Tokyo: My Best Actor Gear List

Chapter 34 The Director's Script

"Let's start over."

The two cold, hard words directly interrupted the emotions that Akina Nakamori had just been building up.

In the cramped living room of the apartment, the curtains were drawn tightly, keeping out the sweltering, humid rainy season.

The ground was littered with crumpled pieces of waste paper.

The air was as taut as a bowstring about to snap.

Kitahara Shin sat on the sofa, twirling a red pen in his hand.

He pointed to the heavily altered speech in the chef's hand, his tone stern: "Your voice is trembling. What are you afraid of? Afraid of Jin Jing? Or afraid of those flashing lights?"

Akina stood in the middle of the living room, head bowed like a schoolchild who had made a mistake, clutching the few sheets of paper tightly: "I... I just think about the day he would sit next to me, and I..."

"You just want to cry, don't you?"

Kitahara Shin stood up and walked over to her.

Akina bit her lip, her eyes reddening.

Faced with pressure and malice, she was used to using tears to gain sympathy or to escape.

This is why Kanai dared to mock her as a "soft target" in the recording.

"Hold back your tears."

Kitahara Shin reached out and pressed his fingertips firmly against the corner of her eye. The movement was not gentle; it even carried a hint of command.

"On this stage, tears are the cheapest thing."

He stared into her eyes. "The script the agency prepared for you is an apology letter. They want you to cry, they want you to break down, they want you to ramble on. That way they can conveniently send you to a sanatorium and then pocket your money."

Akina's body trembled, and she forced back her tears.

"What we're going to perform isn't a melodrama, it's 'The Executioner's Ceremony'."

Kitahara Shinsuke loosened his grip, picked up the Zippo lighter from the coffee table, and twirled it between his fingers.

[Passive Effect: The Writer's Glasses]

In his view, the living person who was originally named "Nakamori Akina" has now been extracted and transformed into a specific "character".

Without any analysis, relying on his keen intuition from the props, he immediately saw through the biggest problem with the play—the wrong casting.

Standing before him was a "leading lady" who should have been wielding a weapon of revenge, yet she was still acting like a "punching bag."

This sense of incongruity was unbearable for him as the director.

"Listen, Akina."

Kitahara Shin's voice was low and somber. "There will be three hundred reporters and dozens of cameras that day. Kanai will definitely try to overshadow you and publicly demonstrate his 'tolerance' towards you."

What do you do when he says, "I will forgive Akina's stubbornness"?

Akina took a deep breath and tentatively answered, "Refute...refute him?"

"wrong."

Kitahara Shin shook his head. "Rebutting is like making excuses, and making excuses is a sign of guilt."

He took a step forward and stared intently at her.

You should smile.

"Laugh?" Akina was stunned.

"right."

Kitahara Shin narrowed his eyes slightly, raised his chin, and gave an example.

That wasn't a happy laugh.

It was an expression like watching a circus monkey—extreme arrogance, extreme contempt.

"Look him in the eyes and pause for three seconds. Don't blink, don't look away."

"In those three seconds, you need to make him, and all the cameras, read out one sentence—'What kind of monkey show are you putting on?'"

"This silent contempt is more effective than any hysterical roar."

Akina watched Kitahara Shin's demonstration.

That look in his eyes was like needles pricking you.

She suddenly realized that her previous "victim" mentality was completely wrong.

"I'll give it a try," she said softly.

……

For the next four days, the small apartment became a hellish rehearsal space.

From the moment they opened their eyes in the morning until they were exhausted late at night, they simulated every possible scenario that could occur during the press conference.

"Your eyes are off! You're too soft!"

"Straighten your back! You're here to collect a debt, not to beg!"

"In this scene, the movement of taking out the tape should be slow. It should be like displaying a fragile work of art, forcing all the cameras to focus on your hand."

Kitahara Shin was not only teaching her to act, but also reshaping her very being.

He wanted to shatter that weak shell called "Akina Nakamori" and pull out a thorny soul from within.

Akina Nakamori gritted her teeth, falling down again and again, only to stand up straight once more.

December 10, late at night.

The night before the press conference.

The apartment finally quieted down.

Akina changed into the dark gray business suit she would wear tomorrow—a suit that Kitahara Shin had specially picked out for her in Ginza.

In such situations, female celebrities usually wear plain-colored kimonos or conservative skirt suits to appear submissive.

But the suit was sharply tailored with sharp shoulder pads, making it look like a suit of armor on her.

She stood in front of the full-length mirror.

The person in the mirror was still thin and pale.

But that fragile, precarious feeling is gone. Now, she's like a knife that's just been tempered.

"Ready?"

Kitahara Shin leaned against the door frame and handed her a can of ice-cold beer.

Akina turned around and took the beer.

She didn't speak, but instead slightly raised her chin and gave Kitahara Shin a smile.

His lips curled up, but his eyes looked down.

Cold, scrutinizing, and with a hint of barely concealed murderous intent.

In that instant, Kitahara Shin seemed to see Sawada from "Yakuza Blood".

But this is stronger than Sawada.

Because this is genuine hatred.

"Perfect."

Kitahara Shin lifted the beer can and gently tapped it against hers, making a crisp sound.

"I won't be able to get into the venue tomorrow. It's Johnny's home ground, and it'll be packed with their people."

He tilted his head back and took a sip of wine. "That's your battlefield all to yourself."

"Um."

Akina's hand brushed against the handbag on the table. The cassette tape and the bloodstained IOU lay quietly inside.

"I won't hide anymore."

She walked to the window, pulled back a small gap in the curtains, and looked at the lights of Tokyo Tower in the distance.

"Kitahara-kun, you're right, the script can be changed."

She turned around, her eyes shining brightly, yet also coldly.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to turn that gold screen into his mourning hall."

Kitahara Shin looked at her, unwrapped a mint and popped it into his mouth.

That silly girl who was always crying is dead.

Tomorrow, a true avenger will step onto the stage.