Chapter 142: 《seven Samurai》 Preparations! Eiji Kurosawa’s Shocked Bow!
So Hiroshi Nohara came to Deputy Director Asumi’s office.
There was no busyness or noise belonging to high-level leadership as he had expected in the office.
Only Deputy Director Asumi alone, quietly sitting behind that large desk.
In front of him, there were no documents piled up like a mountain, only a brand-new script that had been flipped through countless times, with its corners slightly curled up.
And a stack of manga storyboard drafts as thick as a brick.
Hearing the sound of the door opening, Deputy Director Asumi suddenly raised his head and smiled in surprise: “Hiroshi-kun! You’ve finally come back!”
Deputy Director Asumi bounced straight up from his seat and hurried over, his face full of undisguised ecstasy and excitement: “You guy… you guy… are you really planning to force us old guys into a dead end before you’re satisfied?”
This opening remark full of “resentment” carried more weight than any words of praise.
Hiroshi Nohara just smiled calmly and sat down on the guest sofa, his posture relaxed: “Deputy Director Asumi, it seems you’ve already read it.”
“Read it?!” Deputy Director Asumi let out a long breath: “More than just read it! These past few days, besides sleeping and eating, all my remaining time has been spent reading! Once, twice, three times… I even took it home and had my daughter, who’s in high school, read it too!”
He paused, a strange expression of wry amusement appearing on his elegant face: “You know, my daughter who usually only chases stars and reads young girl manga, after reading it, hugged our Shiba Inu that’s almost ten years old and cried for an entire night. This morning when she went out, her eyes were still red as she said to me, ‘Father, you must film this story! You must!'”
Hearing this, the smile on Hiroshi Nohara’s face grew even warmer: “It seems your daughter is a very kind girl.”
“This is no longer just a matter of kindness!” Deputy Director Asumi sat back in his seat, looking at Hiroshi Nohara with increasing emotion: “Hiroshi-kun, you… be honest with me, how did you come up with this story?!”
He pointed at the script, his voice becoming somewhat hoarse from extreme excitement: “Loyalty! I know the core of this story is ‘loyalty’! This… this is simply the most perfect spiritual totem tailored for our nation that reveres ‘Bushido Spirit’ as its cornerstone!”
“Moreover, the story’s background is set in modern times! Set in the Shibuya Station we are most familiar with! This… this is simply a stroke of genius!”
Deputy Director Asumi’s eyes sparkled: “Do you know, the Tokyo Metropolitan Government is recently promoting a ‘Tokyo Metropolitan Area’ plan? They’re worried about not finding a promotional entry point that can show the world Tokyo’s modernization while retaining human warmth! Your story is simply… exactly what they need! As long as we submit this project, not to mention promotional resources, I even have confidence to apply for a substantial amount of ‘cultural promotion’ special funds from the city government!”
This was not bragging.
It was because Deputy Director Asumi truly understood this aspect that he dared to state it so definitively.
“Deputy Director, you’re too kind.”
Hiroshi Nohara just listened calmly, with a touch of perfectly measured humility: “Actually, this story isn’t my original creation; it’s just a legend I heard from the elders in my village back home in Akita Prefecture when I was a child. Plus, since Akita Prefecture is known for producing Akita Dogs, I have… a special fondness for this breed.”
And Hiroshi Nohara also asked: “So, for this script, I think our Production Bureau can proceed with the production review process, right?”
But Deputy Director Asumi fell silent.
The excitement on his face gradually faded, replaced by caution.
His tone also carried worry.
This was also some of the concerns Deputy Director Asumi had thought about these past few days.
“Hiroshi-kun, the script is god-tier, the creativity is unbeatable. However…” He looked at Hiroshi Nohara, a deep worry flashing in his elegant eyes: “Have you considered how difficult it would be to execute this project?”
“The protagonist is a dog.”
He pointed at the script, his voice tinged with helplessness: “A dog has no lines. All its emotions, all its performance, can only be conveyed through its eyes, through its actions. This… this places nearly impossible demands on the director’s skill, the cinematography control, and even the dog’s own expressiveness!”
“We’re not making《Tom and Jerry》-style animated films! We’re making a movie! How can a dog that can’t speak carry a two-hour film? Will the audience… really buy it?”
Deputy Director Asumi’s concerns were not unfounded.
This was almost the deadliest challenge all filmmakers face when dealing with “animal themes.”
However, Hiroshi Nohara just smiled calmly, the smile still radiating his absolute confidence.
“Deputy Director, rest assured.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it struck like a heavy hammer on Deputy Director Asumi’s heart filled with doubts: “Regarding the casting for ‘Hachiko’, I already have some preliminary ideas. As for the filming…”
He pointed at the stack of manga storyboard drafts on the desk as thick as a brick, a faint, breezy smile of a chess master playing his hand curling at the corner of his mouth.
“I guarantee you, as long as we strictly follow the content here, what we produce will not be a simple animal movie. But a cinematic epic about ‘love’ and ‘waiting’, highlighting ‘loyalty’, that will move anyone who still has a heart.”
Hiroshi Nohara was truly very confident.
The achievements from his previous life had already proven the script’s success.
And now.
He just needed to replicate it.
“This…” Deputy Director Asumi looked at the young man before him, who though young already possessed the king-like aura to overlook the entire era, his heart already full of trust now taut like a fully drawn bowstring.
He was hesitating.
He was also pondering; perhaps this was another new miracle created by Hiroshi Nohara.
But…
“Sigh…”
Deputy Director Asumi let out a long breath, extremely helpless.
“Hiroshi-kun, I believe you. But the Board of Directors… probably won’t.”
He rubbed his brow, a deep fatigue appearing on his elegant face: “Do you know, a movie project is completely different from the TV dramas and variety shows we’ve done before.”
“For TV dramas and animation, even if ratings are poor, we can always shove them into the late-night slot or sell to local small stations to recover some cost. But movies are a one-shot deal! If the theaters don’t buy it, if the audience doesn’t buy it, those billions invested are truly… gone for good!”
“In our place, when a project fails, someone has to step up and take responsibility.”
He spoke, a complex mix of an experienced person’s sympathy flashing in his elegant eyes: “This deputy director position sounds glamorous, but I’m sitting on a pot of scalding oil. One wrong step, and it’s irredeemable doom.”
This was already heartfelt talk.
He knew Deputy Director Asumi was truly taking enormous risks for him, for this project.
“Deputy Director, I…” He was about to speak, to say something reassuring, when.
‘Knock knock knock—’
A crisp, rhythmic knock broke the solemn tranquility inappropriately.
“Come in.” Deputy Director Asumi frowned.
He disliked interruptions.
The door was pushed open.
A figure, like a drawn samurai sword, carrying the unyielding spirit of an old-era artisan, appeared at the doorway.
It was none other than the master in the Japanese film industry, renowned for “Bushido Spirit”—Director Eiji Kurosawa.
“Asumi, your place… quite lively.”
Director Eiji Kurosawa’s gaze calmly swept over the two men with different expressions in the office, finally landing on the young man who was smiling, nodding to him, standing up, and bowing his head low.
“Director Kurosawa?!” Deputy Director Asumi was completely stunned: “You… how did you come?”
He knew Director Eiji Kurosawa had been polishing his movie just a few days ago.
“Can’t I come?”
Director Eiji Kurosawa ignored him.
He simply strode to the young man.
He didn’t speak, just used those eyes that had seen countless rises and falls to scrutinize the young man who had stirred up the entire Japanese television industry.
His eyes carried a sense of loneliness.
“Nohara-kun.”
He slowly spoke, his voice hoarse yet weighty: “I heard you returned from vacation. This old guy recently ran into some problems and wants to… chat about the script with you.”
These words exploded like a real atomic bomb in Deputy Director Asumi’s mind!
He stared blankly at this scene full of magical realism, his already shocked heart now completely overwhelmed by an even more absurd, almost unreal sensation!
Director Eiji Kurosawa!
The national treasure master whom even he, a deputy director, had to politely address as “Director Kurosawa”!
The stubborn old man renowned in the entire Japanese film industry for “isolation” and “stubbornness”!
Now, surprisingly… coming to the door himself to “chat about the script” with a young man even younger than his grandson?
This… this was no longer simply “valuing”!
This was clearly mutual appreciation between creators of the same level!
…
“Director Kurosawa and I… chatting about scripts?”
Hiroshi Nohara’s heart shook slightly, his signature gentle smile gaining a touch of perfectly measured surprise.
Of course he knew who Director Eiji Kurosawa was.
This man, almost synonymous with “living legend” in the Japanese film industry, his samurai movies full of tragic aesthetics had long become cultural symbols of an era, deeply imprinted in a generation’s memories.
But precisely because of this, Hiroshi Nohara felt even more puzzled.
In his view, Director Eiji Kurosawa was like a majestic sculpture full of classical aesthetics, sealed forever in amber by time.
Whereas he was more like a rule-breaking wild child accustomed to building bizarre new worlds with the most modern Lego bricks.
How could people from two completely different eras, with two completely different creative philosophies, intersect?
“Hahaha! Director Kurosawa! You’re really… a rare guest!”
Before Hiroshi Nohara could speak, Deputy Director Asumi beside him already stepped forward like the most enthusiastic host.
He personally pulled out the single-person sofa signifying a distinguished guest for Director Eiji Kurosawa, then deftly took the finest gyokuro from his treasured tea canister, and carefully brewed it with a set of bone china tea set that looked expensive.
“Deputy Director, skip the formalities.”
But Director Eiji Kurosawa just impatiently waved his hand, his face full of the old-era artisan’s straightforwardness and helplessness: “I’m really here to consult Nohara-kun.”
He used the word “consult.”
“Nohara-kun.” Director Eiji Kurosawa’s hoarse voice slowly opened again, straight to the point: “I’m here today for nothing else, just want you to take a look at this.”
He placed a somewhat aged cowhide paper file bag heavily on the tea table, making a dull thud.
On it, in somewhat faded ink, were several powerful large characters—
《Samurai in the Blacksmith Shop》.
Hiroshi Nohara looked at those characters, then at Director Eiji Kurosawa’s fatigued expression, his surprise growing.
But thinking about it, he could understand; this “Bushido Spirit” of the film industry must have hit a creative bottleneck.
“Director Kurosawa, you’re too polite.”
Hiroshi Nohara smiled and stood, his posture very humble yet not fawning: “Your works, I’ve watched from childhood to adulthood, every one a timeless classic. This junior is shallow in learning, how dare I point fingers at your script.”
“Cut the nonsense.” Director Eiji Kurosawa’s brows furrowed deeper, pointing at the opposite sofa: “Sit, read.”
Seeing this, Deputy Director Asumi quickly brought over the freshly brewed tea and mediated: “Oh dear, Director Kurosawa, don’t be so impatient. Hiroshi-kun just got back from his hometown, tired from the journey; let him have some tea and catch his breath first?”
As he spoke, he handed a steaming cup of fragrant tea to Hiroshi Nohara, and at an angle neither could see, winked slyly at him.
The meaning in that look was clear—”This old stubborn has this temper, bear with him. But for him to come personally seeking advice, kid, you’re the only one in our Kanto Faction with that kind of face!”
“Alright.” Of course Hiroshi Nohara understood Director Eiji Kurosawa’s temperament.
Smiling as he took the tea cup, he sat on the soft sofa, then unhurriedly picked up the script bearing a master’s confusion.
He didn’t open it immediately, but first glanced at Director Eiji Kurosawa.
This old man, though still straight-backed, had deep in those sharp eyes a twilight heroism even he himself hadn’t noticed.
A sense of mutual appreciation between creators unexpectedly arose in Hiroshi Nohara’s heart.
He no longer made small talk, just calmly opened the script.
The story was simple, and very “Director Eiji Kurosawa.”
A young man of lowly status raised in a blacksmith shop, harboring an unrealistic dream of becoming a true samurai.
By chance, he saved a gravely wounded, dying fallen samurai.
After burying the samurai, he inexplicably donned the armor symbolizing status and glory, girded the lethally sharp samurai sword, assumed the dead man’s identity, and embarked on an adventure full of lies and glory.
Relying on a calf’s fearless vigor and the brute strength honed in the blacksmith shop, he stumbled into exterminating a band of bandits plaguing the area, earning the favor of a local cowardly lord and becoming an honored guest.
Up to here, it was a standard hot-blooded counterattack story.
However, Director Eiji Kurosawa was Director Eiji Kurosawa because he scorned telling simple fairy tales.
The story’s second half took a sharp turn.
That seemingly cowardly lord actually harbored deep hatred for the samurai class.
Because his parents died in a turmoil incited by warring samurai.
His favor toward the protagonist was merely to use him, this seemingly sharp “sword,” to fend off an even stronger group of enemy nation samurai.
Finally, in that brutal defense of the castle, the protagonist led a group of ashigaru inspired by his false “samurai spirit,” fighting bloodily until nearly annihilated, successfully buying the lord the most precious time.
And just as the enemy samurai breached the gate, thinking victory assured, atop the walls, that seemingly cowardly lord revealed a sinister smile.
Behind him, a full row of icy death-breathing “teppo” bought at great cost from Tanegashima merchants, aimed at the exhausted samurai below.
“Bang—!”
Accompanied by a gunshot piercing the horizon, the story abruptly ended.
The samurai era ended under the firearm.
Declaring an era’s curtain with a tragedy full of deception and betrayal.
“…Whew.”
Hiroshi Nohara slowly closed the script, letting out a long breath; he found it alright.
“How is it?” Director Eiji Kurosawa’s voice carried a hint of barely perceptible nervousness.
“Very brilliant.” Hiroshi Nohara gave the most objective evaluation: “Especially the twist at the end, a stroke of genius. Using the firearm’s appearance to symbolize an old era’s end, this see-the-big-in-the-small technique is full of your unique tragic aesthetics.”
“Yes, yes!” Deputy Director Asumi beside him quickly nodded in agreement, looking at Director Eiji Kurosawa: “Director Kurosawa, I dare guarantee, once filmed, this script’s box office will absolutely exceed ten billion yen!”
However, facing these two’s praise, a heavier bitterness appeared on Director Eiji Kurosawa’s weathered face.
“Ten billion?”
He smiled self-mockingly, the laughter full of helplessness: “Asumi, you and I both know clearly. Eight billion of that ten billion comes from my name ‘Eiji Kurosawa.’ If an unknown director made it, four or five billion in box office would already be burning incense.”
He looked at Hiroshi Nohara, a creator’s confusion appearing for the first time in those slightly cloudy eyes.
“Nohara-kun, to be honest, I’ve revised this script no less than ten times. Every time, I feel it’s… still not enough.”
“It’s too flat.” He lightly tapped the script with his knuckles, his voice full of pained frustration: “Though I’ve added twists, deconstructed samurai spirit. But its core is still that set: class, hierarchy, samurai, lord, farmer, bandit… I’ve filmed and told these a lifetime. The audience is tired of it. Even I’m sick of writing it.”
“I always feel it’s missing… something. Missing something new that can truly pierce this era. But I… I really can’t think of it.”
This master who dominated the Japanese film industry for half a century now resembled a lost child, his sharp eyes left only with lingering fatigue and confusion.
Hiroshi Nohara listened quietly, his junior’s respect growing deeper.
He knew this old man wasn’t chasing box office.
He was pursuing an artistic breakthrough convincing even to himself.
And in his mind, that long-dormant treasure trove of film art from his previous life’s Earth was thoroughly awakened at this moment by Director Eiji Kurosawa’s pure artistic pursuit.
He recalled that equally grand, even more profound immortal epic about the samurai class’s decline—《Seven Samurai》!
He recalled that farmer-born character who, through his actions, exemplified what a “true samurai” is, full of tragic color—Chiyo.
He especially recalled that iconic scene etched in film history, full of satire and insight, on the subtle yet cruel symbiotic relationship between “samurai” and “farmers.”
“What do you take farmers for, bodhisattvas?”
Hiroshi Nohara lifted his tea cup, took a gentle sip, and in a dreamlike murmur only he could hear, slowly recited that deeply memorized line:
“…What a joke, farmers are the slyest, won’t give rice when asked for rice, say no wheat when asked for wheat, but they have everything, lift the floorboards, not in the cellar then in the storeroom, you’ll find lots: rice, salt, beans, sake… go deep in the valley, there are hidden rice fields!”
“They seem honest but lie the best, lie about everything! When war starts they kill stragglers and rob weapons, listen, so-called farmers are the stingiest, slyest, cowardly, malicious, incompetent, murderers!”
“But who made them that way?”
“You, you samurai, go die! Burning villages for war, trampling fields, arbitrary labor, raping women, killing resisters, what should farmers do? What can they do!”
This line was truly too classic.
It highlighted class conflict.
Refuted stereotypes.
And created a post-victory twist.
Hiroshi Nohara couldn’t help reciting this line, though his voice was very soft, like a feather quietly drifting into the congealed air.
Yet these light words struck like thunder tearing through eternal night, slamming into Director Eiji Kurosawa’s parched sea of inspiration!
“!!!”
Director Eiji Kurosawa’s body trembled violently!
His somewhat cloudy eyes, at this moment, uncontrollably burst with a terrifying brilliance enough to ignite the entire room!
Like a slumbering lion instantly awakened, he lunged forward in one stride, his age-spotted yet strong hands gripping Hiroshi Nohara’s arm regardless!
“You… what did you just… say?!”
His voice hoarse from extreme shock and excitement, his sharp eyes stared at Hiroshi Nohara as if to see through him entirely!
“Say it again! That line you just said! Say it again!”
“Director Kurosawa! You…”
Deputy Director Asumi was completely frightened by his sudden, near-out-of-control action.
He thought they were fighting.
He hurried forward to separate them: “Calm down! Calm down, Director Kurosawa!”
“It’s fine, Deputy Director Asumi.” But Hiroshi Nohara just raised his hand signaling him to stay calm.
Looking at this master plunged into creative frenzy by an offhand remark, a wry helplessness appeared on his handsome face.
He knew he had, accidentally, poked a hole in the sky.
“Director Kurosawa, don’t get agitated first.” His voice like a clear spring instantly soothed the old man’s agitation: “What I said earlier was just… a somewhat immature idea that suddenly came to me.”
“What idea?! Speak!” Director Eiji Kurosawa’s eyes burned with raging flames!
He knew!
He knew this young man surely… surely found that new answer he had chased his whole life yet never touched!
Hiroshi Nohara looked at his eyes full of expectation and desire, then at Deputy Director Asumi beside him equally shocked and curious, finally letting out a long breath.
He knew some things, once ignited, could never be extinguished.
So it was fine to say it.
“My idea is very simple.”
He slowly spoke: “Why must we focus the story on a ‘fake samurai’? Why not… a group of true samurai?”
He paused, under their gazes already shocked beyond measure by his earth-shattering words, slowly threw out that concept revolutionary enough to upend Japanese film history.
“A story about seven samurai, representing seven different personalities, yet leading to different outcomes due to personality… like a tale of karma.”
“…”
The entire office instantly fell into a eerie pin-drop silence.
Deputy Director Asumi stared blankly at the young man, his elegance frozen, left only with horror.
What monster idea had brewed in this guy’s head now!?
And Director Eiji Kurosawa, this master who dominated Japanese film for half a century, at this moment finally slowly released the hand gripping the young man’s arm.
Then, under Deputy Director Asumi’s incredulous, ghost-seeing gaze.
He bowed deeply, deeply to the young man even younger than his grandson.
A standard ninety-degree bow full of respect and seeking!
“Nohara-kun!”
His voice no longer hoarse, no longer confused, but full of survivor-like vigorous resonance!
“Please… please tell me your idea!”
“I beg you!”
In Japanese etiquette, a sixty-something elder bowing to a twenty-something youth.
Was already shameless, dignity-less, company-suicide-if-spread, laughable behavior!
But this also showed Director Eiji Kurosawa’s determination.
Hiroshi Nohara’s lips pursed slightly.
Still nodding: “Alright.”
If the Tokyo Television Station’s Board of Directors didn’t trust him to make a movie, then better prove it by helping Director Eiji Kurosawa make《Seven Samurai》!
