HPDBC Chapter 154 The Programming Effect of Variety Shows
Chapter 154 The Programming Effect of Variety Shows
Chapter 154 The Programming Effect of Variety Shows
Inside the photography studio, the air seemed to freeze.
The net under the radish on the cutting board was still trembling slightly, like Sato's silent boast.
Kitahara Shin stood opposite him, his gaze calmly sweeping over the neatly arranged vegetables on the cutting board.
A slight thought.
[Mind-Controlled Equipment: Midnight Diner's Abandoned Chef's Knife (White) Activated]
[Mind Equipment: God's Left Hand - Sterile Touch (Purple) Activated]
In an instant, the world changed in his eyes.
Ordinary white radishes, cucumbers, and carrots now appear in completely different forms on his retina.
The purple epic equipment, [God's Left Hand], brings not only stability, but also a kind of insight at the micro level.
He can clearly see the direction of plant fibers, the distribution density of water, and even the optimal stress point for each cut.
Those "feelings" that ordinary people need to figure out by feeling have now all been transformed into precise coordinates and data.
Although the white chef's knife was not of high quality, it gave him a subtle "food affinity," making his knife-holding posture extremely natural, as if the knife was an extension of his arm.
Sato crossed his arms, staring at the motionless Kitahara Shin, and exhaled a heavy breath:
Sato: "How about it? Are you stunned? Kitahara-san, this is nothing to be ashamed of. I told you, you can't even get started with this skill without thirty years of hard work. Let's not waste the film roll, let's get the stuntman here."
The director next to him also looked embarrassed.
He watched the footage on the monitor. Sato's performance was indeed very intense, but it was also too "real," to the point that it made the atmosphere a bit stiff. He was hesitating whether to call "cut" and then have a stand-in come in to perform the "editing magic."
Just then.
Kitahara Shin raised his right hand.
He didn't speak, but simply beckoned with his finger towards camera number two directly in front of him, making a "zoom in" gesture.
Then, he turned his head and smiled gently at the director:
Kitahara Shin: "You mean—like this?"
The director hesitated for a moment, then his professional instincts kicked in, and he yelled into his headset, "Camera two! Push it up! Get a close-up of the hand! Quick!"
The camera zooms in rapidly, instantly filling the frame with Kitahara Shin's long, slender hands and the cucumber on the cutting board.
There were no preparatory actions.
Kitahara Shin flicked his wrist.
"Da da da da da da da—!!!"
A sudden burst of chopping sounds, even more intense and rapid than when Sato had just demonstrated, rang out.
That ordinary kitchen knife seemed to transform into a silver lightning bolt in his hands. There were no fancy swings, only precise vertical rises and falls. Each rise and fall was perfectly synchronized, and each sound of the blade hitting the cutting board overlapped, creating a chilling industrial rhythm.
Sato slowly lowered his hands, which had been clasped across his chest.
His eyes widened, his mouth slightly open, and his "arrogant chef" expression completely spiraled out of control.
Three seconds? Or five seconds?
The flash of the blade stopped abruptly.
Kitahara Shin casually put the knife aside, pinched the cucumber at both ends with his slender fingers, and gently pulled it.
"Splash!"
The cucumber, which was originally only 20 centimeters long, instantly stretched to more than three times its original length, resembling a long green snake.
Each slice is as thin as a cicada's wing, with a completely uniform thickness, and most importantly, there is not a single cut or any adhesion.
Perfectly sliced cucumber.
It's even longer and thinner than the one Sato just showed.
The studio was deathly silent.
Several seconds passed before someone gasped in shock.
Sato stood to the side, completely dumbfounded.
He stared at the elongated cucumber, his mind blank.
This script is wrong!
Didn't the director say it was just for show? Didn't he say there would be close-ups to change the stunt double? Why did they cut to it in one continuous shot?!
And this level—
As a professional chef who actually practiced knife skills for seven or eight years in real life (although he has now switched to being a character actor), Sato knows very well how difficult this skill is. When he was cutting the radish net just now, there was actually a small section that almost broke in the middle, but he covered it up with his technique.
But Kitahara Shin's move was textbook perfect.
Kitahara Shin: "Master Sato, is that right? I was watching your movements just now, and it seemed like the power was mainly coming from the wrist. I tried to imitate it, but I'm not sure if I did it correctly."
Sato's face instantly turned a deep liver color.
imitate?
To be able to imitate this level after watching it only once? Is this even human?
A complex mix of shame, resentment, and a blow to his professional pride welled up inside him. He forgot he was recording a variety show, forgot he was just an actor getting paid for appearances, and his stubbornness as a chef kicked in.
Sato: "Hmph—that's just the basics! With a steady hand, you can master the 'cucumber raincoat' technique in two or three years. Try it yourself if you dare!"
As he spoke, he grabbed a pumpkin from the basket and picked up a long, thin carving knife.
Sato: "Carving! That requires artistic skill and spatial imagination! I don't believe you can 'imitate' this!"
He began carving wildly on the pumpkin.
I have to say, this guy really has some skill. With the knife flying and wood chips flying, in just a few minutes, a lifelike peony flower bloomed on the pumpkin.
Sato slammed the pumpkin on the table and looked at Kitahara Shin defiantly.
The director was thrilled watching from behind the monitor.
This doesn't even need a script! It's top-notch reality show!
Director: "Attention everyone! No need to stop filming! All cameras, get in position! Capture their micro-expressions!"
Kitahara Shin looked at the pumpkin flower and nodded.
Kitahara Shin: "It's beautiful. But—wouldn't it look even more vibrant if the edges of the petals were rounded a little?"
After saying that, he picked up another pumpkin.
The micro-management ability of "God's Left Hand" is activated once again.
In his view, the internal structure of the pumpkin had been "peeled" out, as if he were cutting along a pre-drawn dotted line.
The knife rises and the knife falls.
His speed was more than twice that of Sato.
Less than two minutes.
A phoenix, poised to take flight, emerged from the pumpkin. Its feathers were distinctly layered, and even its eyes seemed to gleam.
Sato's carving knife fell onto the table with a "clatter".
He looked at the phoenix, then at his own peony.
A feeling called "despair" spread through my heart.
Who am I? Where am I? What have I been practicing for the past seven or eight years?
Is this ridiculously handsome man in a bespoke suit really an actor? Could he have just graduated from New Oriental (referring to a culinary school)?
"I don't believe it!!"
Sato was completely enraged. He ripped off his hat, revealing a sweat-drenched forehead, and stared at Kitahara Shin with bloodshot eyes: "Good knife skills don't mean good cooking! The core of a chef is flavor! Do you understand flavor?! I want to have a cooking contest with you! A real culinary duel!"
Despite Kitahara Shin's exasperated expression, he maintained a polite smile.
"Sure. I'm hungry too, so please give me your guidance, Chef Sato."
The director was frantically gesturing to the cameraman from behind: Film it! Film everything! This episode is going to be a hit!
For the next half hour, the studio transformed into a "Cooking Master Boy" set.
Sato brought out his best skills, heating oil in a wok until flames soared into the sky, and made a dish called "dry-fried prawns" that was extremely demanding in terms of heat control.
Kitahara Shin, on the other hand, seemed much quieter.
He unbuttoned his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and made a very common dish: Mapo Tofu.
But with the help of a kitchen knife, his control over the seasoning reached an impeccable level. The numbing sensation of Sichuan peppercorns, the spiciness of chili peppers, and the tenderness of tofu blended perfectly in the pot.
"Out of the pot."
Two dishes were placed on the table.
The production team randomly selected five staff members to come up and taste the food.
"I vote for Kitahara-san! This tofu is so flavorful! It's the perfect accompaniment to rice!"
"I'll vote for Kitahara-san too! That shrimp was delicious, but it was a bit too oily."
"9
"Kitahara-san +1! This home-style flavor is so comforting!"
Five votes, unanimously approved.
Sato looked at the voting results and felt as if his bones had been removed, collapsing into his chair.
Lost.
We lost completely.
His knife skills were completely outmatched, and his taste was utterly defeated. His pride as a chef shattered into pieces at that moment.
Sato: "I—I lost. I'm not fit to be a chef. I'll just stick to being an extra."
He was dejected, and his eyes were even a little red.
Kitahara Shin looked at the man who had been so arrogant just moments before, but now looked like a defeated rooster, and sighed inwardly.
Although it was for the sake of the show, this blow was indeed quite significant.
He picked up a spoon, scooped a spoonful of Mapo Tofu from his plate, and then, in the instant he turned around, his finger subtly flicked inside the spoon.
That was a pinch of salt he had just hidden in his palm.
"Chef Sato, please try mine. Actually, I think your shrimp is very good, but this tofu is probably just lucky and suits everyone's taste."
Sato was stunned for a moment, then opened his mouth, somewhat flattered.
Kitahara Shin fed him the spoonful of "added" tofu.
next second.
Sato's expression twisted.
salty.
salty.
It felt like swallowing a mouthful of seawater.
He forced down the tofu, then stared at Kitahara Shin with a look of astonishment.
Sato: "This...this is way too salty!!"
Kitahara Shin blinked, gave a helpless smile, and lowered his voice, speaking in a volume only the two of them could hear:
Kitahara Shin: "There's nothing I can do, everyone's just getting paid. I'm an investor and a big star, do you think they'd dare say my food isn't good? Actually—I just tasted your shrimp, that's the real professional taste. My cooking skills are only good enough to fool laymen."
Sato was stunned.
He glanced at Kitahara Shin, then at the staff who were still "relishing the experience".
That's it!
It turns out it's all about human relationships and social interactions!
That makes sense. How could a big star possibly cook better than a professional chef? It turns out everyone was just putting on an act!
The huge weight lifted from Sato's heart instantly. His pride was greatly restored, and he even looked at Kitahara Shin with a hint of gratitude and a sense of shared experience as a fellow "corporate slave."
Sato: "Ahem—indeed, the flavor does have some layers. But Kitahara-san, next time you should use less salt; it's not good for your health."
Kitahara Shin: "I've learned a lot."
The two exchanged a smile, shook hands, and made peace.
Behind the monitor, the director watched this scene and silently gave a thumbs up.
High emotional intelligence.
Too high.
If this behind-the-scenes footage were released, Kitahara Shin's character would definitely gain another wave of fans.
The recording was finished late at night.
Kitahara Shin bid farewell to the enthusiastic production crew and walked alone to the parking lot.
Although I was physically tired, I was mentally energized. The feeling of using equipment to "defeat" in unfamiliar territory was indeed very addictive.
He got into the black Toyota Century (company car) and started the engine.
Following his recent habit, he didn't plan to go straight home, but instead intended to browse around an old general store in Nerima Ward. The red line had sensed a faint green light in that direction today.
The car drove onto the main road.
Even late at night in Tokyo, the traffic continues unabated.
After driving for about ten minutes, Kitahara Shin frowned.
He glanced at the rearview mirror.
The gray Honda Accord behind him had been following him ever since he left the TV station. When he changed lanes, the other car changed lanes too; when he slowed down, the other car slowed down too.
Although the opponent deliberately kept their distance, in Kitahara Shin's eyes, who had the [Midnight Ghost] skill, this tracking technique was as clumsy as a novice's.
"Paparazzi?"
Kitahara Shin gripped the steering wheel, his fingers lightly tapping the leather-wrapped wheels.
Recently, there have been rumors that Johnny's Entertainment wants to target him, and President Ota has mentioned it to him. It seems they intend to start with his private life and try to dig up some juicy gossip.
"Since you want to follow, then follow to your heart's content."
Kitahara Shin's lips curled into a cold smile.
A slight thought.
[Mind Equipment: Midnight Ghost (Car God Possession) Activated]
In an instant.
That feeling of oneness between man and machine surged through my body once more. Although I wasn't driving the modified Devil Z, this V12...
Under his control, the Toyota Century, with its engine in hand, instantly transformed from a steady boss's car into a wild beast awakened from its slumber.
Ahead is the entrance ramp of an overpass.
Kitahara Shin suddenly stepped on the gas pedal.
"Bomb One"
The heavy vehicle did not appear clumsy; instead, it cut into the inner lane with an extremely uncanny agility.
Inside the rear vehicle.
Several paparazzi with telephoto lenses were munching on bread while complaining:
Paparazzo A: "Why is Kitahara Shin coming here in the middle of the night instead of going home? Is he going to meet some female celebrity?"
""
Driver (Paparazzo B): "Who cares? As long as we get one solid piece of evidence, our bonuses for the second half of the year will be—holy crap!"
The driver slammed on the brakes, nearly shoving the bread in his hand into his nose.
Suddenly, the black sedan ahead resembled a black eel, carving an S-shaped trajectory through the dense traffic, overtaking three cars in an instant, and disappearing into the ramp.
Driver: "He spotted us?!"
Paparazzo A: "Quick, chase him! Don't let him get away!"
The driver gritted his teeth, floored the accelerator, and the Honda Accord roared as it tried to catch up.
But the next second, something happened that made them question their existence.
The light at the intersection ahead is clearly red.
Kitahara Shin's speed did not decrease at all. When he was still fifty meters away from the intersection, he suddenly cut into the left turn lane and, taking advantage of the green light, performed an extremely precise 90-degree drift. His car almost slid past the roadside guardrail, then instantly straightened up and disappeared into the street on the left.
The whole process was so smooth that it seemed like the brake lights never even came on.
".——"
The Honda Accord was eerily silent.
The driver stared blankly at the empty intersection, then at the traffic light in front of him, which had turned red.
Driver: "Is this...a movie shoot?"
The paparazzi boss in the back seat slapped the driver on the back of the head: "You good-for-nothing! You can't even keep up with a car! They're driving a Toyota Century! That big car can drift, and you in your Accord can't even catch its taillights?!"
The driver was almost in tears, feeling wronged: "Boss, it's not my fault! That guy's driving is too weird! Even Schumacher would have to brake on that bend! How did he get past it? Did he fly?"
"Stop talking nonsense! Hurry up and chase after them! If we lose them, how are we going to explain ourselves to our superiors!"
"We can't catch up anymore!"
The driver looked at the complicated intersection and sighed in despair.
Five minutes later.
Kitahara Shin's car was already parked in front of a convenience store a few kilometers away.
He leisurely bought a can of coffee, leaned against the car door, looked at the traffic in the distance that hadn't followed, and shook his head.
"The technique is terrible."
He took a sip of coffee and deactivated his equipment.
A few minutes later.
As night fell, the black sedan started up again, disappearing silently into Tokyo's sea of neon lights like a ghost.