminated elegant dishes. Chikuzen-ni's savory aroma filled the room.

Temari kept adding food to his plate: "Eat more mackerel — protein. The konjac is good for your stomach — you've been staying up too late, take care of yourself."

Honmaru also poured his son a cup of sake, voice warming: "Try this — I had soone bring it from Kyoto. A ginjo, very smooth, won't go to your head. When you see Nohara Hiroshi, offer him a glass — young people should bond over good drink. You might spark even better ideas."

"I will, Father." Isshin raised the cup, clinked with his father — sake's llow fragrance blooming. His fatigue seed to lt away.

He ate quickly, but his mind was already racing through tomorrow's tasks — coordinating with the mascot manufacturer on production details, scouting short film locations at Mount Aso.

Still busy — but imagining Kumamon sweeping Japan filled him with energy.

"Mom, Dad — I'm done." He set down his bowl and grabbed his briefcase. "Need to handle remaining work in my room. Tomorrow I have to report progress to Hiroshi-san."

Temari watched him with concern: "Won't you rest a little? You've hardly paused all day."

"Can't, Mom — work first." He smiled and headed to his room. "Once this busy stretch is over, I'll properly spend ti with you both."

Watching his retreating figure, Temari sighed and told Honmaru: "This child — exactly like you at his age. Once work starts, everything else disappears. But at least this ti he has Nohara Hiroshi helping. Should lighten the load."

Honmaru set down his cup, gazing into the night beyond the window: "Indeed — a good partner matters enormously. This Nohara Hiroshi — talented yet grounded. You can see it from the Kumamon design details alone — he's not a man who cuts corners. If Isshin can learn from him, that's worth more than anything."

In his room, Isshin switched on the desk lamp and spread his docunts.

Under the light, Kumamon's design drawing stood out — the roly-poly black bear seed to smile at him.

He picked up his pen and began revising tomorrow's Prefectural Office budget table. The pen scratched across paper — as if sketching Kumamoto's future.

He knew the road ahead was long, full of obstacles. But whenever he thought of Nohara Hiroshi's vision and his parents' support, confidence surged.

Perhaps before long, this adorable little bear would bring Kumamoto an entirely different future.

...

Morning light had barely glazed the Prefectural Office building's glass facade when Fujiwara Isshin stood in the parking lot clutching two docunts.

One: the Finance Ministry-approved Kumamon special budget. The other: the publicity departnt's stamped filming permit — pages still warm from the printer.

He'd just tossed his briefcase onto the old Toyota's passenger seat when he spotted Nohara Hiroshi erging from the corner convenience store, carrying two bags of steaming taiyaki — paper sacks printed with local mandarin patterns.

"Nohara-san!" Fujiwara hurried over, thrusting the docunts forward: "Finance stamped these at nine this morning — publicity's permit ca through simultaneously. Barring surprises, funds should hit the Prefectural special account by afternoon. Production is completely on schedule!"

Hiroshi accepted the docunts, fingertip scanning the red "Kumamoto Prefectural Priority Project" seal on the cover. He took a bite of taiyaki — red-bean sweetness mingling with warm steam.

Chewing, he flipped to the budget page, eyes pausing on the figures for "Mascot Production Costs" and "Short Film Shooting Fees." When he looked up, amusent touched his gaze: "Two days faster than expected. Your Prefectural Office is more efficient than Tokyo tropolitan Governnt."

"All thanks to you." Isshin smiled. "The Governor personally summoned the planning section yesterday for a lecture — said if they delayed Kumamon's progress, the entire section would be writing self-criticisms. Oh — the mascot suit you asked to track? Completed yesterday evening. The manufacturer says they followed your blueprints to the letter — even the red-cotton blush was sourced from a Kumamoto southern factory."

"How's the cotton's texture?"

Hiroshi stopped walking, fingers unconsciously tracing the docunt's edge: "I specifically told them — no synthetic fabric for the blush. Must use local red cotton — shows softness and links to Kumamoto's specialties. If the texture's poor, on cara it'll look cheap."

"Rest easy — I personally inspected the samples yesterday!" Isshin nodded with conviction. "The red cotton feels wonderfully soft, and under lighting it carries a natural sheen — far prettier than synthetics. The suit's ventilation layer also follows your specs — two layers of ice-silk lining. Staff can wear it all day without heatstroke. And per your instructions, they sewed small pockets into the paws — each holds ten mandarin-flavored candies, perfect for tourist interactions."

Hiroshi nodded with satisfaction. He was about to discuss the shooting crew when steady footsteps and a familiar hearty laugh sounded behind them: "Nohara-san! Isshin! What are you two chatting about here? I spotted you from the third floor!"

They turned. Yamada Ichiro strode toward them in a dark gray suit, black briefcase in hand.

As he drew near, Hiroshi noticed a shooting schedule peeking from the briefcase's side pocket, covered in colorful sticky notes.

"Director Yamada? What brings you here?" Isshin was caught off guard — yesterday they'd agreed he and Hiroshi would handle the shooting crew coordination.

Yamada laughed: "You think I'd sit this one out? I didn't want you waiting! The shooting crew is FULLY ready. The caraman is a veteran borrowed from Osaka TV — did 'Kansai Chronicles,' expert at outdoor location work. Lighting and sound are our prefectural station's core team — they scouted Mount Aso's scenic area yesterday, even marked the optimal cara angles. All we need is YOUR green light, Nohara-san, and we roll imdiately!"

As publicity director, at a critical mont like this — how could he possibly sit idle?

Of course everything had to be ticulously prepared!