Tokyo: My Best Actor Gear List

Chapter 87: Akina's Chapter Arrives

Chapter 87 Akina is back

The filming location for "The Grand Hotel Lies" was a closed side hall of the Hotel Okura. Although the crew tried to keep a low profile, news of Nobuyuki Kitahara's whereabouts spread like wildfire throughout the streets of Tokyo.

At newsstands, the headlines of major entertainment weekly magazines were anything but polite.

Weekly Bunshun ran a headline in large print: "Kanji Nagao's 'Suicidal' Transformation?"

With "Tokyo Love Story" having just created a ratings phenomenon, fans are eagerly waiting for their "national boyfriend" to continue his success and play a deep-seated chaebol heir or a sunny school prince, or even a hot-blooded tough guy like Eisaku Yoshida.

As long as it's a romance movie and the actor can be handsome, everyone will buy into it.

But Kitahara Shin chose the path that no one understood.

He's going to act in Itami Juzo's movie.

That's Juzo Itami, who specializes in making social satire films, enjoys peeling back the layers of human nature, and whose cinematic language is cold and almost acerbic.

As a result, the industry's reputation has become more nuanced.

While the film critics didn't say anything harsh, their comments were full of skepticism: "No one can deny that his mad dog-like energy in gangster films is truly frightening; he's really willing to go all out."

But this time, Itami wasn't looking for a wolf with bared fangs and claws; he wanted a sinister, ingrained malice. This kind of performance, where the smile is forced and the expression is completely blank, requires a lot of experience. Asking a young actor in his early twenties to tackle this kind of role? Honestly, I felt sorry for him.

A veteran media professional pointed out the most practical problem: "And don't forget, 'Tokyo Love Story' is playing everywhere now, and 20 million viewers are feeling sorry for Kanji."

At this critical juncture, are you really going to force the audience to accept that he's a treacherous villain? That's going against the audience's wishes. Taking such a big step could easily backfire.

This viewpoint has become the mainstream.

Disappointment spread among fans, who sighed and felt that Kitahara Shin was wasting his most precious period of rising popularity.

Rest area on set.

Kitahara Shin had just finished shooting a long take and was sitting in a folding chair having his makeup touched up by the makeup artist.

The stagehands next to him put the newspaper away, probably afraid of upsetting the lead actor.

Kitahara Shin didn't care; his mind was filled with the details of that movement from earlier.

"Look at the TV! The live broadcast has started!"

A commotion arose not far away.

Several lighting assistants were gathered around a portable television set, with the volume turned up very high.

Kitahara Shin turned his head to the side.

The screen shows the international arrivals hall of Haneda Airport.

The area was already packed with reporters and fans, with flashes going off like crazy, making the scene somewhat overexposed.

As the automatic doors opened, a figure emerged, surrounded by a group of bodyguards in black suits.

Kitahara Shin's gaze froze for a moment.

That figure was both familiar and unfamiliar.

She had her hair cut into her signature short curly style, the ends just reaching her shoulders, neatly tucked behind her ears.

She was wearing a long, black trench coat with a very high-quality cut, the belt cinched tightly at the waist, which accentuated her slender yet upright figure.

She wore a pair of pointed high heels, and every step she took was extremely steady.

She wasn't wearing sunglasses, but had delicate smoky makeup on. Her eyes, which used to always look teary and precarious in front of the camera, were now surprisingly bright, exuding an undeniable sharpness.

Reporters swarmed her, microphones practically shoved in her face: "Akina-san! Are you planning a full-fledged comeback this time?"

"What are your future plans: singing or acting?"

Faced with these problems, she did not panic and bow her head as she had before, nor did she hide behind her agent for protection.

She simply stopped and slightly raised her chin in front of the countless cameras.

Then, give a confident smile.

With that smile, she told everyone: the fragile Akina Nakamori of the past had died in the New York winter, and the new Akina had returned.

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you that right now."

After speaking, escorted by bodyguards, she strode through the crowd, the hem of her black trench coat billowing behind her.

The entire airport terminal seemed to instantly transform into her runway.

"That's so cool!" The junior stagehand next to him stared in disbelief. "His aura is completely different now."

As Kitahara Shin watched the departing figure on the screen, a slight smile unconsciously crept onto his lips.

The film crew wrapped up at 9:30 p.m.

The night in Tokyo was deep, and the streetlights cast a dim yellow glow on the road.

Kitahara Shin sat in the back seat of the van, rubbing his temples wearily.

He had been keeping his facial muscles tense all day, and now that he's relaxed, even smiling feels difficult.

The mobile phone in the pocket suddenly started vibrating.

The dull vibration sound was particularly clear in the quiet carriage.

Kitahara Shin pulled out his mobile phone.

Press the answer button and hold the phone to your ear.

It was quiet on the other end of the receiver.

There was no sound of speaking, only a slight electrical hum, and—a slightly rapid breathing sound.

Kitahara Shin remained silent.

The two of them held the phone together, separated by half of Tokyo's night, silently listening to each other's breathing.

A subtle tension spread in the silence—the trepidation of a long-awaited reunion, and the hesitation of feeling even more apprehensive as one gets closer to home.

About ten seconds passed.

Finally, a slightly nasal, complaining voice, tinged with arrogance, came through the receiver: "Say something! Why aren't you saying a word? Don't you know who I am?"

Kitahara Shin leaned back in his chair, watching the neon lights rushing past the window, his voice softening unconsciously: "I was just waiting for you to speak first, wasn't I? It would be impolite for me to interrupt if you had something important to say or to announce something big."

"Tch, so glib."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and the haughty exterior softened slightly, revealing a soft and cautious side. "You—did you just finish filming? I specifically chose this time to call; I hope I didn't bother you?"

Although she acted like an invincible queen at the airport, her tone on the phone, when facing Kitahara Shin, still carried a noticeable hint of unfamiliarity.

After all, it's been a very, very long time since we last met.

The connections maintained by letters and phone calls ultimately could not withstand the erosion of time.

She seemed afraid, afraid that the tacit understanding they once shared had rusted.

"Just finished work and am about to head home."

Kitahara Shin sensed her nervousness and naturally picked up the conversation, his tone as relaxed as if they had just met yesterday, "Perfect timing, are you hungry? Want to go out for a late-night snack? I know a really good ramen place near your office, the broth is really rich."

"puff."

Akina laughed on the other end of the line, her tense nerves seeming to relax a bit. "I'm not hungry, my manager forced me to eat on the plane, and besides—"

She sighed, her tone tinged with regret, "I can't see you right now either. I have to go back to Yanyin for a meeting early tomorrow morning, and I also need to prepare for the release of my new album. Tonight, my manager was watching me like I was a prisoner, and he wouldn't even let me leave the house."

At this point, she changed the subject, her tone becoming playful and slightly sarcastic: "But—I feel like you're getting better and better at flirting with girls lately? Inviting someone out for a late-night snack so casually, have you been taking other girls out a lot these past few months?"

Kitahara Shin smiled.

"More or less."

He continued, following her lead, his tone frank: "So, Ms. Nakamori, would you do me the honor?"

"Hmph, dream on."

Akina gave a light hum, clearly pleased with the answer, but still maintained her composure, "Let's wait until next time. Next time we meet, I'll interrogate you properly about your whereabouts during this period."

After the conversation ended, both ends of the phone fell silent again.

But this time the silence was no longer awkward, nor did it carry that sense of unfamiliar distance.

Neither of them was in a hurry to hang up the phone.

Kitahara Shin could hear the sound of fabric rubbing together, probably as she was changing into that heavy trench coat, and he could also hear her breathing softly.

This quiet companionship feels especially tender in the dead of night.

The car turned onto the street where the apartment was located.

Kitahara Shin looked at the streetlights that had come on ahead, and softly said into the microphone, "Welcome back."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

Then came that gentle voice, so tender it was almost tangible, filled with reassurance and a barely perceptible tremor: "Yes, I'm back."

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