Tokyo: My Best Actor Gear List

Chapter 56 The Destructive Power of the White Shirt

"Next up, Ota Office, Kitahara Shin."

As the casting assistant finished speaking, the heavy wooden door to the conference room was pushed open.

Screenwriter Yuji Sakamoto leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed, twirling a pen in his hand, and wearing an expression that suggested he was ready to nitpick.

He was mentally prepared that if a gangster exuding menacing aura walked in, he would definitely call for a halt immediately.

However, only a white shirt came in.

Kitahara Shin stood at the door and bowed somewhat awkwardly.

There was no sharp haute couture suit, no signature black leather gloves, and not even hair gelled, which hung limply over his forehead.

The white shirt looked a bit old, with a few wrinkles at the hem that weren't ironed properly, and the cuffs were casually rolled up to the elbows, revealing a section of forearm that wasn't particularly strong.

He stood there, his shoulders slightly slumped, his gaze wandering between the judges, much like a country youth who gets dizzy and disoriented during rush hour at Shinjuku Station, unable to find his way out.

Most of the producer's documents were suspended in mid-air.

If it weren't for the photo with the sinister look on his resume, he would never have been able to connect the young man in front of him with that "national rabid dog".

"Hello everyone, I am Kitahara Shin."

His voice wasn't as deep and hoarse as Sawada's; instead, it had a slightly nasal quality, was gentle, and not aggressive.

"Let's begin."

Da Duoliang snapped out of his daze and pointed to the actress standing next to him.

That was the already cast leading lady, Honami Suzuki.

She was wearing that classic blue trench coat today, and even though filming hadn't started yet, her bright, sunflower-like aura was already radiating out.

"This scene is about Rika giving Kanji a nickname," Yuji Sakamoto said coldly, "that famous 'Maruko'."

Honami Suzuki turned around and looked at Shin Kitahara.

She was actually a little nervous.

She had read a report about "Yakuza Blood" in the newspaper before, and she was afraid of facing such a powerful and imposing opponent, as it would disrupt her "jumping" performance rhythm.

But when she met Kitahara Shin's gaze, she paused for a moment.

There was no sign of danger in those eyes.

It seems quite different from what I expected.

"Action".

Honami Suzuki took a deep breath and instantly got into character.

She stood with her hands behind her back, leaned forward, and smiled a smile that could melt away the entire winter, her voice clear and sweet, almost like a coquettish whisper:

"Wanji? Wanji? Nagao Wanji?"

"The name is too long and too troublesome!"

"It's decided! I'll call you Kanji (Maruko)!"

[Equipment: The Love Diary of a Faded Idol (Activated)]

[Equipment: The Silver Zippo Discarded by the Songstress (Activated)]

[Special Effects Overlay: The Inclusive Desensitization]

Kitahara Shin's shoulders instantly relaxed.

He stared at the chattering, overly energetic girl in front of him for a couple of seconds, as if his brain couldn't keep up with her pace of information processing.

Then, he sighed softly.

The sigh was very soft, not out of annoyance, but out of a sense of compromise due to the inability to do anything about the other party.

He didn't refute anything.

He simply lowered his eyes slightly, his lips twitched, and revealed a very faint, bitter smile.

That look in his eyes.

It's like watching a kitten break a flowerpot it had carefully tended.

Should we blame them?

I can't bear to part with it.

Are you angry?

I can't get angry.

That gaze, a mixture of "trouble" and "doting," was like a gentle net, firmly catching the impulsive Rika Akana.

Honami Suzuki's heart skipped a beat.

The next line he had prepared got stuck in his throat.

She looked into Kitahara Shin's eyes and suddenly felt her cheeks burning.

That feeling wasn't acting; it was genuinely being embraced by a clumsy but absolutely reliable man.

"Maru... Maruzi..."

She called out again instinctively, this time her voice softened and carried a hint of probing.

"Um."

Kitahara Shin responded with a sound of agreement.

His tone remained lukewarm, but he raised his hand, scratched the back of his head somewhat awkwardly, avoided her gaze, and looked at the floor beside him.

"Whatever you want."

This line was not in the script.

But that one sentence, "Whatever you want," coupled with his shy gesture of avoiding eye contact, instantly established the simplicity and deep affection of the country youth, "Kanji Nagao."

The two young female assistants sitting in the back row, who were responsible for taking notes, had covered their mouths at some point, their eyes sparkling.

So romantic!

This kind of indulgent feeling of "I don't understand what you're doing, but I'm willing to play along" is more attractive than any wall slam or forced kiss.

"good……"

Dadu Liang let out a long breath, only to realize that he had been holding his breath the whole time.

Yuji Sakamoto stared intently at Shin Kitahara.

The pen in his hand was bent from being squeezed too hard.

Just now, all the vague impressions he had of "Kanji Nagao" suddenly focused on the man in front of him wearing a wrinkled white shirt.

"good."

Yuji Sakamoto suddenly spoke, his voice not loud, but firm and resolute.

"There's no need to try anymore. This is Kanji, the Kanji who makes Rika want to run to him even if she suffers all kinds of grievances."

Upon hearing the evaluation, Kitahara Shin deactivated his equipment.

The captivating "sweetness" faded slightly, and he returned to being the polite actor.

He bowed to Honami Suzuki and the judges.

Honami Suzuki remained standing there, her gaze towards him somewhat complicated.

That brief eye contact had momentarily stunned even this seasoned actress.

How many souls reside within this man known as "Mad Dog"?

Da Duoliang stood up, walked to Kitahara Shin, and extended his hand.

"Kitahara-kun, welcome to Fuji Television."

The producer's face showed the ecstatic joy of a gambler who has won money. "Go grow your hair a little longer, and this white shirt... will serve as your costume."

Kitahara Shin grasped that hand and felt the sweat on its palm.

"I will try my best."

……

As he walked out of the meeting room, the air conditioning in the corridor made the cold sweat on his back feel a little chilly.

For the past few minutes, he was practically dancing on a tightrope.

The feeling of having to extract the bones of a "mad dog" and fill them with the flesh and blood of a "warm man" is not pleasant; it's like forcibly stuffing yourself into an ill-fitting mold.

Ota was already waiting at the door. When he saw Kitahara Shin come out, he was so nervous that he almost crushed the water bottle in his hand.

"How was it? Did the director yell at someone? Or was it Sakamoto-sensei...?"

Kitahara Shin did not answer.

He simply patted the contract, still warm from his hand, gently onto Dae-tae's chest.

Da Tian hurriedly caught it and glanced down at it.

The first line clearly states: [Character Confirmation Form: Kanji Nagao].

"This..." Da Tian suddenly looked up, his eyes almost popping out of their sockets, his lips trembling as he couldn't utter a single word for a long time.

But Kitahara Shin had already walked past him and headed towards the elevator.

He raised his hand and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, which he had kept tightly fastened to cultivate an image of an "honest man." As the collar loosened, he let out a long breath.

"bite."

The elevator doors slowly opened, and his slightly tired but calm face was reflected in the mirrored interior.

"Let's go, Mr. Ota."

Kitahara Shin stepped into the elevator, pressed the button for the ground floor, and said without turning his head:

"Let's go get something good to eat. This white shirt is making my neck hurt."