Tokyo: My Best Actor Gear List

Chapter 5: Finding a Hidden Gem: The Forgotten Glasses

It was nearly 10 p.m. when we left Studio 6.

Kitahara Shin held the heavy lacquerware food box in his arms, feeling even better than when the photographer had praised him earlier.

Instead of leaving the TV station building directly, he took a detour to the production center on the third floor.

There was free hot water available, and he planned to fill up some to take with him—the water heater in his old apartment had been broken for half a month, and the landlord had been putting it off.

As I passed a meeting room labeled "Winter Sunflower Script Discussion Room," the door was ajar.

The room was empty, with only a mess on the table.

Ashtrays piled high with cigarette butts, scattered discarded printed paper, and leftover canned coffee—you can imagine the intense brainstorming session that just took place here.

Kitahara Shin glanced inside subconsciously.

If it were the young Kitahara Shin from before, he would probably have walked past without even glancing at her.

But as a seasoned veteran who had spent his entire life on film sets, he developed a habit—to pay close attention to his surroundings.

His gaze settled on a chair in the corner of the long table.

There was a pair of glasses there.

The black, thin-rimmed lenses looked very new, and the lenses shimmered with a faint bluish-purple sheen under the corridor lights.

It lay there all alone on a stack of discarded documents, clearly forgotten by its owners who had just left in a hurry.

"Is nobody going to want it?"

Kitahara Shin pushed open the door and went inside.

The whiteboard in the meeting room still had the words "Episode 3 outline revised" written on it, indicating that the writing team had been gone for a long time.

According to the TV station's usual practice, the cleaning lady would clear out the meeting room the next morning, and the items on the table would most likely be disposed of as garbage.

He walked over and picked up the glasses.

It's very light, the material feels smooth to the touch, and it has no prescription; it's a plano lens.

The moment my fingertips touched it, that familiar blue light screen popped up again.

[Found an equipable item (common)]

【Item Name: Screenwriter's Lost Plain Blue Light Blocking Glasses (White)】

[Original owner: An unknown assistant screenwriter who overused his eyes]

[Location: Head/Accessory]

Condition: Intact, Clean

[Basic Attribute: Focus +20%]

[Special term: Subtext Insight (Passive)]

Note: These glasses accompanied their owner through countless late nights revising scripts. Wearing them will significantly enhance your sensitivity to text, allowing you to more quickly grasp the logic and emotions behind the lines.

"A boost to focus?"

Kitahara Shin's eyes lit up.

Compared to the somewhat "mystical" Zippo lighter, this thing is a true efficiency marvel.

For actors, reading a script is not just about memorizing lines, but also about logical analysis.

He took a handkerchief out of his pocket, carefully wiped the lenses, and after making sure they were clean, put them in his inner jacket pocket.

"Thanks, anonymous screenwriter."

……

Rented house in Nerima Ward.

It was almost 11 o'clock when I got home.

The cramped, six-and-a-half-tatami room was filled with the chill of late autumn.

Kitahara Shin rubbed his hands together, but instead of turning on the heater, he opened the exquisite food box first.

Even when it's cold, the exquisite aroma of the oil still wafts out.

This is the famous "Seoshuen" premium yakiniku bento.

Thick slices of beef short ribs were spread over rice, accompanied by refreshing kimchi and mixed vegetables.

He picked up a piece of beef and put it in his mouth.

The rich meat juices burst in your mouth, and the sweetness of the oil instantly soothes the fatigue of a long day.

"good……"

Kitahara Shin let out a satisfied sigh.

In my previous life in Hengdian, because I wasn't good-looking, I could only play minor roles. I always ate ordinary boxed meals from the film crew, which were either fatty meat or lymph node meat. I rarely got to eat chicken legs.

In this life, he received this gift simply because he demonstrated "professionalism" and "effortlessness" during the photo shoot.

It's no wonder it was the era of the bubble economy; they were certainly very generous.

After finishing the bento, my body finally warmed up.

Kitahara Shin tidied the table and took out the script of "Winter Sunflower" from his bag.

Tomorrow is the first day of filming. Although his character has no lines, he will not take it lightly.

He took out the black-rimmed glasses he had just picked up and put them on the bridge of his nose.

[Equipment activated: Focus +20%]

The world seemed to fall silent instantly.

The occasional sounds of cars passing by outside the window and the noise from the neighbors watching TV next door seemed to be filtered out at this moment.

All he could see were the densely packed printed words on the script.

What were once dull triangle prompts and parenthetical instructions now seemed to come alive in his eyes, automatically constructing a series of dynamic images.

"Here, after the male protagonist finishes saying this line, there will definitely be a pause for breath..."

"The female lead's emotions here are fake; she's hiding something..."

Kitahara Shin's pen flew across the script.

Normally, analyzing tomorrow's three scenes would take at least two hours. But today, with the added advantage of [Subtext Insight], his brain was working at an astonishing speed.

He not only memorized his own movements, but also figured out the rhythm of the male protagonist Matsumoto Kazuya's lines.

He predicted where Matsumoto might get stuck, where he might rush the shot, and where his movements might become distorted due to nervousness.

"If you don't understand your opponent's breathing, you can't steal the show in silence."

This is the experience of veteran actors.

The script was closed in just forty minutes.

Kitahara Shin took off his glasses, rubbed his temples, and felt refreshed.

The clock on the wall points to twelve.

"So early."

At this time of day, he would usually be working on the script.

Now that the work is done, it's time to go to bed early.

In this appearance-obsessed industry, sleep is the best beauty treatment.

……

The next morning, at 6:30.

The exterior of Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden.

The fog hadn't lifted on this early autumn morning when the crew was already busy laying tracks.

Kitahara Shin arrived at the scene on time.

He was wearing the linen shirt he'd taken back yesterday, with an old trench coat over it.

After a good night's sleep, he looked refreshed and energetic, with firm, glowing skin and clear, bright eyes that required no additional concealer.

Good morning, Miwako-nee.

He greeted the stylist, who was adjusting his clothes, with a smile.

"Kitahara-kun!" Miwako's eyes lit up when she saw him. "Your skin looks great! Look at your complexion, you can even apply a thinner layer of foundation."

In contrast, the male lead, Kazuya Matsumoto, who arrived twenty minutes later, was in a rather pitiful state.

Wearing sunglasses, Matsumoto stepped out of the van surrounded by a group of assistants.

The moment she took off her sunglasses, even with makeup on, you could see the dark circles under her eyes and the slight puffiness on her cheeks.

Clearly, this popular idol didn't study the script properly last night and most likely partied at a nightclub in Roppongi until the early hours of the morning.

"Um...where's the makeup artist? Hurry up and fix my face, it's still a bit swollen." Matsumoto started complaining as soon as he sat down, his voice hoarse and full of morning grumpiness.

The director, who was adjusting the monitor not far away, frowned and glanced over.

He then turned to look at Kitahara Shin, who had already finished his makeup and was sitting quietly in the corner reading the script.