My Name is Hiroshi Nohara, Star of Neon Film and Television! Chapter 35: Ichiban!

When Monday's morning light, like a strict monarch, used its icy and impartial scepter to pry open the drowsy eyelids of this massive city of Tokyo, that ritual dedicated to darkness last night seemingly already dissipated without a trace.

The roaring of the subways, the footsteps of pedestrians, the monotonous operating sounds of coffee machines in office buildings, everything returned to its original order.

However, so things, once planted, would grow madly deep in the unseen soil like those most stubborn vines.

In the Suzuki Section, everyone was present, yet also seed absent.

They sat in their own seats, their body postures were that of working, but their souls seemingly floated in mid-air, awaiting that final feather to determine whether they would ascend or plumt.

The door was pushed open at this ti.

Hashishita Ichiro walked in, still holding that thin piece of paper apparently carrying the destiny of the entire section in his hand.

Only today, his face lacked the ecstasy and madness of the past few days. Replaced by it was an almost numb blankness, unique to after being repeatedly washed over by a massive sense of happiness.

He walked to the desk, putting that piece of paper down, his movents so gentle it was like placing a fragile piece of porcelain.

The crowd gathered around, gazes burning like torches.

"Late-night animation 'Yamishibai', seventh episode viewership rating: 4.22%."

"Viewership rating level - Top Tier! (Note: Already broke the record, Ichiban for the late-night slot.)"

4.22%.

Ichiban!

This number, this vocabulary, was no longer a drop of boiling oil, nor a clap of startling thunder.

It was like a silent holy light descending from heaven, gently yet irrefutably enveloping this small office.

No one cheered, no one shed tears.

Minamura Hoshi rely slowly sat back in his chair, exhaling a long, long breath. In that breath, it seed to carry away all the accumulated resentnt and unease from his over twenty years of life.

Haseji Kakeru walked to the window, watching those pedestrians downstairs still small as ants, feeling for the first ti that he, and they, perhaps were no longer in the sa dinsion.

Kitagawa Yao looked foolishly at that number, the corners of her mouth unconsciously curving upward, that smile as pure as a child who had received the sweetest candy in the whole world.

The taste of victory, when first tasted is strong liquor, tasted again is aged wine, and when it is intense to the extre, it returns to original simplicity, turning into a cup of warm, clear tea, silently moisturizing your internal organs, making your entire body comfortable, feeling light and airy.

4.22%.

Ichiban!

Suzuki Kiyoto looked at these two annotations, all the wrinkles on that old face stretching out, like a chrysanthemum finally blooming facing the morning sun after wind and rain.

He knew that from today onward, when he walked in the corridors of this television station again, those gazes that used to be cast towards him carrying sympathy and disdain would all turn into awe and looking up.

In this world that only spoke with viewership ratings, 4.22% was his scepter, and Ichiban was his crown.

And what endowed him with all this was that young man currently sitting quietly in the corner, seemingly turning a deaf ear to all the glory and clamor from the outside world.

...

anwhile, in Jimbocho, hailed as the heart of neon manga, within that building of Shueisha resembling a gray fortress, a storm belonging to paper and ink was also quietly brewing.

'Weekly Shonen Jump' Editorial Departnt, this was the place capable of touching youths' dreams and hot blood the most in all of Japan. In the air forever floated a unique aura mixed from the anxiety before deadlines, the ecstasy upon discovering a genius, and endless canned coffee.

"Did you guys watch that last night?" A young editor opened the conversation.

"My wife stayed up watching it last night. That story called 'Contradiction', she says she trembles with fear taking calls from friends now."

"That's nothing, I heard from colleagues in other departnts that right now taxi drivers in all of Tokyo don't quite dare take ride requests to remote places at night, terrified of encountering 'Tragic Veneration'!"

"That 'Yamishibai' is simply toxic! I heard its planning and original draft is exactly Sensei Nohara who draws 'YuYu Hakusho' in our magazine!"

Everyone's gazes unanimously fell upon that man sitting in the corner, currently cautiously flipping through a stack of brand new manuscripts.

Tadokoro Masato.

At this mont, Tadokoro felt he wasn't sitting on a chair, but sitting on the clouds.

He enjoyed the gazes cast by his colleagues mixed with envy and jealousy, feeling his entire career had never been so radiant before.

He put down the manuscripts in his hands, his face carrying a profound feeling unique to soone with experience: "More than just toxic, it's simply a miracle. However, compared to 'Yamishibai', what I admire more is this manuscript from Sensei Nohara."

He spread that stack of manuscripts on the desk like displaying a holy relic.

"Look, this is the opening of the Dark Tournant. This storyboarding, this pacing control, and this newly introduced character, the Toguro Brothers... That overwhelming, despair-inducing power leaps onto the paper with just a few strokes. Can you believe it? This... this is what Sensei Nohara 'casually' drew under that hellish rushed working environnt at the television station!"

The editors gathered around, letting out bursts of gasping sounds.

They were all the top experts in the industry; they could understand what terrifying talent and skill was contained within these manuscripts.

That fundantally wasn't like a rushed work. Every line, every screentone, appeared to have undergone a thousand temperings, precise, seasoned, and full of genius ingenuity that had been deeply considered.

"Is this guy... really human?" Soone muttered to themselves.

Right at this mont, the door to the editorial departnt was pushed open. A middle-aged man wearing an elegant suit, his hair combed ticulously, but his complexion carrying a trace of unnatural paleness, walked in.

It was the Editor-in-Chief of their group.

The clamorous office instantly quieted down.

The Editor-in-Chief's gaze swept across the crowd, finally landing on the spread-open manuscripts. He didn't speak, just walked straight over and picked up that draft.

"Editor-in-Chief, you..." Tadokoro Masato was sowhat nervous.

"Last night, I watched it too." The Editor-in-Chief slowly opened his mouth, his voice carrying an imperceptible raspiness seemingly having just broken free from a nightmare: "That story called 'Contradiction', was very interesting."

He raised his head, looking at the crowd. Within those eyes that were always sharp as an eagle's, currently also carried a trace of lingering fear: "Did you say, this 'Yamishibai', is the work of Sensei Nohara?"

"Yes... yes!" Tadokoro hastily answered.

On the Editor-in-Chief's face, a shock denser than all the editors combined flashed by.

He lowered his head, looking once again at the 'YuYu Hakusho' manuscript in his hand. That look was like looking at a national treasure capable of changing history.

He remained silent for a long while before giving an order using a decisive tone belonging to a decision-maker, leaving no room for interference.

"Tadokoro."

"Here!"

"Starting from the next issue, add a line of text for on the header of the 'YuYu Hakusho' serialization."

The Editor-in-Chief paused, enunciating every single word:

"—Original Work & Planning of Super Popular Late-Night Animation 'Yamishibai', The Latest Masterpiece by Genius Manga Artist Nohara Hiroshi!"

"Sensei Miyamoto's departure has caused many people to have doubts about the future of our magazine."

The Editor-in-Chief's gaze swept across every editor's face, his voice resonant and powerful: "Now, we will use this thod to tell all readers, to tell all opponents—we lost an evergreen tree, but we, have welcod a, even vaster forest!"