My Name is Hiroshi Nohara, Star of Neon Film and Television! Chapter 5: A Live Demonstration

Iwata Masao left Suzuki Kiyoto's production section, ignoring the greetings from several freshly hired staffers along the way, and sauntered back to his own production office at a leisurely pace.

After all, they were both Grade 3 Directors in TV Tokyo's Production Bureau — their assigned offices weren't far apart.

That was precisely why he'd gone to snoop around in the first place.

"Heh, that old fossil Suzuki Kiyoto — getting booted out of the headquarters' Production Bureau is only a matter of ti!"

Back in his own section, Iwata Masao swept his narrow, triangular eyes across his subordinates, who were all working in tense, focused silence. Watching their nervous deanors gave him a lion-surveying-his-territory sort of satisfaction that stroked his vanity perfectly.

He pushed open his private office door and returned to his ticulously arranged personal workspace.

The mory of Suzuki Kiyoto's furious face crossed his mind.

Iwata Masao's smirk deepened. "This promotion to Grade 2 Director — it's as good as mine."

That supposedly up-and-coming manga artist — he'd been wary of the man at first.

Afraid sothing unexpected might co of it.

That was the whole reason he'd gone over there so brazenly — to scope things out.

But as it turned out, this "up-and-coming manga artist" was clearly nothing more than a fresh college graduate.

"Just because you got lucky and so doodles went sowhere, you think you can produce ani?" Iwata Masao twirled a fountain pen between his fingers, his self-satisfied expression growing even more pronounced. "That old fool Suzuki must have lost his mind, pinning his hopes on so kid who just graduated. No wonder he's spent seven or eight years at TV Tokyo headquarters and still can't get past Grade 3."

With a derisive snort, he added, "Then again, what do you expect from soone who ca up from one of the affiliate stations? Just as small-ti as the rest of them!"

If they weren't small-ti, then why were all the programs produced by those affiliate stations under TV Tokyo so diocre?

Abysmal viewership ratings, miserable completion rates — the lot of them.

"Sooner or later, I'll have every last one of you dead-weight freeloaders kicked out!" Iwata Masao's expression darkened as he let out a cold snort.

The thought that this man was still competing with him for the sa promotion only soured his mood further.

Brrring—

Just as Iwata Masao was brooding, the desk phone in front of him suddenly rang.

He picked it up. "This is Iwata Masao."

But the mont he heard the voice on the other end, his entire deanor transford.

Every trace of that arrogant, sullen scowl lted into an expression of eager deference. Even the gloom vanished, replaced by a beaming smile.

Because the caller was his backer — his father's forr classmate.

And the Deputy Director of TV Tokyo's Production Bureau.

Takada Toshihide.

"Deputy Director Takada, rest assured — I have the concept fully prepared. It's an ani based on the vengeful spirits of ancient samurai."

"Production is being fast-tracked as we speak. My team is highly professional."

"Yes, I understand the urgency."

"Suzuki Kiyoto?"

"I've already checked on his progress. He's just now starting to put things together, and he's grasping at straws — he's partnered with a fresh graduate, of all people."

"Yes, it's an incredibly foolish move. I'll make the most of this opportunity."

"Thank you again, Deputy Director Takada, for giving two weeks' advance notice."

"Hai! I'm deeply grateful! Hai!"

Iwata Masao stood ramrod straight before his desk, his face taut with solemnity. By the end of the call, he was bowing repeatedly into the phone.

When the conversation ended—

The exaggerated, brilliant smile slowly faded from his face.

But even with the smile reined in, satisfaction and self-assurance still radiated from Iwata Masao's eyes, his face, the very corners of his mouth.

Barring any surprises—

The Grade 2 Director promotion—

Was destined to be his!

With that thought, Iwata Masao didn't linger in his office. Instead, he opened the door and stepped out, making his rounds through his territory with a stern face.

He noted with particular pleasure that his section had four or five more subordinates than Suzuki Kiyoto's.

And every one of them was hard at work.

"Yosh."

Iwata Masao nodded approvingly.

He could see that his assistants were diligently working on the ani he'd already locked in — concept, content, the works.

At this pace, they'd have the first episode completed before the weekend.

Then he'd submit it to the Production Bureau's review board ahead of schedule.

With Deputy Director Takada's backing, once approved—

He'd fast-track the process, get it green-lit, and secure a pri evening slot for the premiere.

If it hit even three percent in the viewership ratings—

Then his Grade 2 Director promotion—

Would be a lock!

"Stay focused, everyone!" At this thought, Iwata Masao stroked the thin mustache beneath his nose, his mood soaring even higher. He called out sternly to his subordinates, "Don't rush for the sake of rushing. Every detail must be polished to perfection. Understood?"

"Hai! Understood!" The staffers — busy scripting the ani, laying out panels, drafting storyboards, and testing animation smoothness — all responded in unison.

Iwata Masao nodded, thoroughly satisfied.

These subordinates were animation professionals he'd personally recruited through his connections.

While this world's Japan wasn't the exact sa Japan from his previous life on Earth, it was essentially a parallel version — and its animation production capabilities were world-class on Earth and equally top-tier in this world.

Moreover, thanks to the entertainnt industry boom, this 1990s parallel Japan had also cultivated a massive pool of skilled practitioners.

These seemingly young subordinates, despite being recent graduates—

Were thoroughly professional when it ca to ani production.

"Fluid animation, a terrifying storyline, slaughter and demons and gods — my Demon Boy Samurai is guaranteed to be a smash hit!"

Iwata Masao was brimming with confidence.

......

anwhile, in Suzuki's section.

Hiroshi had navigated bureaucratic waters in his previous life, so it didn't take him long to settle into the team's working rhythm.

And since the Yamishibai manga was his creation—

Once Suzuki Kiyoto confird that their horror ani project would be an adaptation of Hiroshi's Yamishibai—

The bulk of the work naturally fell on Hiroshi's shoulders.

He was the creator.

Which made him, by default, the screenwriter who understood the material best.

Not to ntion Hiroshi had complete mories of the Yamishibai ani as it had aired on TV Tokyo back on Earth.

Adapting the manga now was child's play!

The four mbers of Suzuki's section were absolutely floored.

Suzuki Kiyoto included.

Because when Hiroshi began explaining how to construct the animation — how to fra the shots, how to break the manga into panels, how to handle the production—

They discovered that Hiroshi's explanations were clear, logical, and airtight.

It was as though—

Hiroshi had planned out every last detail in his mind beforehand, then simply walked them through it — no guesswork required on their part. All they had to do was follow his instructions.

And based on their own ntal calculations—

Everything Hiroshi explained and laid out—

Seed genuinely flawless!

'Is this kid so kind of genius?' Even Suzuki Kiyoto — a man in his fifties with over thirty years in the directing business — found himself listening to Hiroshi's presentation with mounting awe. A new light kindled in his eyes as he gazed at the young man.