HPDBC Chapter 125 Comprehension
Chapter 125 Comprehension
Chapter 125 Comprehension
Studio 9 at Toei Kyoto Studios has been like a giant meat grinder running at full throttle these past few days.
The only background noises here are the clicking of the film reel, the director's shouts, and the clanging of props being moved.
It's been a week since I turned it on.
The progress is astonishingly fast.
The initial estrangement and doubts caused by "Tokyo Idol starring in Yakuza Chronicles" were crushed long ago by Kitahara Shin's three consecutive days of high-intensity, zero-NG performances.
Seventy percent of the shots in this film focus on Kyoji Sanada.
As long as he stays calm, the production crew will stay calm. As long as he can act, this massive machine will run like lightning.
Later on, even the most discerning lighting technicians would subconsciously prioritize Kitahara Shin's camera position when setting up the lighting.
Because they discovered that as long as they followed this young man's pace, they could't go wrong.
"Cut! That's a take! Ten-minute break, then move on to another scene!"
Director Yasuo Furuhata's voice sounded very excited.
The staff began busily dismantling the set, preparing props for the next scene.
Kitahara Shin walked to the corner and sat down on the folding chair. He took the water his assistant handed him, but didn't drink it.
He rolled the script into a tube, tapped it lightly on his knee, and frowned deeply.
We've hit a bottleneck.
The next scene is the turning point of the entire film—Kyoji Sanada betrays and assassinates the team leader who had helped him.
The script clearly states that in order to rise to power and win over the boss, Kyoji must eliminate this old man who is standing in his way.
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The logic is sound.
But emotionally, Kitahara Shin always felt something was missing.
The driving force of "having no choice but to kill" is not enough.
Is it just because of ambition? Is it just because he wants to sleep with the boss?
Can you really stab someone without any guilt just because of a brother who rescued you from the slums, fed you, and gave you a gun?
If the performance is too hesitant, it lacks "madness"; if it is too decisive, it appears like an emotionless killing machine, lacking depth.
He wavered between the two, unable to find that precise footing.
A very faint scent of sandalwood wafted over.
"What's wrong? Did you get stuck?"
Kitahara Shin raised his head.
Shima Iwashita, dressed in a black mourning outfit (her costume for the next scene), was standing in front of him.
She held a slender cigarette between her fingers, but didn't light it; she was just playing with it.
The empress has been observing him for the past few days.
"Iwashita-senpai." Kitahara Shin tried to stand up, but she pressed down on his shoulder.
"Sit down. On set, getting into character is more important than being polite."
Iwashita Shima sat down in the chair next to him, turning her head to look at him. "I've seen you staring at that page of the script for almost twenty minutes. What, do you think Kyoji's reasons for killing the team leader aren't sufficient?"
As expected of a veteran actor, he saw through his problem at a glance.
Kitahara Shin nodded, then shook his head.
Instead of directly expressing his confusion, he turned to look at the woman who had played the lead role in the series for five years.
"senior."
He suddenly asked, "This series is about to end. What are you thinking?"
Iwashita Shima paused for a moment.
She never expected that when this kid was getting stuck on a nitpicking topic, he would ask such an unrelated question.
She blinked, and a rare hint of bewilderment appeared in her usually fierce eyes.
She looked at the busy staff in the distance, at the familiar old props, and gently rubbed the cigarette holder between her fingers.
"What were you thinking?!"
She sighed softly, "It's complicated. Somewhat relieved, after all, living with the title of 'yakuza wife' for five years was exhausting. Finally, I can take it off."
"But more than anything, I'm reluctant to part with it."
"It's been five years. I know every floorboard, every light, even every cursing sound from the stagehands here. This stuff has grown into the flesh; digging it out will definitely hurt and cause bleeding."
At this point, she gave a self-deprecating laugh, "People, when they spend a lot of time together, even if it's just acting, will develop some real feelings. I really can't just turn around and leave so easily."
"
We've been together for a long time.
Genuine feelings develop.
It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck Kitahara Shin's mind.
Looking at Iwashita Shima's slightly melancholic face, he suddenly understood.
Why is Iwashita Shima reluctant to leave?
Because of five years.
Why does the team leader in the script trust Kyoji so much? Because he feels that Kyoji is the dog he raised.
but.
What about Kyoji?
Kitahara Shin quickly went through the crazy timeline in his mind.
From being picked up from the street by the team leader to tonight's assassination attempt, all told, it only took less than three months within the timeframe of the script.
Three months.
For the team leader, Kuangci was a trusted confidant.
But for Kyoji, the team leader was just a noisy person he had only recently met, who was blocking his path to advancement.
Where did this deep friendship come from?
Where does this psychological burden come from?
That was the team leader's wishful thinking, not Kuangci's.
The so-called "betrayal" is only considered betrayal when the feelings between the two parties are equal. If one party doesn't value the other at all, it's not betrayal, but rather "clearing obstacles."
This is the logic behind Kyodo.
A stray dog that has struggled at the bottom of society and is terrified of hunger will not develop the luxury of "loyalty" to someone who has only fed it bones for three months.
His eyes were only on the bigger piece of meat—the woman sitting on the throne.
"It's connected."
Kitahara Shin gripped the script tightly.
The feeling of something stuck in my throat disappeared, replaced by a clear, icy coldness.
He doesn't need to act out "conflict" or "pain".
All he needs to do is act like he's ignoring it.
Ignoring that meager kindness, ignoring that human life.
"Looks like you've figured it out?"
Iwashita Shima had been observing his changing expressions.
Seeing the confusion in his eyes fade and replaced by that chilling sharpness, she raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Thank you, senior."
Kitahara Shin turned his head and looked at Iwashita Shima.
This time, his eyes held less of the previous respect and more of—naked aggression.
That was the look that Kuangci gave the boss.
"If it weren't for what you just said, I might still be stuck in a dead end."
Iwashita Shima felt a jolt in her heart when she saw that look.
She stubbed out her cigarette, stood up, straightened the collar of her mourning clothes, and a satisfied smile appeared on her lips.
"That's good."
"Go. Kill that old bastard, and then—"
She leaned down and whispered in his ear, her tone teasing and seductive, "Come and take my place."
"All departments, prepare! Scene 124, Scene 1!"
The set is already set up.
This is a small alleyway on a rainy night.
The water truck was creating a torrential downpour, and the ground was covered in mud. The dim streetlights flickered in the rain, making the atmosphere oppressive and somber.
The team leader, played by Hiroki Matsukata, is currently leaning against the wall, drunk and humming an unknown tune.
He had just closed a big deal at a dinner party and was in a great mood.
"Hot crap—hiccup!"
Matsukata Hiroki let out a hiccup, draped his arm over Kitahara Shin's shoulder, and leaned his entire weight on him. "Today—today is a happy day! Let's go back—let your sister-in-law get us something nice—"
He was completely unprepared.
He turned his back completely to his most trusted younger brother.
Kitahara Shin supported him, letting the rain wash over their bodies.
His face was expressionless.
A slight thought.
The system panel unfolds in the void.
[Equipment Activation: Underdog Tie Clip (Green)]
[Special Effect: Forced Sedation]
There was no tingling sensation like an electric current flowing through the body, nor any physical contact. It was a force of rules that acted directly on the soul.
In an instant, all distracting thoughts were cleared away.
The coldness of the rain, the stickiness of the clothes, and even the pungent smell of alcohol on Matsukata Hiroki all became irrelevant at this moment.
His heartbeat was forcibly suppressed to an absolutely steady state of sixty beats per minute.
His hands are very steady.
It's as stable as a granite block.
[Special Effect: Thorn Reflection]
Even in his drunken state, the imposing aura of a "yakuza boss" emanating from Matsukata Hiroki pressed down like a mountain. But now, the tie clip absorbed all that pressure, transforming it into pure killing intent.
Kitahara Shin could even feel his pupils contracting, his vision reduced to only Matsukata Hiroki's undulating abdomen.
That's the fatal flaw.
"Big brother."
Kitahara Shin suddenly spoke up.
His voice was soft, blending into the sound of rain, and sounded somewhat gentle.
"Huh? What?"
Matsukata Hiroki turned his head groggily, trying to hear what he was saying.
The instant he turned his head.
puff.
A very faint sound, like a sharp blade piercing flesh.
Kitahara Shin suddenly had a short sword (tool) in his hand, which he swiftly and accurately plunged into Matsukata Hiroki's abdomen.
There was no pause, no hand tremor, and not even a lapse in breathing rhythm.
It's like sticking something into a block of tofu.
Matsukata Hiroki's body suddenly stiffened.
His eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at his most trusted subordinate. The intense pain and shock instantly sobered him up.
"you----"
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but only a hoarse sound came out of his throat.
Kitahara Shin did not draw his sword.
Instead, he took a step forward, getting closer to Matsukata Hiroki's face.
Their faces were almost touching in the rain, their posture so intimate it looked like they were embracing.
Kitahara Shin looked into Matsukata Hiroki's eyes, which were filled with shock and pain.
He smiled.
The smile was faint, clean, and even carried a hint of childlike innocence.
"Big brother."
He spoke softly, his tone devoid of apology, only displaying a sense of self-righteous cruelty.
The mistake was—
He slowly turned the hilt of the knife in his hand, looking at Matsukata Hiroki's face contorted in pain, and the greed and madness in his eyes finally burst forth completely, no longer concealed.
"You actually trust such a scoundrel as me."
boom!
Matsukata Hiroki felt the hairs on his body stand on end.
It wasn't acted.
It really stood up.
In that instant, he saw a truly "inhuman" feeling in the boy's eyes.
That's not acting; that's a wolf in human skin laughing as it devours the master who fed it.
The chill ran down his spine and straight to the top of his head, making him forget that he was filming a movie. His body instinctively felt an urge to vomit and run away.
"Thump."
Matsukata Hiroki knelt heavily in the mud.
This wasn't a scene from the script; his legs just gave way.
But he was a veteran actor after all. Even as he fell, he still clung tightly to Kitahara Shin's trouser leg, his eyes wide open, staring at the sky with an unseeing look in his eyes.
Kitahara Shin stood in the rain.
He glanced down at the corpse at his feet, then disgustedly lifted his foot and kicked away the hand that was grabbing his trouser leg.
He took out a handkerchief, slowly wiped the rainwater off his hands (as if it were blood), and then casually tossed the handkerchief onto the corpse's face.
He turned and walked into the depths of the dark alley.
His back was resolute; he didn't even turn his head once.
The scene was deathly silent.
Only the water truck was still spraying water.
Five full seconds passed.
"Card!!!"
Yasuo Furuhata's voice cracked, filled with a tearing excitement.
"Perfect! Absolutely fucking perfect!"
With that shout, the frozen atmosphere in the room seemed to suddenly explode.
The staff members looked at each other, and each of them saw the fear and shock in the other's eyes.
"Holy crap—I thought that knife really went in just now."
"That look in your eyes—it's terrifying!"
"I got goosebumps."
On the ground, Hiroki Matsukata was still kneeling in the mud, panting heavily.
Kitahara Shin had already snapped out of character by this point.
He rushed back, wanting to help Matsukata Hiroki up.
"Matsukata-senpai! Are you alright? Did you fall hard?"
The madness and coldness on his face disappeared, and he reverted to being the humble and polite junior, his face filled with concern.
Matsukata Hiroki looked at the outstretched hand and instinctively pulled back a little.
He was genuinely terrified.
The oppressive feeling he had just experienced reminded him of how he felt when facing Ken Takakura back then.
No, it's even more sinister than that.
"fine----"
Matsukata Hiroki waved his hand and stood up with the help of his assistant.
He wiped the rain off his face and stared intently at Kitahara Shin.
a long time.
He let out a long breath and patted Kitahara Shin heavily on the shoulder.
"Good lad—"
His voice was still trembling slightly, but his tone was full of admiration.
"You're really—born for this job."
"For a split second just now, I really thought you were going to kill me."
In the distance, Iwashita Shima, who had been standing behind the monitor, watched this scene and slowly exhaled a smoke ring.
Amidst the swirling smoke, a meaningful smile played on her lips.
"Finally, fangs have grown."
She looked at the young man who was bowing and apologizing in the crowd.
This play truly began from this moment on.
Meanwhile, outside the photography studio.
With the press conference for the production of "Yakuza Wife: The End of Hell" and the release of the first set of character photos, the entertainment news across the entire Japanese archipelago was blown up by that name.
Kitahara Shin.
This name now represents a huge amount of traffic, but because of this bold casting, his fan base has instantly split into three distinct factions, arguing fiercely in the letter-to-the-reader sections of major newspapers and on the streets.
The first group, which is also the largest in number, consists of "true fans."
Most of them were housewives and young women who became fans after watching "Tokyo Love Story." In their minds, Kitahara Shin was that urban gentleman in a trench coat with melancholy eyes, the perfect material for their dreams.
And now, when I look at the newspaper: What? That gentle and refined Kitahara-kun is going to play a tattooed, ruthless yakuza dog?
And she has to act in scenes full of lust and violence with a "yakuza queen" like Shima Iwashita?
The agency's phones were nearly bombarded with calls from heartbroken female fans: "Please don't ruin our dream guy!"
"I strongly protest against casting Kitahara-kun in such a barbaric role!"
The second group consists of the steady "Taiga drama fans".
This group of fans is mostly elderly. Although they don't watch those trendy idol dramas, they have excellent memories.
At the chess stalls in the park, or in the tea room of the senior center, the elderly men and women pushed up their reading glasses, looked at the photos in the newspaper, and always felt that the child looked familiar.
"Hey? Isn't that the young man from 'Kasuga no Tsubone'?"
"Yes, yes, that's the young samurai who played Inaba Masasada. I thought he acted well back then; his portrayal of the dilemma between loyalty and righteousness was so moving."
For these older viewers who grew up watching historical dramas, the image of the young samurai struggling in the torrent of history is far more profound than any urban romance drama.
Looking at the promotional photos, they didn't have much of a problem: "This kid has good bone structure; he can act in serious dramas. It would be good for him to hone his skills by acting in documentaries; it's better than him talking about love on TV every day."
The third group consists of the most enthusiastic "hardcore straight male fans".
These people have been following Shin Kitahara ever since his debut in a film starring Takeshi Kitano.
They've had enough of those pretty boys on TV, and they're hoping that "crazy guy" will come back.
Upon seeing the promotional photos of Sanada Kyoji, whose cold eyes and dangerous aura filled the air, the group of men in the izakaya slapped their thighs and laughed maniacally: "Finally back! This is the kind of show men should be watching! Forget all those soft, sentimental idol dramas!"
This divided public opinion landscape has led to farcical "family wars" unfolding in countless ordinary Japanese households.
The Sato family in Nerima Ward, Tokyo.
Dinner time.
Mr. Sato, the head of the household, drank his beer while looking at the Tokyo Sports newspaper in his hand.
Suddenly, he slammed his hand on the table.
"Great! That's wonderful!"
Pointing to a still from the newspaper of Kitahara Shin holding a wooden sword, his face covered in blood, he was flushed with excitement. "This is what a movie should be! This is the spirit of Showa men! This kid's got guts! I'm definitely going to the theater to contribute to the box office when it's released!"
Mrs. Sato, who was cutting fruit in the kitchen, came out when she heard the noise, holding a fruit knife in her hand.
"What's so great?"
She leaned closer to take a look and immediately let out a scream, nearly dropping the knife in her hand.
"Ah! My Kitahara-kun!"
Mrs. Sato stared in dismay as the once clean-cut and refreshing "Kanji" transformed into a vicious-looking thug. She stamped her feet in anguish, "Why did he take on this kind of film! What's with that filthy tattoo?! It's disgusting! Give me back my young master!"
"What do you know!"
Mr. Sato glared at him. "That's called a breakthrough! That's called acting! What's the point of acting in those tearful romance movies every day? Men should watch action movies that are all about hard-hitting action!"
"You don't understand! Using a face like that to play a gangster is a complete waste of talent! I won't allow you to watch! I'm going to write a letter to complain to the agency!"
"You're an unreasonable shrew!"
"You roughneck, you have absolutely no taste!"
The couple argued fiercely over an actor's career path, their words flying everywhere.
And at the dinner table.
Their son, who is still in elementary school, was quietly eating the curry rice in his bowl.
The little boy glanced at his father, whose face was flushed red, then at his mother, who was furious, and finally at the unfamiliar older brother in the newspaper.
He scratched his head, looking completely bewildered.
"that----"
He weakly raised his spoon. "So—I want to buy that Kamen Rider belt next week, is it still possible?"
No one cares about him.
The argument about the "tough guy" and the "prince" still echoed in the living room.
The mastermind behind all of this, Shinichi Kitahara, was sitting in his van in Kyoto, looking out at the night view, when he sneezed loudly.