"They're all excellent," Seiji said, his tone unexpectedly calm. "But they're too… upright. They can't bring out that vicious edge—the kind that erupts from the bones when someone's been driven into a corner."
The department head froze, staring at Seiji in confusion.
"I've already decided on the lead," Seiji said, his gaze seeming to pass straight through the office wall, as if he could see someone's future.
"Who is it?"
"Arima Takuya."
The name left the department head stunned.
Arima Takuya?
The same Arima who had just exploded in popularity as the flamboyant, sharp-tongued, and cynical Komikado in Legal High... and now Fujiwara wanted him to play the reserved, unyielding banker Hanzawa Naoki, a man burning with vengeance?
That was one hell of a leap.
"Boss, I'm not sure that's a good idea. Arima-kun's image as Komikado is so iconic... viewers might not accept him suddenly turning serious…"
Seiji cut him off. "What he showed as Komikado... the mockery, the disregard for rules... that was only the surface. Beneath that facade is a soul that refuses to be restrained, one that's obsessive to the core. If we break that shell and channel that obsession into righteous defiance... then he becomes Hanzawa Naoki."
The department head was speechless.
He finally understood... Seiji wasn't looking at an actor's past roles. He was looking straight into their soul.
That kind of insight left the man in awe. His admiration for Seiji turned into reverence.
"I understand!" He bowed deeply. "I'll deliver the script to him right away."
…
Elsewhere...
Arima Takuya, still basking in the fame of Legal High, received the Hanzawa Naoki script from his agent.
At first, he thought it was just another job his agency arranged. But by the end of episode three, he shot up from the couch, gripping the script like it was his rebirth.
He immediately canceled every unnecessary event and locked himself at home, immersing fully in the world of Hanzawa Naoki... a world of suffocating pressure and burning resolve.
…
Filming began smoothly.
Once again, Seiji personally took the director's chair.
His commands were sharp and precise... no wasted words, no unnecessary takes.
That day, the crew was filming the drama's pivotal scene: Hanzawa Naoki confronting Executive Director Ōwada in front of the entire board, exposing his crimes and forcing him to kneel in apology.
Everyone on set held their breath.
Seiji sat behind the monitor and said only one line:
"Departments ready. Arima... remember, you're not acting. You are Hanzawa Naoki. Let all the humiliation, the rage, the obsession with justice... you let it explode right here. Begin."
Arima's eyes burned red as he walked step by step toward the veteran actor playing Ōwada, his trembling yet powerful voice laying out every crime.
His emotions built layer by layer... from fury, to sorrow, to a final, unshakable resolve.
"Executive Director Ōwada! Do you think you've honored the trust of your subordinates? The trust of the bank?"
"You! Kneel before me!"
That final shout carried the weight of his entire being.
Under the crushing force of Arima's performance, the seasoned actor opposite him actually broke into a cold sweat.
His knees gave out, and with a heavy thud, he dropped to the floor.
For a moment, the entire set went silent.
"Cut." Seiji's voice broke the stillness. "Perfect."
Applause erupted instantly... thunderous, unstoppable.
The assistant director pumped his fist. Seiji's eyes glistened with emotion.
"That was… incredible," a young crew member whispered, trembling. "I feel like we just witnessed the birth of a masterpiece."
Everyone watching the monitor felt chills running up their spines.
As Seiji's secretary, Megumi was often present on set.
Watching him command the entire crew, control every detail, and draw out the deepest emotions from his actors with only a few words... she couldn't help but feel shaken again.
Seiji... he was born to lead.
Realizing that made Megumi shiver. It was a strange blend of fear and awe that made her heart race.
…
The night before the drama's broadcast.
The Television Alliance held a lavish private screening and celebration for Director Kitahara Osamu.
The event took place in Tokyo's most luxurious hotel ballroom. Nearly every heavyweight of the old media establishment was in attendance.
The hall glittered with champagne glasses and expensive perfume.
Dressed in a black tailcoat, Kitahara stood at the center, surrounded by aging directors and paid "critics," basking in applause.
The screening had just ended, and the clapping went on and on.
"A masterpiece! Truly a piece of art that will go down in history!" one critic said, flushed with excitement.
"Kitahara-sensei, you've shown us what real television art can be! The tranquil beauty, the delicate portrayal of human emotion... it's so profound!" another praised.
Kitahara smiled, clearly savoring the worship.
He sipped his wine and said, in a tone befitting a self-proclaimed philosopher, "I only wanted to remind today's youth what real art is. They've been spoiled by all that noisy, fast-paced junk food entertainment. They no longer know how to appreciate beauty."
He shook his head and sneered. "My work requires patience... time for the soul to feel. Every frame, every glimmer of light, is an expression of beauty. As for that Seiji Fujiwara… he's just a merchant who knows how to manipulate audience excitement. He knows nothing of artistic soul."
His audience erupted in agreement.
Traditional outlets and critics had already drafted headlines like "The Return of Art: Kitahara's Quiet Aesthetic Versus Commercial Trash" and "This Is What Television Should Be", ready to flood the media the next morning.
Meanwhile, in a private room next door, the Television Alliance's executives were already celebrating their "victory."
"Hahaha! This is the power of decades of craftsmanship!" the TBS chairman crowed, puffing on a cigar. "That Fujiwara kid doesn't stand a chance! We'll show him what true professionals look like!"
"Exactly!" laughed a Fuji TV executive. "The variety show loss was just a fluke... drama is our home turf! I've already prepared the front-page headline for tomorrow's celebration. Once the ratings come out, we'll stomp his face into the ground!"
They were already discussing how to divide the market share once Genesis collapsed.
Their arrogance made it seem as though victory was already in their hands.
…
At Genesis.
The internet was ablaze... debates about "art versus entertainment" flooded every social platform.
But in the eye of the storm, Seiji was utterly calm.
He sat behind his desk, quietly flipping through a report on the company's overseas expansion plans.
Megumi sorted files beside him, feeling the tension in the air... yet drawn to the serene confidence radiating from him.
Then Seiji's private phone rang. It was a senior media contact, relaying Kitahara's arrogant comments from the party.
"Fujiwara-sensei," the caller said nervously, "Kitahara's side is getting aggressive. Should we issue a statement to counter? We can't lose the public narrative!"
Seiji listened without expression. When the man finished, Seiji replied evenly,
"No need. Let the old men talk. It's only natural for those awaiting their own extinction to give a few eulogies first."
He hung up and calmly returned to his report, as if nothing had happened.
Megumi heard every word... and her heart skipped a beat.
Arrogant.
He didn't even see them as rivals. He'd already pronounced their death sentence.
Later that evening, as Seiji and Megumi left the building, a swarm of reporters rushed to surround them.
"Fujiwara-sensei! How do you respond to Director Kitahara calling your work 'soulless commercial garbage'?"
"Fujiwara-sensei! Do you believe you can defeat the traditional industry in the drama field again?"
Microphones and flashbulbs filled the air.
Seiji didn't slow down for even a second.
He looked across the cameras, smiled faintly, and said,
"The audience will cast their votes with ratings. Let's just wait for the results."
Then he stepped into his car under the guards' protection, leaving the stunned reporters behind.
Inside the car, Megumi looked out the window at their bewildered faces, then turned to the man beside her... already leaning back with his eyes closed, calm as ever.
Her admiration for him soared higher than ever before.
…
At 9 p.m., after a week of anticipation and endless debate, millions of viewers tuned in.
On one side... retired legend Kitahara Osamu, leading a cast of veteran actors in his self-proclaimed "return to artistic purity."
On the other... rising king Seiji, with the Legal High team, bringing the high-stakes, fast-paced world of Hanzawa Naoki.
At NikoNikoStream headquarters, President Kazuya Tsutsumi sat in his brightly lit office, having cleared his schedule just to witness the showdown.
He started by turning on the TV broadcast.
The first shot lasted three minutes... a scenic montage of the protagonist's hometown, set to melancholy music, trying to evoke "nostalgic beauty."
Tsutsumi frowned.
Then came the lead actor, sipping tea by the window for a full minute before delivering a pretentious, philosophical monologue no one could understand.
"What… is this?" Tsutsumi's face darkened. "The pacing's glacial, nothing's happening. Is this a drama or a nature documentary? Who's going to sit through this?"
Ten minutes later, the characters were still exchanging vague, pseudo-intellectual dialogue.
He finally grabbed the remote and shut off the TV with disgust.
"Forget it," he scoffed. "Let's watch our own money-maker instead."
He opened the NikoNikoStream app and hit play on Hanzawa Naoki.
At that very moment, Tatsuya Mori and Kenji Ootori did the same.
At home, Mori muttered, "Kitahara's completely out of touch. Who still watches this fossilized style? What does he think this is, an art appreciation class?"
Ootori turned it off after twenty minutes and texted Tsutsumi: Good thing we bet on Fujiwara. Kitahara's so-called 'masterpiece' belongs in a museum, not on TV.
…
In a penthouse apartment in Tokyo, Utaha Kasumigaoka used split-screen mode on her massive TV to watch both shows at once.
On the left: Kitahara's "art." The visuals were beautiful... tranquil gardens, gentle lighting... but the story was so slow it was soporific.
"This so-called legendary director is so boring," Utaha sighed. "This shot's been going for a full minute... just a man watching a leaf fall. He wants to show sadness, but his methods are ancient."
Eriri nodded. "Exactly. One's a mystery wrapped in pretension, trying to hide meaning behind silence. The other…"
She turned toward the right screen... Hanzawa Naoki.
It opened with a tense internal meeting at a bank. The pressure from superiors, the helplessness of subordinates, the scheming between factions... all perfectly laid out in minutes.
Then the five-billion-yen scandal erupted, and Hanzawa was thrown under the bus as the scapegoat.
The pacing was electric, the drama suffocating... and the two girls were instantly hooked.
"Seiji… always manages to create miracles," Eriri murmured, eyes shining.
She was completely absorbed now, the other show forgotten.
"Utaha, let's just watch Hanzawa Naoki. The rest is a waste of time."
"Gladly."
Utaha picked up the remote and closed the split-screen, letting Hanzawa Naoki fill the entire wall-sized screen.
Onscreen, Hanzawa stood at the edge of ruin... but in his eyes burned the fire of vengeance.
When he whispered, "An eye for an eye... double the payback," both girls clenched their fists without realizing it.
What a powerful line.
They were completely drawn in.
…
At STARRY Live House, Seika and the girls gathered again.
After the variety show war, they had full faith in Fujiwara's work.
But to be fair, Seika started with Kitahara's drama.
The result was predictable.
"Is this director just… old? It's so slow."
"I don't get what they're talking about."
"I'm getting sleepy…"
Within minutes, complaints filled the room.
"Let's just watch Hanzawa Naoki! It's gotta be way better!" Nijika said.
"Agreed!" "Change it, quick!"
Seika nodded and switched the projector.
The opening theme of Hanzawa Naoki roared through the hall, instantly waking everyone up.
Within minutes, they were completely absorbed.
When Hanzawa was betrayed and forced to shoulder the five-billion-yen debt, Kikuri slammed her hands on the table. "That boss is the worst!"
"He's done it again," Seika said in awe.
"This drama's gonna blow up," Eliza added sincerely.
…
One hour later, both dramas ended... and the ratings came in.
At Kitahara's villa, the director and TV executives waited confidently for the victory report.
"Kitahara-sensei…"
Moments later, the secretary entered with trembling hands, face pale.
Everyone sensed the doom before she spoke.
"The premiere ratings… were 13.2%."
The number hit the room like a bucket of ice water.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
You can read up to chapter 180 on patreon.com/NiaXD.