HPDBC Chapter 194 Investment Ambitions, a classic "online novel" trope.
Chapter 194 Investment Ambitions, a classic "online novel" trope.
Chapter 194 Investment Ambitions, a classic "online novel" trope.
Maezaki Beach, Shizuoka Prefecture.
Ota Shoichi got out of the car with Tokyo license plates, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and carried a heavy briefcase in his hand.
He looked like he had a headache, but not because of the weather, but because of business.
"President."
Ota walked over to Kitahara Shin, who was watching the playback on the monitor, and lowered his voice: "The situation in Tokyo is not very optimistic."
Shin Kitahara, script in hand, didn't turn his head, still staring at Takeshi Kitano's performance on the screen: "So, what's wrong with the theaters?"
"It's about scheduling."
Ota sighed, opened his briefcase, and took out a stack of reports: "Although we have already acquired seven old-fashioned cinemas in Tokyo and Osaka and formed the initial stage of the Kitahara Cinema Circuit."
But—we are now facing a very awkward situation—there are no films to screen.
This is a very real business barrier.
"The distribution departments of Toho and Toei have been very ambiguous in their attitude towards us. Although they haven't explicitly refused, they always use excuses like 'the schedule is full' or 'priority to directly operated theaters' to postpone the films we want."
Da Tian explained with a wry smile, "After all, in their eyes, your purchase of these cinemas was too sudden. They don't understand what you're trying to do—are you trying to disrupt things or just dabbling? Before they figure it out, those established studios are unwilling to risk putting their hit films in an 'uncontrollable' new theater chain."
"As for those independent small film studios, although they beg us to screen their films, the quality is really too poor. Last week, we had a test screening of a low-budget horror film, and there were only three people in the entire audience, and one of them left halfway through."
"If this continues, the water, electricity and labor costs alone will amount to a huge sum."
After listening, Kitahara Shin finally put down the script in his hand.
He turned around and looked at Da Tian, his face showing no surprise.
"As expected."
Kitahara Shin unscrewed a bottle of oolong tea and took a sip: "Those old-established companies have always been conservative in their approach. They're not trying to blacklist us, they're just xenophobic. In their eyes, we're just amateurs who have money but don't know how to spend it."
"What should we do then?" Ota asked. "Should we talk to them again? Maybe increase their profit-sharing percentage?"
"There's no need."
Kitahara Shin waved his hand, his eyes sharpening: "Since they won't give us the film, then we'll make our own."
"Make it ourselves?" Ota was stunned. "But filming takes a long time, and we also have to film 'Kikujiro'—"
"Who said we were going to make one of those big, serious movies?"
Kitahara Shin's lips curled slightly as he uttered a phrase that would ignite the underground market in this era: "Video premiere movie?" Ota hesitated.
"right."
Kitahara Shin stood up, pointed to the distant sea, and began to describe his business blueprint: "Nowadays, the audience, especially young men, when they go to late-night theaters or rent videotapes, they don't all want to watch highbrow art films, nor do they all want to watch family-friendly movies."
"V—Cinema."
"They need stimulation."
"Gangster shootouts, B-grade horror, RQ, extreme action—big companies are afraid to film these kinds of things for the sake of their image, or they're hesitant to do so. That's our opportunity."
He took a couple of steps on the beach and continued, "What we're going to do is mass-produce these high-concept, low-cost films."
"The budget will be kept under tens of millions of yen, and the shooting period will be compressed to two weeks. We won't hire big stars; we'll find a few familiar second-tier actors or newly debuted gravure idols."
"Then, we'll show these films in our theaters. Even if it's only for a week, even if there are only a few hundred viewers, it doesn't matter."
Da Tian was a little confused: "Isn't that losing money?"
"No."
Kitahara Shin shook his head: "Once a film has been shown in theaters, it has the 'theatrical version' label. When it's converted to VHS and gets into rental stores, the rental fee can be significantly higher than for direct-release VHS tapes."
"Movie theaters are just a gimmick; video rentals are the real money-making machine."
This is a perfect closed loop.
They used their own cinemas to "gild" low-budget films, then recouped their investment through the massive rental market. In the 90s, when the video rental industry (such as TSUTAYA) was expanding at an unprecedented pace, it was practically a money-printing machine.
"But—where's the director?"
Daejeon raised the most crucial question: "Although those kinds of films have low budgets, making B-movie-style films look good isn't something you can just do by finding any random person."
Kitahara Shin smiled.
This is exactly the question he's been waiting for.
Go find someone for me.
Kitahara Shin pulled a pre-written note from his pocket and handed it to Ota: "Mike Takashi."
"This guy is probably still working as an assistant director for Shohei Imamura, or he's just starting out taking on some unknown small films. Go find him."
Takashi Miike at this moment is still a wild beast that has not been released.
This genius, known for his "fast, ruthless, and bizarre" style, who can shoot seven or eight films a year and create something extraordinary from gangster hacking to horrific dismemberment, is practically a god of war tailor-made for V-Cinema.
"Besides him, there are also those young directors who are frustrated on set and want to shoot radical themes but are suppressed by big companies."
"Dig them all up."
Kitahara Shin's voice was calm, but to Ota, it sounded like a battle cry: "Tell them that at Kitahara Films, there are no outdated censorship rules. As long as it's sensational and eye-catching enough, I'll pay."
Ota felt a chill run down his spine, but then he worried about the funding: "President, if we expand on such a large scale, we'll also have to add the cost of purchasing new equipment—"
Although the company currently has ample cash flow, it's burning through money like crazy with its investments in real estate, filming "Kikujiro," producing variety shows, and now mass-producing V-Cinema.
"You don't need to worry about the money."
Kitahara Shin patted the briefcase full of reports and said calmly, "Go ahead and spend it without worry."
What Ota didn't know was that Kitahara Shin's confidence came from far more than just this entertainment company.
His asset portfolio has long been divided into three stable parts.
The first segment is the overtly visible physical entertainment industry. Whether it's TV dramas, variety shows, or records, these are cash cows that generate cash flow every day, enough to support the company's daily operations and expansion.
The second part is real estate and tangible assets. This includes the newly purchased luxury mansion, several luxury cars, and the cinema sites currently being acquired. By buying at the bottom during the bubble burst, these assets will only appreciate in value in the future.
The third, and most terrifying, area is finance and overseas investment.
There lay the stock index futures he had shorted before the bubble burst, using his precognitive advantage, as well as the options he had placed early on for US stocks like Microsoft and Intel. The numbers in those accounts were beyond Da Tian's wildest imagination.
Not to mention, his own light had long since crossed the ocean and been cast toward the awakening dragon in the west.
The land in Pudong is still a wasteland, and the factories in Shenzhen are just starting out.
He has already quietly planted countless stakes there through offshore companies. When that place takes off in a few years, his assets will experience a nuclear fission-like surge.
In comparison, spending a few hundred million yen to make a gangster film these days is hardly even pocket change.
"Understood."
Ota Shoichi took a deep breath, closed his briefcase, and straightened his back: "I'm going back to Tokyo now to find that guy named Miike Takashi."
"Go."
Kitahara Shin waved his hand.
Watching Da Tian's departing figure, he picked up the script again.
In the distance, Takeshi Kitano is shouting insults through a megaphone.
Since mainstream film studios wouldn't include him, he would carve out a bloody path in the world of B-movies, filled with violence and desire.
This is what true "popular appeal" is all about.
The scenes involving Kitahara Shin in "Kikujiro's Summer" have officially wrapped up filming.
As a guest character responsible for being funny in the first half and dressing up as an octopus to appease children, he has successfully completed his mission.
The rest of the journey will belong entirely to that rogue uncle and the silent little boy.
Thus, Kitahara Shin returned to Tokyo feeling completely at ease.
As arranged by Sayuri Yoshinaga, he was supposed to report to the Faculty of Arts at Nihon University (Nikgei) today.
-
Although he only has a high school diploma, that didn't stop him from becoming a "special lecturer" at this top art school. In this industry, awards, box office success, and viewership ratings are the most prestigious qualifications.
In the principal's office.
The principal, who was over fifty years old, personally poured a cup of tea for Kitahara Shin, his attitude almost fawning: "Kitahara-san, it is truly an honor. It is a blessing for our school to have an actor like you, who is at the pinnacle of the industry, to teach our students."
"You're too kind, Principal."
Kitahara Shin accepted the tea and smiled politely: "I only have a high school diploma, so just don't mislead anyone."
"Not at all! Students these days lack practical experience. Your 'The White Tower' and 'The Flowers of Evil' are model works that we've included in our textbooks!"
After exchanging pleasantries, Kitahara Shin declined the principal's suggestion to accompany him, and, carrying his lesson plan, walked alone towards the teaching building.
The corridor was quiet. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass windows and onto the wooden floor.
Just as he was about to turn into the largest lecture hall.
"Is that... Kitahara Shin-kun?"
A slightly hesitant female voice came from behind.
Kitahara Shin stopped and turned around.
Standing there was a female teacher in a business suit and wire-rimmed glasses. She was indeed quite attractive, with fair skin, a tall figure, and an intellectual air. Judging by her appearance, she was probably around his age.
Kitahara Shin looked her up and down, his mind blank.
"Yes, that's me. And who are you?"
The female teacher was stunned.
Looking into Kitahara Shin's eyes, which were completely calm and even seemed somewhat unfamiliar, her expression instantly became incredibly complex—surprise, embarrassment, and a sense of shame and indignation at being ignored.
"Have you... already forgotten me?"
She bit her lip, a bitter smile appearing on her face. Her eyes became complicated, even tinged with a self-deprecating resentment: "That's true—after all, I rejected you so harshly back then. I even tore up your love letter in public and said that your dream of going to art school was just wishful thinking—now it seems I was wrong. Utterly wrong."
"6
'
Kitahara Shin blinked.
He probably understood.
Good grief, did I run into the original owner's past romantic entanglements? And it's the classic "You ignored me back then, now you can't afford to miss me" trope from online novels?
He searched his memory for a long time and vaguely remembered that there seemed to be a school beauty in high school, her name was something like Tanaka? Or Yamada?
Forget it, it doesn't matter.
For the current Kitahara Shin, that was all in his past life. He didn't have the original owner's obsessions, nor did he feel any pleasure in wanting to slap someone in the face; he just felt—it was a bit of a waste of time.
"I'm sorry, I really don't remember."
Kitahara Shin raised his wrist to check his watch, his tone as calm as if he were speaking to a salesman: "I see too many people every day, my brain capacity is limited. If there's nothing else, I'll head over to class."
After saying that, he turned and left.
This indifferent attitude is more hurtful than directly scolding her.
The female teacher clearly hadn't expected this reaction. She had anticipated Kitahara Shin would either be angry, sarcastic, or perhaps even show a lingering affection. It certainly wouldn't be this dismissive "Who are you?" attitude.
"Wait a moment!"
She instinctively stepped forward and blocked Kitahara Shin's path.
She took a deep breath, adjusted her expression, and forced what she thought was her most charming, slightly apologetic smile: "Um—Kitahara-kun, are you actually free tonight?"
"My high school classmates are having a reunion tonight. Everyone's really interested in meeting you. If you don't mind, could you—"
She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, a hint of ambiguity in her eyes: "I also want to find an opportunity to properly apologize to you."
Kitahara Shin stopped and looked at her.
He remained silent for a moment, as if examining a product.
Just as the female teacher thought he was going to agree, and a sense of joy welled up in her heart that "there is still a chance,"
Kitahara Shin spoke.
He frowned slightly and asked in an extremely sincere yet wary tone, "Teacher, is this some kind of new scam?"
'
"Why?"
The female teacher's smile froze instantly, and she seemed to crack as if she had been frozen by liquid nitrogen.
"There are quite a few people nowadays who use the name of old classmates to sell financial products or lure people into pyramid schemes."
Kitahara Shin took half a step back, creating some distance: "Excuse me, I have no money and no interest. Excuse me."
After saying that, he walked right past the woman who was completely petrified and seemed to have left her body, and pushed open the door to the lecture hall.
"Whoosh!"
The door opened.
-
The classroom, which had been whispering and as noisy as a market, suddenly seemed to be muted.
More than two hundred pairs of eyes turned to look at them.
At this moment, the classroom was not only full of students from this school, but the aisles were also crowded with students from other schools who came to audit the class, and there were even a few teachers mixed in.
The moment I saw Kitahara Nobuma walk onto the podium.
The silence lasted for three seconds.
Followed by.
"Wow!! It's a real person!!"
"Oh my god! It really is Kitahara Shin!!"
"Teacher! Look here! I'm your fan!"
"Ahhh! That hairstyle is so cool! Is it his new look for the new movie?"
The classroom erupted in deafening screams and cheers. The scene was even more frenzied than a handshake event for a top idol.
This isn't a class; it's clearly a fan meeting.
Kitahara Shin stood on the podium and put down his lesson plan.
He didn't stop the commotion; he simply smiled and glanced around, enjoying for a moment the treatment reserved for a top superstar.
Then, he held up a finger to his lips.
"Shhh."
It was a simple action, done without a microphone.
Miraculously, the frenzied excitement subsided instantly. Everyone held their breath, afraid of missing a single word he said.
That's what aura is.
"Hello everyone, I'm Kitahara Shin."
He picked up the chalk and wrote today's topic on the blackboard.
The handwriting is vigorous and powerful.
Microscopic control of facial expressions
He turned around, placed his hands on the lectern, and his eyes became professional and sharp, instantly transforming from an idol into a strict teacher: "In today's open class, I won't teach you how to cry, nor will I teach you how to laugh."
"Those are too low-level."
He pointed to his face: "Today I'm going to teach you how to convey 'murderous intent,' 'love,' and 'despair' without making any significant movements of your facial features, but only through slight muscle tremors and the focus of your eyes."
"Now, everyone is looking me in the eye."
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