mchenry-crisis.org Chapter 183 Feeding You Cake
Chapter 183 Feeding You Cake
Chapter 183 Feeding You Cake
The sky was somewhat overcast in Tokyo in the afternoon.
A black Mercedes-Benz drove through the bustling streets of Akasaka and turned into a narrow back alley.
Kitahara Shin sat in the driver's seat and glanced at the address that Ota Masakazu had found.
An old-fashioned coffee shop hidden behind an office building, with even its signboard somewhat faded.
In this glamorous circle, only those who are truly disillusioned or want to escape worldly scrutiny hide in such corners.
"Is it here? —"
Kitahara Shin turned off the engine and looked out the car window at the slightly old wooden door.
He straightened his suit and tie, looking at his young and ambitious self in the rearview mirror. There was no contempt for the down-and-out in his eyes, but rather the excitement of a hunter about to capture the strongest beast.
I opened the car door and got out.
The leather shoes made a crisp sound as they stepped on the slightly damp cobblestones.
Kitahara Shin reached out and pushed open the heavy wooden door.
"jingle""
The wind chimes on the door made a crisp sound.
Instead of the rich aroma of coffee, he was greeted by a pungent smell of tobacco mixed with the scent of stale leather.
The corner seats were filled with smoke.
The familiar figure was slumped on the sofa, a nearly burnt-out cigarette between his fingers. He didn't look up immediately when he heard the sound.
Kitahara Shin walked straight over, pulled out the chair opposite him, and sat down.
"Director, this place is exactly the same as when I first met you."
He picked up the black coffee the waiter brought, looked around at the slightly worn-out decor, and broke the silence with a smile.
Sitting opposite him, Takeshi Kitano finally reacted. He tilted his head, his somewhat expressionless yet ruthless face appearing and disappearing behind the smoke, his sharp eyes sweeping over him: "What do you mean? You think my place is shabby?"
"No." Kitahara Shin shook his head. "It's just that I feel you haven't changed at all, Director."
"Hmph, of course."
Takeshi Kitano took a deep drag of his cigarette, exhaled a smoke ring, and said with a hint of self-deprecation and helplessness, "I'm still that outcast ostracized by the mainstream, still that comedian who only tells dirty jokes. But you—"
He sized up the young man before him, dressed in a well-tailored haute couture suit, exuding an air of authority in every gesture: "You've grown faster than I imagined. Just a few years and you've become a movie star and started such a large company. Should I call you President Kitahara now?"
You can just call me Kitahara.
Kitahara Shin shrugged. "Best Actor is just a title. I'm still a long way from winning a Blue Ribbon Award for Best Director like you."
Upon hearing the words "Blue Ribbon," Takeshi Kitano's expression visibly stiffened.
He shoved the cigarette butt into the ashtray, his voice low and somber: "That award—means nothing to me."
"In this industry, honors are like farts; once they're gone, they're gone. No matter how successful you were before, if you make even the slightest mistake or make a bad movie, those people will pounce on you like sharks smelling blood and tear you to shreds."
He looked up, his eyes filled with deep disgust: "They'll say you've lost your touch, that you were just lucky before. Even investors will avoid you like the plague. I hate this intolerant world—but in some ways, I can understand it."
After all, that's business.
Nobody wants to throw money into the water and make a splash.
"Alright, enough complaining."
Takeshi Kitano waved his hand, lit another cigarette, and resumed his nonchalant demeanor: "Let's get down to business. You went all the way here to see this box office poison," so what exactly do you want to talk about? What do you need?
"The script? Or do you want me to go and give those 'Big Three' a piece of my mind?"
"I'd like to ask you to make a movie."
Kitahara Shin leaned forward, looking directly into his eyes: "A film that truly belongs to Kitano Takeshi's style, but can also shut those old fogies up."
"Oh?"
Takeshi Kitano became interested. "What ideas do you have?"
Kitahara Shin didn't answer immediately. He was searching his mind for the story that best suited the current moment and Kitano Takeshi's style.
violence.
cruel.
Yet it carries with it an extreme warmth and absurdity.
"Director, I've come up with a story."
Kitahara Shin slowly began, "A middle-aged yakuza thug, long past his prime, reduced to extortion for a living. He had nothing, and even his underlings looked down on him. Until one day, he met a little boy—"
He was recounting the film that was later hailed as Takeshi Kitano's most tender and classic road movie—"Kikujiro's Summer."
However, he made some slight adjustments to the story to make it more in line with the aesthetics of the present era and to further highlight the contrast between the "rogue and the angel".
As Takeshi Kitano listened, his initially nonchalant expression gradually turned serious.
He stroked his stubble-covered chin, his eyes gleaming: "A washed-up hoodlum—a brat searching for his mother—interesting. Isn't this my autobiography?"
He smiled, but quickly shook his head: "The idea is good. But Kitahara, this is just a rough idea. The story is too broad; there's no specific script, no storyboard, not even a plan for how the thug should speak. You can't make a movie with just his mouth."
.
indeed.
Turning the images in your mind into an executable script is a long and arduous process.
Kitahara Shinya realized this problem. Although he had seen the finished film, he was not a professional screenwriter and found it difficult to perfectly reproduce those delicate emotions and unique cinematic language.
However, Takeshi Kitano's words struck him like a bolt of lightning, shattering a long-held concern.
Although he possessed memories of his past life and had read countless classics from later generations, he rarely went directly to "write" scripts.
Why?
Because before, he was just a powerless and insignificant actor.
In the cutthroat entertainment industry, if a newcomer with no connections presents a brilliant script, there are only two possible outcomes: either the script is bought out by a big company at a bargain price, and the copyright is completely lost; or it is stolen by a more powerful director or screenwriter, leaving the newcomer with nothing.
Talent without resources is like a lamb to the slaughter.
But now, things are different.
He has money, an agency, the title of Best Actor, and connections like Sayuri Yoshinaga. He has grown into the kind of "capital" that can set the rules.
"Since I have the ability and the sword to protect the treasure, why should I foolishly wait for the gold to shine on its own?"
Kitahara Shin's gaze gradually became intense.
Whether it's *Kikujiro's Summer*, or those future masterpieces yet to be created, rather than waiting for the original author to release them in a few years...
It's better to bring these things into the world now than to write them down slowly, even more than a decade or two later.
Moreover, this time, copyright, adaptation rights, merchandise rights—all the profits must go to Kitahara Office.
Thinking of this, he smiled. His smile was more composed and more greedy than before.
Give me a few days.
Kitahara Shin suddenly raised his head, his tone resolute, displaying absolute confidence in his memory bank and the "cheat code" he was about to acquire: "In a few days, I will place the complete script in front of you."
"A few days?"
Takeshi Kitano blinked, looking at him as if he were a monster. "Are you kidding me? Writing a screenplay isn't like cooking ramen, it doesn't take minutes!"
Have you forgotten who I am?
Kitahara Shin stood up with a smile, straightened his suit, and a glint of ambition flashed in his eyes: "I am Kitahara Shin, who 'can do anything.'"
"Tch, arrogant brat."
Although Takeshi Kitano complained, he couldn't hide the admiration in his eyes. In this stagnant industry, he loved this kind of daring and reckless spirit. He tossed a cigarette to Shin Kitahara: "Alright. I'll be waiting."
"make a deal."
Kitahara Shin took the cigarette and lit it.
The two men exchanged a glance through the smoke, forming some kind of crazy alliance.
After leaving Akasaka.
Kitahara Shin did not go straight back to the company, but instead drove to the largest stationery department store in Ginza.
To perfectly "print out" the images in your mind, relying solely on handwriting is too slow and inaccurate.
He needs equipment.
Moreover, it's a special device that can directly connect the brain and the pen tip.
[The Red Thread of Fate (Treasure Hunter Edition) Activated]
Instantly, countless white dots of light appeared in my field of vision.
He strolled slowly through the stationery section of the mall. Fountain pens, ballpoint pens, notebooks, and even those seemingly high-end typewriters appeared to him as nothing more than ordinary white lights.
"No?
Kitahara Shin was somewhat disappointed.
Just as he was about to leave for the next store, a dusty counter in the corner caught his attention.
There were several boxes of oddly shaped old-fashioned dip pens that looked like they were unsellable.
On the tip of one of the pens in the box, a faint green light shimmered.
Green equipment!
Kitahara Shin walked over and picked up the box of pens.
[Equipable item detected: The Desperate Pen of a Down-on-His-Luck Writer (Green)]
[Description: A pen used by a brilliant writer who never found a patron. Though the nib is rusty, it still bears the mark of his unwavering dedication to words.]
"A pen of despair? Interesting."
Kitahara Shin bought it.
For the next three hours, he wandered around several large stationery and antique shops in Tokyo like a treasure hunter.
A very fruitful harvest:
【Crazy Stenographer's Typewriter Keycaps (Green)】: Increases typing speed by 50%.
【Third-rate screenwriter's discarded draft paper (white) 10】: When writing on this paper, inspiration is slightly enhanced.
【The Thinker's Pipe (Green)】: Improves mental clarity while smoking.
【Insomniac's Eye Mask (White) 5】————
A total of 15 white equipment pieces and 4 green equipment pieces were collected.
"That's about it."
Kitahara Shin looked at the messy pile of items in his inventory and took a deep breath.
These low-level equipment alone are definitely not enough. To achieve the effect of "perfectly replicating the mental image," you'll need at least one piece of blue-quality equipment.
This requires synthesis.
Based on past experience, the success rate and quality of synthesis are mysteriously enhanced when performed on women with whom one has a "close relationship".
Izumi and Akina are recording a program today and won't be with me.
Then we'll just have to go back to the film set.
Kanagawa, 3 PM on the set of "Flowers of Evil".
-
When Kitahara Shin rushed back to the set, he arrived just in time for a major scene.
trial room.
The lighting was dim, with only one table lamp illuminating the center of the table.
This is also the most crucial dialogue scene in the entire series: the righteous policewoman (Takako Matsu) interrogates the depraved second female lead (Rie Miyazawa) who has completely fallen from grace and been brainwashed by the male lead.
"Action!"
The camera zooms in.
Rie Miyazawa sat in the interrogation chair, her hands cuffed. She was in a terrible state, her eyes unfocused and crazed, a strange smile playing on her lips; she was like a bomb that could explode at any moment.
"You can't catch him—"
Rie's voice was hoarse, with a morbid obsession: "He is God—he came to save us—"
That frenzied aura instantly filled the entire space.
Sitting opposite her was Takako Matsu, dressed in a crisp police uniform.
In the past, she might have been too intimidated by this aura to speak, or she might have been able to respond with weak, feeble lines.
But today.
Not the same.
Matsu Takako didn't rush to speak. She simply looked at Rie quietly, her clear eyes showing no fear or wavering.
Sudden.
She slammed her hand on the table.
"Snapped!"
The sound was crisp and clear, making Rie Miyazawa's body tremble.
Matsu Takako stood up, leaning slightly forward. In that instant, she employed the classic Kabuki technique of "kadoku" (posing). Her gaze was fixed on Rie, and the righteousness and majesty derived from her prestigious family pressed down on her like a mountain.
"Look at me!"
Her voice wasn't loud, but it had a penetrating power: "There are no gods here. Only criminals and police."
"Your so-called redemption is just running away. Look at yourself now, do you even look like a human being?!"
The atmosphere has reversed.
The seemingly eccentric Rie Miyazawa was actually stunned by this newcomer who had always been regarded as an "innocent little rabbit." She opened her mouth, and the fanaticism in her eyes faded for a moment, revealing a trace of genuine fear.
"Cut! Okay!"
The assistant director's excited voice broke the silence.
The entire staff couldn't help but applaud. It was absolutely brilliant! The tension between good and evil was so intense it sent chills down our spines.
"call----"
Matsu Takako let out a long sigh of relief, her legs went weak, and she sat back down in her chair. She did it! She finally caught up with her senior's performance!
"good."
A familiar voice came from behind.
Kitahara Shin emerged from the shadows with a satisfied smile on his face.
When Matsu Takako heard the praise, her cheeks flushed slightly. She was about to stand up and say "Thank you, President" when she noticed that Kitahara Shin did not walk towards her, but went straight to Miyazawa Rie, who was still sitting in a daze on the chair.
Rie
Kitahara Shin handed her a bottle of water, his tone naturally affectionate: "Were you startled just now? Your reaction was a little slow, wasn't it?"
Rie Miyazawa snapped out of her daze, took the water, and gave him a disgruntled look. "Who was scared! It was part of the plot! But you, weren't you not supposed to have any scenes today? Why did you show up again?"
Only she would dare to say such a thing. No one else would dare to talk back to the club president like that.
"Let's see if any of you are slacking off."
Kitahara Shin smiled, offering no further explanation, but simply turned to look at Matsu Takako and nodded slightly: "Well done. Keep it up."
There is only this one sentence.
That blatant discrimination instantly dampened the joy that had just welled up in Matsu Takako's heart.
She bit her lip, watching Kitahara Shin lead Miyazawa Rie towards the rest area, and that indescribable feeling welled up inside her again.
Rest area.
Kitahara Shin found a corner to sit down and patted the seat next to him: "Sit."
Rie Miyazawa sat down with some confusion, watching him take a delicate strawberry cake out of the bag: "Here. I bought it from a dessert shop I passed by earlier; I heard their cream is really good."
"ha?"
Rie stared at him wide-eyed, as if he were an alien: "Are you alright? Why are you suddenly being so nice to me? There's no smoke without fire. Tell me, are you going to make me play some kind of perverted character again?"
"You're overthinking it."
Kitahara Shin shoved the cake into her hands, then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "You don't have to do anything. Just sit here and eat the cake. I want some peace and quiet."
"----wack."
Rie Miyazawa muttered something, but looking at the tempting cake in her hand, she couldn't resist the temptation and scooped a spoonful into her mouth.
The sweet but not cloying cream melts on the tip of your tongue.
She stole a glance at the man beside her.
His eyes were closed, his brows slightly furrowed, as if he were pondering something important. The lines of his profile appeared particularly defined under the light.
Actually—ever since he got together with those two songstresses, Rie had felt a little jealous. She always felt that he paid less attention to her. But now it seems that this jerk still remembers that she likes strawberry cake.
Thinking of this, Rie couldn't help but smile slightly, a sweet feeling rising in her heart.
At this time.
Kitahara Shin was not contemplating life.
His consciousness was immersed in the system interface, engaging in the tense and exciting "equipment synthesis".
[In the process of merging: The desperate pen of a down-on-his-luck writer (green) + The typewriter keycaps of a mad stenographer (green) + The pipe of a thinker (green)]
[Due to the detection of a female character (Rie Miyazawa) with whom the host has a "deeply bonded" relationship, luck has been greatly increased!]
[Integration in progress —]
[Ding! Congratulations, host! Synthesis successful!]
[Acquired new equipment: Dreamweaver's Automatic Quill Pen (Blue)]
[Description: This is not just a pen, but a bridge connecting thought and reality. It can directly read the images in the host's mind and transform them into the most precise and beautiful text.]
[Special Effect 1: Brainwave Writing (Passive). When holding a pen, writing speed is increased by 300%, and the written descriptions are extremely vivid.]
[Special Effect 2: Visualizing Inspiration (Active). It can directly transform movie scenes in your mind into storyboards, and even automatically complete dialogue.]
"It's done!"
Kitahara Shin mentally clenched his fist.
With this, the script for "Kikujiro's Summer" can be finished tonight!
He let out a long breath and opened his eyes.
What came into view was a magnified pretty face.
Rie Miyazawa was right in front of him, a little white cream still on the corner of her mouth, her peach blossom eyes staring at him intently.
"What are you looking at?"
Kitahara Shin asked a question instinctively.
"It's up to you."
Rie licked her lips, a hint of mischief and shyness in her eyes, her cheeks flushed slightly from the earlier peek: "What? You want some too?"
She pointed to the half-eaten cake in her hand.
"It's alright."
Kitahara Shin smiled, but didn't take the cake. Instead, he looked at her intently and said, "I just think that you are much cuter than the cake right now."
"boom""
Rie Miyazawa's face instantly turned bright red, like a ripe tomato.
"What nonsense are you spouting!"
She glanced around nervously, her voice barely a whisper, yet unable to conceal her embarrassment and annoyance: "Aren't you afraid someone will hear us? Honestly, you're so greasy! Don't you know you're a company president now? How can you act like some old man harassing a young girl!"
Although she was cursing, her eyes didn't dodge; instead, they were watery.
Seeing her hypocritical expression, Kitahara Shin's smile deepened.
Just as he was about to tease her again.
Sudden.
A warm, soft touch silenced his mouth.
Rie Miyazawa closed her eyes, her eyelashes fluttering, and kissed him directly. The kiss carried the sweetness of strawberry cake, along with a touch of youthful impulsiveness and awkwardness.
They parted ways almost immediately.
"This is—hush money!"
Rie blushed, glared at him fiercely, and then, like a frightened rabbit, grabbed the rest of the cake and ran away without even looking back.
Kitahara Shin was left sitting alone in the same spot.
He touched his lips, and a faint sweetness seemed to linger on the tip of his tongue.
"Hush money, huh?"
He shook his head and chuckled.
This girl is getting bolder and bolder.
Just then.
In the shadows around the corner not far away.
Matsu Takako, who had originally come to ask the president for advice on the scene just now, was now clutching the script in her hand, staring blankly at this scene.
Strawberry cake.
kiss.
That smile.
"Why----?"
The girl's mind went blank for a moment.
So that's how Miyazawa-senpai and the president are related?
She instinctively held her breath, her body stiff as a stone.
Although she had heard many rumors about Kitahara Shin after entering this industry, the makeup artists and production staff would always talk about him with a mixture of envy and gossip, calling him "the Don Juan of Roppongi" and saying that he was never short of women.
Previously, Matsu Takako had dismissed these claims as nonsense. After all, in her eyes, Kitahara Shin was a producer who was almost obsessively demanding of his work, and an artist who would play the harmonica alone under the setting sun.
But now, the facts are right in front of us.
There was no attempt to conceal it; intimacy was even presented with a sense of self-righteousness.
"So he really is a playboy?"
The "perfect president" filter that Matsu Takako had just built up in her mind shattered with a snap.
But strangely, she didn't feel that disgusting sense of an idol's downfall. Perhaps, as her father said, Kitahara Shin wasn't following the idol route that required selling a single persona. He relied on his work, his acting skills, and the kind of strength that puts everyone else to shame. So even if his private life was a bit exciting, the outside world seemed to only see it as the romantic escapades of a powerful figure.
She took one last deep look at the man who was still savoring the cake, then turned and left.
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