HPDBC Chapter 236 The Most Difficult Scene
Chapter 236 The Most Difficult Scene
Chapter 236 The Most Difficult Scene
Filming for the "Bayside Shakedown" movie reached its most crucial stage in mid-November.
The atmosphere on set was unusually oppressive from the moment filming began in the morning.
Everyone knows that today's scene is what the script calls a "dead end".
The case was thoroughly investigated, and Aoshima Shunsaku obtained irrefutable evidence that could bring down all the high-ranking officials. However, he also learned that Muroi Shinji had taken the blame for all the violations in order to buy him time, and was about to face suspension or even being used as a scapegoat.
In this scene, Shunsaku Aoshima stands in Shinji Muroi's office, holding the bloodstained evidence.
There was no roaring, no overturning of the table, no drawing of a gun. Faced with the cruel system and Muroi's weary face, all of Aoshima Shunsaku's anger and despair had to be suppressed beneath a calm exterior.
This scene didn't erupt; it was all restrained. Too much emotion would be affected, too little would be uncontrollable; striking the right balance was extremely difficult.
Before filming began, Kitahara Shin unusually left the monitor.
He pulled up a folding chair and sat down. He didn't flip through the script or close his eyes to rest; he just sat there quietly, fiddling with a lighter. The staff around him even subconsciously walked on softer footsteps, afraid of interrupting his concentration.
Ten minutes later, Kitahara Shin stood up, tossed the lighter to Ota next to him, and walked into the office set up in the background without saying a word, standing in front of the desk.
He made a gesture to the director outside.
"Scene 112 of 'Bayside Shakedown,' one-shot, one take—Action!"
The sound of the clapperboard fell, and the entire stadium fell silent.
The camera zooms in. Kitahara Shin, head bowed, clutches the file folder in his hand. The actor playing Muroi Shinji sits behind a desk, explaining the handover process and his impending transfer in a calm, official tone, as if discussing the weather.
Muroi finished speaking the last word.
Kitahara Shin's fingers, gripping the file folder tightly, turned white from the force. He paused for an extremely subtle half-second as he flipped through the documents.
It only lasted half a second.
When he looked up again, his face still bore the same unlucky yet shrewd expression that usually characterized Aoshima Shunsaku. But the look in his eyes as he gazed at Muroi seemed to have suddenly caved in.
There were no tears, no gritted teeth. Those eyes were like a bottomless, dry well, a suffocating stillness that pierced directly through the monitor screen.
"Yes, I understand. I will hand over the follow-up work according to the procedures."
When he delivered that line, his voice was so steady it was completely flat, and he even used his habitual honorifics. But everyone present clearly felt a choking pressure.
"Cut! Good! Passed!"
The assistant director was stunned for a full three seconds before he suddenly snapped out of it and shouted, his voice even trembling slightly.
One take.
The entire arena fell silent. There was no cheering as usual; everyone was still reeling from the oppressive atmosphere they had just experienced.
Standing behind the monitor, Matsu Takako's back was already covered in a fine layer of cold sweat.
She grew up in a family of Kabuki performers and was used to seeing famous masters. But in the face of Kitahara Shin's overwhelming presence, which relied purely on emotion, she suddenly felt that the "body techniques" and "vocal techniques" she had learned before seemed too weak.
The old Kitahara Shin acted like fire, flamboyant and outgoing; now he's like a deep well, swallowing all his emotions and sucking in the emotions of those around him as well.
Matsu Takako took a deep breath, turned her head, and happened to see Miyazawa Rie not far away.
Rie didn't show any shock on her face. She just stood there quietly, looking at Kitahara Shin in the direction of the monitor, with a very faint, relaxed smile on her lips.
When their eyes met, Rie Okimatsu Takako blinked slightly. It wasn't exactly provocation, just a little bit of smugness that naturally showed from a girl on her own turf.
But this sense of pride subtly stung Matsu Takako's competitive spirit.
As someone who was also brought into this circle by Kitahara Shin, Matsu Takako felt a surge of resentment for no reason when she saw Rie's current tacit understanding with Kitahara Shin.
"I'm not bad either," Matsu Takako said to herself, clenching the script in her hand.
Several veteran supporting actors on the edge of the set exchanged glances and silently swallowed.
They'd spent half their lives in this industry. Their previous respect for Kitahara Shin was mostly due to his connections and status. But after that scene, all they felt was admiration.
Even disregarding his current wealth, this young man is destined to stand at the top of the food chain based solely on his unparalleled business acumen.
Just as the film crew was intimidated by Kitahara Shin, in a secluded club in Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo.
Representatives of the conglomerates who had previously suffered losses due to supply chain issues gathered again. Fujiwara, a building materials giant, was among them.
"He has indeed gained the upper hand in both television and print media through underhanded means." The trading company representative threw a publicity plan obtained from inside the theater chain onto the table and sneered.
-
"However, the rules of the film industry can't be broken by selling a few clothes." Another executive lit a cigar. "Toho did sign a distribution contract, but don't forget, things like screen time can be manipulated."
Everyone smiled knowingly.
"Tell those theater managers who control prime locations," the trading company representative stubbed out his cigarette, "when his movie is released, try to schedule screenings during off-peak morning times, or just throw it into mini-screenings. I want to see how his 'five billion' boast ends without screenings!"
A net targeting the theatrical release schedule was quietly cast.
The next day, the film crew.
In the morning, we filmed Matsu Takako's main scene.
In the storyline, this is a scene where the policewoman, after experiencing the disillusionment of her ideals and witnessing Qingdao and Muroi being crushed by the system, completely breaks down in the rain and rebels against her superiors.
"Action!"
The rain poured down (under an artificial awning). Matsu Takako rushed into the rain and began questioning the high-rise building across the street.
She performed with great effort; her Kabuki background allowed her to enunciate her lines clearly even in the pouring rain, and her face conveyed grief and indignation—
There's nothing wrong with the emotions involved. But somehow, it just feels fake.
"Card."
Kitahara Shin sat behind the monitor, his brow slightly furrowed. "Let's start over. Matsu Takako, you're too stiff; your emotions are going downhill."
The second time, the third time, and the fourth time.
Matsu Takako repeated the scene again and again in the cold rain, her lips gradually turning white from the cold. She desperately wanted to act well, desperately wanted to prove her abilities, and desperately wanted to prove on this set that she would never lose to Miyazawa Rie from yesterday. However, the more she thought about it, the more pronounced the traces of a "top student wanting to get a perfect score" became.
The atmosphere was slightly tense.
Kitahara Shin didn't get angry. He pushed back the folding chair, stood up, took a black umbrella from Ota, and walked into the rain.
He walked up to Matsu Takako, who was soaking wet and biting her lip in a huff, tilted his black umbrella forward, and steadily blocked the rain from her head.
"What's the big deal?" Kitahara Shin asked, looking at her gently.
Matsu Takako turned her head away and muttered softly, "No, I just wasn't emotionally there yet—"
"It's not that your emotions aren't there, it's that you're carrying too much of a burden."
Kitahara Shin looked into her eyes and cut to the chase: "You want to prove you've grown up, you want to prove your acting skills are second to none, including Rie's, right?"
Touched on her secret, Matsu Takako's ears burned, and all her words of rebuttal got stuck in her throat.
Kitahara Shin couldn't help but chuckle softly, and reached out to gently smooth the wet hair that was sticking to her forehead, just as he always did.
"Wanting to win is a good thing. But right now, you're like a child trying to get a perfect score in front of adults."
Kitahara Shin's smile faded, and he became serious: "You've learned too many perfect techniques, but this scene doesn't need to be perfect. Feeling wronged is feeling wronged, feeling unwilling is feeling unwilling. Transfer all your competitive spirit, all that pent-up frustration of 'Why can't I act well?' to this character."
"Don't worry about whether your expression looks good or bad, it doesn't matter if it looks a little ugly. Just go and act."
After saying that, Kitahara Shin removed the black umbrella and turned to walk out into the rain.
Matsu Takako stood there stunned for two seconds. Those few words were like shattering the glass dome that had covered her as a "young lady from a prestigious family".
She suddenly felt a lump in her throat, and the pent-up frustration that had been building up in her chest finally found an outlet.
"Ready—Action!"
'
The heavy rain started again.
Matsu Takako suddenly raised her head. This time, she forgot about vocal pronunciation, camera angles, and even Rie in the audience.
She charged out like an angry little leopard, her voice cracking and hoarse from emotional overload. She even stumbled while questioning him, splashing mud all over herself.
The movements weren't particularly graceful, and she lacked the poise of a young lady. But the stubbornness and unwillingness of a 17-year-old girl, combined with the despair of her shattered ideals, created a powerful and relatable sense of realism.
"Cut! Excellent!"
Kitahara Shin's voice rang out amidst the sound of rain.
Matsu Takako collapsed into the puddle, panting heavily. Hearing the praise, she looked up at the monitor, tears mingling with the rain, but a slightly proud smile appeared on her lips.
Off the field, Rie Miyazawa looked at Takako Matsu, who had fallen into the mud, a hint of surprise flashing in her eyes, before she slightly curved the corners of her mouth into a smile.
"She's progressing so fast," Rie thought to herself. She didn't feel threatened; instead, at that moment, she truly felt the resonance among geniuses on set.
The man who could push their potential to the limit was sitting behind the monitor, calmly controlling everything.
After the most difficult scenes were filmed, the remaining filming proceeded smoothly.
-
In mid-December, filming for the "Bayside Shakedown" movie wrapped up, and the project moved into post-production and promotion.
The atmosphere in the top-floor conference room of Kitahara's office was anything but relaxed.
"We've been tricked."
Shoichi Ota slammed a stack of screening schedules on the conference table, his brow furrowed. "Toho's distribution has been approved, but there's a huge problem with the premiere week scheduling at major cinemas. The big cinemas in Tokyo's core business districts are all scheduling our screenings before 9 a.m. or after 11:30 p.m. Moreover, they're all mini-screens with fewer than fifty seats."
Secretary Aida glanced at the film schedule, his voice turning cold: "The conglomerates have extended their reach to the grassroots. They can't influence the decisions of Toho's top management, so they resort to personal connections to squeeze the film scheduling rights of lower-level managers. They're trying to shut us down from the start."
The opening week's box office is crucial. If the opening week's figures are poor, subsequent screenings will be cut without justification.
Da Tian sighed, somewhat helplessly: "These lower-level managers are most afraid of offending the conglomerates. We don't even have any bargaining chips to negotiate with them right now."
"Who says we don't have any chips?"
Kazuma, who was sitting next to Kitahara Shin, flipping through the documents, finally spoke.
He calmly closed the file, picked up the teacup beside him, took a sip, and looked at Da Tian.
"Dae-tae, even theater managers need to eat."
Kitahara Shin's voice was flat: "They're willing to give face to the conglomerate and put us in garbage time slots because they think that even if 'Bayside Shakedown' were put in prime time, it might not make them much money. Since it's not profitable, they might as well use it to exchange for favors."
He put down his teacup and pointed to the movie schedule: "But what if they find they've miscalculated?"
Ota paused for a moment, then asked, "President, you mean—"
"Aida." Kitahara Shin turned his head. "The final trailer will be shown tomorrow night at 8 PM. Add a line at the end: Premiere Week with M-51..."
Purchase a ticket with the trench coat's internal serial number and receive a free limited-edition merchandise item at the cinema. Payment will be processed through the merchandise company.
Aida immediately wrote it down.
"Ota." Kitahara Shin looked at Ota again, "Go and contact the offline shops at Oshima Bento Shop that we interact with."
The firm funded the entire screening; it was as if Aoshima Shunsaku was treating an old friend to a movie.
Ota put down his pen: "President, shall we book those less popular screenings at 8 AM and late at night?"
"Yes, fill all the off-season games they throw at us."
Kitahara Shin leaned back in his chair, his eyes indifferent: "The conglomerate can use personal connections to pressure the hospital managers, but they can't suppress their instinct to make money. Once the pre-sales open, when those managers see that even the front row seats for the 'junk' shows at 8 a.m. and midnight are sold out in ten minutes, they'll do the math themselves."
He turned his head slightly and looked out the window.
"We don't need to beg them. For the sake of profit, they'll obediently vacate their prime time slots."
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