Tokyo: My Best Actor Gear List

Chapter 117 The Man Chosen by the Queen

Chapter 117 The Man Chosen by the Queen

The bamboo tube struck the stone bowl, producing a crisp "thu" sound.

The clear call of the deer made the tranquility of the courtyard seem even more profound.

Akasaka, Kikunoi.

If you don't come inside, you would never guess that such a spacious sukiya-style garden is hidden in the heart of Tokyo, where land is incredibly valuable. There's no sign at the entrance, only a dim lantern that softly illuminates the water-sprinkled stone path.

This place was not just a ryotei (traditional Japanese restaurant), but also the heart of power in Japan's Showa-era entertainment industry.

Kitahara Shin followed the woman in the kimono through the corridor, the tatami mats under his feet making a slight rustling sound.

The moment the sliding door was pushed open, a mixture of expensive cigars, aged sake, and some indescribable "stale" smell wafted out.

Isolated from all the noise and hustle and bustle of the outside world, the air here seems to be solidified, pressing heavily on one's shoulders.

The spacious Japanese-style room, spanning hundreds of square meters, features a large, low rosewood table in the center, its surface gleaming with a calm, oily sheen under the dim lighting.

Those figures sitting on either side, if you picked any one of them, could make tomorrow's morning paper's headline change on the spot.

The managing director who holds the power of life and death over Toho Cinema's film scheduling, the president of Shochiku Films, and the production director of several major television stations —

And then there are those familiar faces that we usually only see in black and white movies or textbooks.

It's fair to say that if anyone sitting in this room coughs, half of the Japanese entertainment industry will catch a cold.

"Kitahara-san! This way!"

A slightly excited voice broke the silence at the doorway.

Toshiaki Karasawa was sitting at a table near the outer edge, waving frantically at him.

Kitahara Shin walked over.

"I never expected to see you here, senior."

Tang Ze Toshiaki smiled and poured him a glass of wine, then lowered his voice and said, "This scene today was terrifying. I just saw Takakura Ken-san drinking tea in that private room. I was so scared I didn't dare to breathe."

"What brings you here?" Kitahara Shin took a sip of his drink and glanced around.

"I came here to freeload a meal with the firm's boss."

Tang Ze chuckled, then his face lit up with admiration. "But you're really amazing, senior. You actually came with a handwritten invitation from the Three Kingdoms teacher. I overheard those old men talking about you, saying you're the only interesting actor of this generation."

Just then, a fragrant breeze wafted over.

Several young actresses dressed in exquisite kimonos approached under the guise of offering a toast, holding wine glasses.

Kitahara Shin recognized the leader.

Miho Nakayama.

Lately, I see this face eight out of ten times when I turn on the TV.

As a leading lady in idol dramas, she was incredibly popular among the younger generation, and she practically dominated all the hot topics of the year. On screen, she was always full of energy, like an exquisite doll who never gets tired.

But at this moment, standing in front of Kitahara Shin, although she wore her signature sweet smile, her eyes revealed an undisguised shrewdness and weariness.

"Kitahara-san, nice to meet you."

Miho Nakayama gave a slight bow, her demeanor refined and composed, unlike her boisterous persona on television. Instead, she exuded a professional maturity. "I am Miho Nakayama. I've been reading about you in the newspapers, and today I'm finally meeting you in person."

"Mr. Nakayama, you're too kind," Kitahara Shin replied politely. "I often hear my friends mention you."

"Yeah?"

Miho Nakayama smiled, subtly taking a step closer to Shin Kitahara, and said in a low voice, "Actually, I wanted to ask you for some advice. I heard you have new film projects coming up? If you're looking for a female role that's open to a different kind of role, please consider me."

She gently swirled the wine in her glass, a hint of eagerness in her eyes: "I also want to act in something different. I'm getting really tired of always playing those silly, sweet idol dramas."

The other actresses nearby echoed her sentiments, their words full of flattery for Kitahara Shin, but behind each compliment lay a hidden desire for collaboration and resources.

In this circle, fame is the biggest magnet.

Kitahara Shin is currently a rising star, and he has the resources to become a director at the Venice Film Festival. Everyone wants to get on his good side, even if it's just to become a familiar face.

"We will definitely cooperate if the opportunity arises."

Kitahara Shin smiled and deflected the overly enthusiastic probing, responding flawlessly.

Looking at these female celebrities who appear glamorous on television but have to fawn over each other for resources in private, he felt only a sense of calm.

This is the real entertainment industry.

Beneath the veneer of romance and beauty lies stark anxiety about survival.

Everyone is desperately grasping at every possible straw in order not to be left behind in this rapidly spinning era.

Just then, Rentaro Mikuni, who was sitting at the head table, put down his wine glass.

He waved to Kitahara Shin, his gesture as casual as if he were greeting a junior.

"Kitahara, come here."

This greeting immediately dispersed the women surrounding Kitahara Shin.

It was as if the leader of the wolf pack had let out a low growl, and all the other foxes and wild dogs had to obediently make way.

Kitahara Shin straightened his clothes and walked over calmly.

"Everyone."

Rentaro Mikuni pointed at Shin Kitahara, his tone languid, "This is the kid who got all the Italians applauding. What do you think? Doesn't he look much better in person than in the movie?"

The old men at the table stopped talking, and several sharp, knife-like gazes fell on Kitahara Shin.

These are all old monsters who fought their way up in the Showa era; they have a very sharp eye for people.

"He looks quite refined."

An elderly director with a full head of white hair sized him up and down, tapping his pipe. "That was quite a spectacle, wasn't it? That girl from the Zhongshan family was practically glued to you. Most young men would be out of their minds by now, wouldn't they?"

The old men around him all let out a meaningful chuckle.

"You flatter me, senior."

Kitahara Shin didn't pretend to be serious, but just shrugged with a wry smile, "I was scared. Their perfume was so strong, I was afraid that if I stayed any longer, my nose would go numb and I wouldn't be able to smell the good wine here."

"Ha ha ha ha!"

The old director was amused and pointed at Kitahara Shin, saying to Mikuni Rentaro, "This kid's interesting. He's not pretentious; he's much better than that wooden blockhead we brought last time who could only bow."

"That's right."

Another producer also picked up his glass, took a sip, and said, "Young people these days are either eager to show off or timid and hesitant. It's rare to see someone like you who can sit still and take a joke. Sit down, don't just stand there."

"Thank you, senior."

Kitahara Shin didn't hesitate and sat down in the empty seat next to him without any hesitation.

This humble yet humorous attitude clearly appealed to these old guys.

The atmosphere immediately shifted from serious to much more relaxed.

Just as the atmosphere was gradually becoming more harmonious as the bigwigs were commenting on Kitahara Shin's opinions,

Suddenly, a very faint yet very distinct sound of silk rubbing came from the doorway.

The banquet hall, which had been filled with quiet conversations and clinking glasses, suddenly fell silent as if a mute button had been pressed.

Even the veteran directors who were talking loudly subconsciously straightened their backs and suppressed their smiles.

Kitahara Shin turned his head.

The sliding door was slowly pushed open.

A woman wearing a pure black kimono with short sleeves walked in.

She looked to be around forty years old, but this age did not leave any signs of aging on her face; instead, it gave her a breathtaking beauty and majesty.

Her hair was neatly styled and adorned with an ivory hairpin. Her face was breathtakingly beautiful, yet as cold as a block of ice that would never melt. Especially her eyes, long and sharp, carrying a murderous aura that seemed to hold the power of life and death.

A classic screen image unfolded in his mind: a woman in a gorgeous kimono, under the gaze of a room full of tattooed men, calmly drew a short sword, her eyes even more ruthless than those of real yakuza bosses.

Shima Iwashita.

A legend in the Japanese film industry, and the queen who is the soul of the "Yakuza Wife" series.

In this era of gangster films, she is the perfect "big sister" in the hearts of all men.

The image of someone wearing a kimono, holding a short knife, and with a fierce look in their eyes that rivals that of a yakuza boss on screen has long been ingrained in people's minds.

She walked gracefully into the room.

Wherever he went, the male actors who had been joking around bowed their heads in respect, not daring to even breathe loudly.

That's what aura is.

An absolute dominance that doesn't need language, but can suppress the entire scene simply by its presence.

Iwashita Shima ignored the awe-inspiring gazes around her.

She walked with graceful steps, as if strolling in her own backyard, directly through the crowd.

Finally, she stopped in front of Kitahara Shin.

The two were less than half a meter apart.

You could smell the cool, plum blossom scent emanating from her, and feel the overwhelming pressure emanating from a top-tier figure.

"Are you Kitahara Shin?"

She spoke. Her voice was deep, with a husky, magnetic quality that came from years of giving orders.

Faced with this sudden questioning, Kitahara Shin felt that this person was coming on strong, but out of respect for his senior, he subconsciously restrained his posture.

Yes, that's me.

He bowed slightly, a polite smile on his face, "Senior, you have—"

However, the other party did not respond.

They didn't even bother to introduce themselves.

Iwashita Shima took only half a step forward, her narrow, sharp eyes fixed on Kitahara Shin's face, as if examining a commodity waiting to be sold, or as sizing up a stranger who had intruded into her territory.

silence.

An awkward and suffocating silence.

The whispers that had been going on around us completely disappeared.

Kitahara Shin's smile froze for a moment.

Not right.

This is not just impolite; it's blatant pressure.

The woman was using that unique, almost piercing gaze to try and force out his embarrassment.

If you avoid eye contact at this point, or force a smile to ease the awkwardness, you've completely lost.

Kitahara Shinichi's nerves tightened instantly.

He realized something.

This is to weigh him.

So, the polite smile on his face slowly faded away.

Since the senior doesn't want to go through these formalities, then let's not pretend.

He didn't back down, nor did he try to break the silence again. He simply straightened his back, and his originally gentle gaze gradually calmed down, becoming deep and serene.

He didn't speak, but simply stared back at Iwashita Shima.

There was no provocation, nor fear.

It's like a bottomless pool of water; no matter how big a stone you throw in, it won't cause a ripple.

Their gazes clashed silently in the air.

one second.

two seconds.

three seconds.

This suffocating eye contact lasted for a full five seconds.

Sudden.

The icy expression on Iwashita Shima's face melted away, and a faint smile appeared on her lips.

"Good eyesight."

She withdrew her aggressive gaze, her tone now carrying a hint of approval. "These days, when young male actors see my eyes, nine out of ten will instinctively look down. You actually dared to stare at me for so long."

She casually adjusted her cuffs and asked, seemingly casually, "Are you from an academy? Did you specifically train in how to control your facial expressions?"

The cold, hard aura emanating from Kitahara Shin dissipated, and he regained his proper politeness.

He shook his head and replied with a smile, "No. I came from humble beginnings. I used to work as an extra on film sets, and I got yelled at so much that I developed a thick skin."

"Noroko?"

Iwashita Shima raised an eyebrow, seemingly quite interested in the answer. "No wonder. The academic school can't teach this kind of straightforward ruthlessness."

She nodded, said nothing more, and turned to leave.

After taking a couple of steps, she suddenly stopped, turned her head slightly, and said in an unquestionable tone, "Come to the tea room with me later. I have something to tell you."

After speaking, she left everyone with an elegant and unparalleled back view, walked straight through the hall, and disappeared behind the screen.

Only after her figure completely disappeared did the air in the hall seem to begin to flow again.

"call----"

Someone nearby breathed a sigh of relief.

Kitahara Shin stood there, slightly relaxing his stiff shoulders. Those few seconds of confrontation had taken a toll on his mental energy more than filming a whole day's worth of movies.

This woman is really something.

He turned his head and found that Rentaro Mikuni was holding a wine glass and looking at him with a half-smile.

His expression clearly said: "Kid, well done."

"The Three Kingdoms predecessors—"

Kitahara Shin gave a wry smile, somewhat helplessly. "That's not very kind of you. You didn't even give me a heads-up. Just now, the way she acted, I thought I owed her money."

"It'll lose its charm if you reveal everything. What she wants to see is your most genuine reaction."

Rentaro Mikuni took a sip of his sake, pointed at the black envelope, and smiled like an old fox: "Now you know."

"Actually, that invitation wasn't meant for you."

He looked at Kitahara Shin and lowered his voice: "The person who really asked me to invite you here is her."