Tokyo: My Best Actor Gear List

Chapter 2 The Texture of the Soul

The next morning.

In Nerima Ward, there is an old apartment building that is only six tatami mats in size.

A hangover-like headache woke Kitahara Shin early. The rain outside had stopped, and the sunlight streaming in carried the chill unique to late autumn.

He walked into the cramped bathroom shirtless and splashed cold water hard on his face.

He looked up, and water droplets dripped down his chin.

The mirror reflected a young, firm, but slightly pale face.

This is a classic handsome face: thick eyebrows, a straight nose, and well-defined features. But in an era dominated by idols, while this face is handsome, it appears somewhat "uninteresting" because it is too angular.

Kitahara Shin made a smiling face at himself in the mirror.

Very standard, very sunny, just like the model in Toothpaste GG.

But that's all; it leaves no lasting impression, and you forget it after one glance. In his past life, he spent decades working on film sets, and he knew all too well how fatal a curse this "lack of distinctiveness" was for an actor.

"So, what about now?"

Kitahara Shin took a deep breath, his thoughts stirring slightly.

My consciousness sank into the pale blue system panel.

In the equipment inventory, the [Silver Zippo Abandoned by the Songstress] floated quietly, emitting a faint purple light.

"equipment."

Silently count the moments as it falls.

There were no special effects or lighting, but Kitahara Shin felt as if his heart had been gently squeezed, and an indescribable feeling of bitterness quickly spread through his emotions.

That was Nakamori Akina's despair and loneliness at that moment last night.

He looked in the mirror again.

Her facial features remained unchanged, and even her hairstyle was the same.

But the person in the mirror has a different demeanor.

Those once clear but slightly empty eyes now seemed to be veiled by a thin layer of mist.

Even with a blank expression, his eyes seemed to hold a thousand unspoken words, like a child abandoned in the rain, or a prodigal son who had seen through the coldness of the world.

A sense of "broken beauty" overflows from between his brows.

If people saw Kitahara Shin on the street now, they would probably instinctively think, "What has this man been through? Why does he look so sad?"

"That's... the atmosphere."

Kitahara Shin touched his face.

With the addition of the tag "[Confession of the Mask]", even just tugging at the corners of the mouth, the smile is no longer the sunny toothpaste guy, but becomes a bitter forced smile that makes people's hearts tighten.

"Plus, my acting skills from my past life..."

Kitahara Shin turned off the tap, a glint of light flashing in his eyes.

……

At 10 a.m., in Shibuya, in an inconspicuous back alley.

The peeling paint on the "Daejeon Office" sign hangs on the second floor.

This was a typical small workshop, with only a handful of employees. When Kitahara Shin pushed open the door, his manager, Ota, was smoking a cigarette and looking worried as he flipped through faxes.

"Hey, Kitahara, how was the corpse performance last night?" Ota asked casually.

"It's alright, the director didn't yell at anyone."

Kitahara Shin pulled out a chair and sat down.

He had now deactivated his equipment and reverted to his gentle and composed self.

After all, that kind of effect is too mentally taxing, and there's no need to put on an act in front of acquaintances.

"It's a good thing no one swore." Da Tian sighed, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. "Perfect timing, here's a job. A new drama on TBS, a pure romance, audition at 2 PM."

He looked at Kitahara Shin with some hesitation: "However... this role is a bit difficult to handle."

Kitahara Shin took the paper.

The play is called "Winter Sunflower". The role I auditioned for was the third male lead, a "mute genius painter".

Suffering from psychogenic aphasia due to childhood trauma, he deeply loves the female protagonist but can only express it through drawing.

The entire play has no dialogue; it relies entirely on eye contact and body language.

"This kind of role, if played well, is deeply affectionate; if played poorly, it's just a poker face and a psychopath." Da Tian exhaled a smoke ring, not holding out much hope. "Besides, I heard that Johnny's Entertainment also sent someone over. We're just going to make up the numbers, get some exposure, don't take it too seriously."

In this day and age, a role without lines usually means no screen time. And trying to compete with top idol agencies for talent is like throwing an egg against a rock.

"No lines?"

Kitahara Shin looked at the character biography, his fingers gently tracing the edge of the paper.

No words were needed; love and pain could be expressed simply through the eyes. This was practically a stage tailor-made for that silver Zippo.

"I'll go." Kitahara Shin raised his head, his eyes calm. "Help me sign up."

……

2 PM, Akasaka, TBS Television Audition Hall.

The corridor was crowded with young male actors who came to audition.

The fashion of the bubble era was fully embodied in them: exaggerated padded-shoulder suits, towering pompadours, and the air thick with the scent of hair gel and cologne.

Kitahara Shin, dressed in a simple white shirt and old jeans, sat quietly in the corner.

A few stylishly dressed handsome men were chatting nearby. When they saw Kitahara Shin's outfit, their eyes only lingered on him for a second before they looked away indifferently.

There was no mockery, nor disdain.

That complete disregard is the true cruelty of this circle—you don't even have the right to be the subject of their conversation.

Kitahara Shin didn't even lift his eyelids, closing his eyes to rest, repeatedly simulating the painter's psychological state in his mind.

"Next, Kitahara Shin."

The staff member pushed open the door and called out.

Kitahara Shin stood up.

The moment he took a step, he touched the Zippo in his pocket.

[Equipment: The Silver Zippo Discarded by the Songstress]

The entry "Confessions of a Mask" has been activated.

In an instant, the surrounding noise seemed to fade away from him.

A chilling loneliness enveloped my entire body.

He pushed the door open and entered.

The audition room was filled with the director, screenwriter, and producer.

All three of them looked exhausted. A dozen or so loud and boisterous idols had entered, some of them acting too hard, others simply unable to calm down.

"Ota Office, Kitahara Shin."

Kitahara Shin walked to the center of the room, without bowing or shouting "Nice to meet you," but simply bowed slightly and spoke softly.

The director frowned.

Why does this kid have no energy at all?

"Let's begin." The director waved his hand casually. "The topic is: You're drawing while watching your beloved woman accept someone else's marriage proposal, then you stop drawing."

It's incredibly melodramatic, and also extremely demanding in terms of skill.

Kitahara Shin remained silent.

He pulled up a chair and sat down, holding no paintbrush in his hand, just vaguely grasping at the air.

He raised his head and looked at the empty air in front of him.

In that instant, the director's previously nonchalant gaze suddenly froze.

What kind of eyes were those?

In those dark pupils, it was as if an entire rainy autumn night was hidden. There was no heart-wrenching pain, no jealous rage, only a gentle "As long as you are happy, it doesn't matter if I break down."

The combination of [Charm +15%] and [The Masked Confession] amplifies this "tragic beauty" to the extreme.

Kitahara Shin waved his hand gently in the air, as if he were actually applying something.

Suddenly, the movement stopped.

He looked ahead, his lips twitching slightly, as if he wanted to smile to express his blessing. But the smile froze halfway through, the light in his eyes gradually dimmed, leaving only desolation.

He lowered his eyes and slowly, bit by bit, put down the paintbrush that wasn't actually in his hand.

Less than a minute.

There wasn't a single line of dialogue, not a single sigh.

The audition room was deathly silent.

The screenwriter, who had been looking down at her resume, had somehow raised her head, her pen hovering in mid-air, not falling for a long time. She was struck by that gaze; wasn't that the painter she had created, the one who evoked such heartache in her writing?

"good……"

It took the director a long time to recover from that emotion. He found that he had goosebumps.

He originally just wanted a handsome but empty-headed woman, but this guy... this guy gave him an artist with a soul.

"Your name is Kitahara Shin?" The director sat up straight, his tone more serious than ever before.

Kitahara Shin deactivated his equipment, and the heartbreaking sense of oppression vanished instantly, transforming him back into the gentle young man he once was.

"Yes."

"What have you acted in before?"

"A dead body, a waiter, and a random passerby."

The director paused for a moment, then laughed, his laughter filled with the ecstatic joy of finding a treasure.

"Very good." The director circled the resume heavily. "Your days as an extra are over, Kitahara-kun. Let your hair grow a little longer, and come for your makeup test next week."

Kitahara Shin bowed, turned and walked out of the audition room.

In the corridor, the handsome guys who had previously ignored him were still fixing each other's hair.

Seeing Kitahara Shin come out so quickly, some people thought he had been eliminated and let out a soft laugh.

Kitahara Shin stopped and glanced at them. His gaze was calm, without provocation, only the tolerant look of an adult towards children.

He didn't say anything, and walked towards the elevator with his hands in his pockets.

Inside my pocket, the cold, silver Zippo seemed to be slightly warm.