Murakami Iori led Chihara Rinto out of the main building and into the annex on the left, which housed the production bureau. As they walked, their conversation drifted away from work-related topics, focusing instead on getting to know each other better.
Mutual benefit, shared interests, and camaraderie—this was workplace convention.
Once inside the production bureau, more people began greeting Murakami Iori warmly. Observing this, Chihara Rinto seized a moment to tease her: "I didn't realize you were so popular, Murakami-san."
Despite her exaggerated shoulder pads, she remained well-liked—a testament to the era's peculiar aesthetics.
Murakami Iori couldn't help but laugh softly. "Only since yesterday," she admitted.
Word traveled fast in TV networks. Everyone now knew she'd become a producer with a project under her control, granting her some authority. Attitudes toward her had warmed considerably as a result.
Still, she added wryly, "Who knows how long it'll last…" If Tales of the Unusual flopped or got canceled midway, mockery might not come directly, but the warmth would surely fade. She could end up worse off than before.
Chihara Rinto reassured her: "Don't worry. We'll do our best. Have confidence."
"Yes, we must," she nodded firmly, her expression turning serious for a moment. Failure wasn't entirely forbidden in broadcasting, but for someone without seniority like her, recovery could take years—if ever. By then, opportunities might have dried up completely.
She quickly shook off these thoughts, smiling at Chihara Rinto. "We're partners now, Chihara-san. No need to keep using honorifics all the time. Just call me Murakami."
As an outsider, Chihara Rinto hesitated, unsure of crossing boundaries. "That might not be appropriate, given your seniority."
He'd heard that hierarchical relationships in Japanese workplaces were rigid, though perhaps less so than in schools.
But Murakami Iori was sincere. She felt close in age to him and knew writers tended to be sensitive souls who appreciated encouragement.
"Then what about you, Chihara-sensei?" she teased lightly. "Should I address you formally too?"
In Japan, three professions commanded universal respect: lawyers, doctors, and authors. Writers, often called "national teachers," sometimes even appeared on currency notes (as did doctors). Screenwriters, being akin to authors, were frequently addressed as "sensei." This trend later extended to mangaka and light novelists, regardless of age.
With this clarification, Chihara Rinto relented, accepting the informality. "Please, just call me Chihara."
Satisfied, Murakami Iori pressed the elevator button. Before explaining the floor plan, however, a man in his fifties suddenly appeared, bowing deeply at ninety degrees.
"Murakami-san, good day!"
Murakami Iori turned, returning the bow promptly. "Long time no see, Nagano-senpai."
"Yeah, it's been a while!" Nagano straightened, complimenting her effusively. "I heard yesterday about your promotion. Talented individuals always rise to the top. Congratulations!"
Despite his age, Nagano maintained a humble demeanor, addressing the younger Murakami with respectful deference. She responded politely, acknowledging his praise.
After exchanging pleasantries, Nagano turned to Chihara Rinto, inquiring, "And who might this be?"
Murakami Iori introduced them: "Chihara, this is Nagano Teppei, president of Ishimoto Bridge Talent Agency. Nagano-senpai, this is our head screenwriter, Chihara Rinto."
Nagano was surprised. "So young? My apologies! Chihara-sensei, pleased to meet you." He followed up with another deep bow.
Unsure of his intentions, Chihara Rinto reciprocated hastily. "Likewise, Nagano-senpai."
After the formalities, Nagano studied Chihara Rinto, clucking admiringly. "Such youthful talent! To become a lead screenwriter at such an age—you're destined for success."
"Thank you for your kind words, Nagano-senpai."
"Here's my business card. Please accept it."
"Ah… I'm sorry, I don't have one yet." Chihara Rinto raised an eyebrow slightly. So many customs to navigate—back home, a simple handshake sufficed.
"No matter, no matter," Nagano waved it off. Meanwhile, Murakami Iori glanced at the elevator numbers and interjected, "Nagano-senpai, what brings you here today?"
"Oh, right!" Nagano gestured behind him. A teenage girl approached, bowing deeply. "Good day, senpai. I'm Ueki Safuko. Nice to meet you."
Murakami Iori nodded briefly, sizing her up. "A new discovery, Nagano-senpai?"
Nagano motioned for Safuko to hand over two laminated cards. "Not to boast, but Safuko has real talent—on par with Mami-san. I hope you'll look after her in the future. If she makes mistakes, don't hesitate to scold her!"
"Your eye for talent remains unmatched, Nagano-senpai," Murakami Iori praised. Turning to Safuko, she encouraged gently, "Work hard. We look forward to seeing you shine."
"Yes, senpai! I'll do my best!"
Chihara Rinto, unable to contribute, examined the laminated card. It resembled a custom "business card," detailing Safuko's photo, age, height, weight, measurements, and special skills.
Just then, the elevator dinged. Murakami Iori excused herself politely. "Nagano-senpai, we should head up now. You…"
"Oh, my apologies! We've kept you waiting." Nagano bowed deeply. "Murakami-san, Chihara-sensei, please excuse us."
Both Murakami and Chihara returned the bow before stepping into the elevator. Even as the doors closed, Nagano and Safuko remained bowing outside.
Inside the empty elevator, Chihara Rinto held up the laminated card, puzzled. "What was that about?"
Was this some aggressive networking tactic to secure roles?
Murakami Iori dismissed it casually. "Nothing unusual. Just introducing newcomers to staff members to build familiarity—an industry tradition."
"I see." Chihara Rinto marveled at the intricacies of Japan's entertainment world, so different from China's. "You seem quite familiar with Nagano-senpai. Past collaborations?"
Eager to understand his surroundings, he probed further. One never knew when a seemingly ordinary person might turn out to be extraordinary.
"He's been a talent agent for over twenty years, acquainted with nearly everyone in the station," Murakami Iori explained. "His eye for talent is exceptional—he's nurtured many actors and singers. However, his agency is small, lacking resources to propel talents to stardom. Once they gain recognition, larger agencies poach them."
"No lawsuits?"
Murakami Iori tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, shaking her head. "Not that I've heard. He's respected in the industry—one of the few genuinely concerned for his artists' well-being. When they wish to leave, he rarely obstructs."
Thus, while his company remained modest, his reputation endured. Chihara Rinto understood.
Examining Safuko's card again, he noted her striking appearance. With even minor fame, she'd likely attract bigger agencies—rich in resources and connections, adept at crafting stars. Few artists resisted such allure. Smaller agencies often resorted to binding contracts to retain talent.
The elevator soon arrived. Exiting, Murakami Iori casually tossed the card into a trash bin. Chihara Rinto blinked, unsure of the gesture.
Seeing his confusion, Murakami chuckled. "These aren't useful. We receive dozens daily. For casting, we simply pull profiles from the database—all are registered there."
Ah, so that was it. Despite his past interest in Japanese television, much remained unclear until now. Following suit, Chihara Rinto discarded the card too—though it felt slightly disrespectful. Still, like business cards, these were likely handed out liberally yet discarded just as freely.
Japan produced over 20 billion business cards annually. If none were discarded, everyone would need a dedicated room to store them. Similarly, with countless aspiring artists visiting daily, their collective "cards" might number in the millions. Storage was impractical.
Artists likely understood this but dared not skip the ritual.
Lost in thought, Chihara Rinto followed Murakami Iori to a small meeting room. Pointing to a sign, she announced, "This is our production headquarters."
Peering closely, Chihara Rinto saw a makeshift placard reading Tales of the Unusual Executive Headquarters. Rather than a TV drama set, it evoked the image of a fantasy organization. Thankfully, they hadn't chosen Abnormal, or working under Abnormal Executive Headquarters might have been surreal…
Murakami Iori pushed open the door, ushering him inside. Someone already waited, rising upon hearing their entrance.
Introductions followed: "Chihara, this is Director Fujii Arima. Fujii-kun, this is Chihara Rinto-sensei."
"Chihara-sensei, a pleasure." Fujii Arima opted for a Western-style handshake.
Approaching forty, Fujii appeared significantly older than Chihara Rinto, who gripped his hand firmly, replying, "Just Chihara is fine, Fujii-san."
"Then call me Fujii!" Unlike traditional Japanese seniors, Fujii lacked pretense. His bald head gleamed under the light.
Noticing Chihara Rinto's gaze, Fujii touched his scalp, sighing whimsically. "Don't mind me. After thirty-five, men are like dandelions."
Confused, Chihara Rinto ventured cautiously, "Drifting aimlessly, weathered by life?" Was this director poetic rather than commercial-minded?
Fujii sighed again. "No, a breeze takes something away."
Ah, so not shaved—but balding.
At a loss for words, Chihara Rinto realized Fujii was joking despite his stern appearance. Seemingly, he was approachable enough—a good sign.