Chapter 143: Izakaya Deal! Masao Iwata’s Shock!
Tokyo, Shibuya District.
Top floor of the Kirin Real Estate headquarters building, a private club not open to the public, accessible only to the group’s top executives.
The air here was filled with the scent of extravagance and decadence.
Underfoot was a handmade silk carpet from Persia, so soft it seemed to suck in one’s entire soul.
Hanging on the walls were modern master paintings that appeared casually placed but were each enough to cause a stir at an auction.
Toshihide Takada, the Executive Deputy Director of the Tokyo Television Production Bureau who could silence anyone with fear, now stood ramrod straight, his face bearing the humble and respectful smile he had practiced a thousand times.
His eyes, usually tinged with gloom, were now observing the two people sitting opposite him.
But his gaze occasionally flicked to the empty seat at the head.
Because the true master had gone to the bathroom.
Beside him, Masao Iwata was even more like a dead dog with its spine removed, humbly sitting on the very edge of the sofa, his buttocks daring to occupy only a third.
He didn’t even dare to lift his head, just stared fixedly at the cup of top-grade Da Hong Pao tea in front of him that had long gone cold.
Being brought here by Deputy Director Takada, stepping into this legendary place, was already an supreme honor for him, enough to boast about to his colleagues for half a lifetime.
So Masao Iwata had to maintain extreme humility.
In stark contrast to the restraint of these two television “important persons” were the young man and woman sitting opposite them.
The man was Shunsuke Kamiki, the woman was Miyuki Kitagawa.
They were the male and female leads of Masao Iwata’s highly anticipated costume blockbuster—《Samurai of the Cherry Blossom Tree》—touted as a chance to “wash away past shame.”
Shunsuke Kamiki, the hottest top idol in Neon Country today, had a face so handsome it was like a prince stepped out of a manga, his peach blossom eyes naturally carrying a carefree charm.
At this moment, he lounged on the sofa like the true master, legs crossed, his expensive Gucci handmade leather shoes casually resting on the tea table made from a whole piece of golden silk nanmu wood.
And Miyuki Kitagawa, also a rising first-line female star, wore a well-tailored Chanel white suit skirt, her doll-like delicate face bearing a perfectly sweet smile.
But deep in those seemingly innocent eyes hid a shrewd calculation for fame and desire that belied her age.
“Director Iwata.”
Shunsuke Kamiki didn’t even bother lifting his eyes, just nodded his chin toward the temperature-controlled premium wine cabinet not far away, his voice flat as if ordering the most lowly servant: “That bottle, the 82 Romanee-Conti. Open it.”
“…” Masao Iwata’s body trembled violently.
He instinctively looked up, a flash of public humiliation crossing his face, long worn smooth by reality.
Romanee-Conti?
Though he knew nothing of red wine, he had heard of this famous name. It was said one bottle could match several months of his salary!
He cast a pleading glance at Toshihide Takada beside him, his eyes holding a final small struggle.
However, Toshihide Takada seemed not to see his plea, his smile growing warmer as he addressed Shunsuke Kamiki in an almost indulgent tone: “Junskie’s taste is as good as ever. Iwata, why aren’t you going yet? Making Junskie happy is what we seniors should do.”
Masao Iwata’s heart sank to the bottom.
But he didn’t hesitate.
He immediately acknowledged, stood up, and under those gazes full of amusement, walked step by step to the wine cabinet emanating an icy yet luxurious aura.
His hands, once commanding on set and berating countless staff, now trembled slightly from extreme humiliation.
But he still opened the cabinet.
Carefully, as if holding a priceless treasure, he took out that invaluable bottle of red wine, then clumsily used the corkscrew to open the liquid gold that would drive any ordinary salaryman mad.
“Director Iwata, thank you for your trouble.”
Miyuki Kitagawa lifted her goblet, a sweet smile on her face, trying to ease the awkwardness with her high emotional intelligence.
However, just as her words fell, Shunsuke Kamiki beside her let out a contemptuous chuckle.
The sound wasn’t loud.
Yet it was like the sharpest needle, precisely piercing the false veil she disguised with sweetness and obedience.
“…”
The smile on Miyuki Kitagawa’s face froze instantly; she glared fiercely at the man who wouldn’t even glance at her properly, a flash of undisguised disgust deep in her beautiful eyes.
It was both psychological and physical revulsion.
“Please.”
Masao Iwata, like the most professional waiter, poured the crimson liquid for Shunsuke Kamiki and Miyuki Kitagawa.
Then silently retreated to his seat.
“By the way, Director Iwata.”
Shunsuke Kamiki gently swirled his wine glass, the crimson liquid tracing a dangerous arc on the rim; without even tasting it, he steered the topic back, still in a commanding tone: “I read the script again yesterday. I think my role’s scenes are still too few.”
“Few?” Masao Iwata was stunned.
He instinctively wanted to retort: “But… Junskie, you are already the absolute male lead! Almost all core plots in the entire movie revolve around you! Adding more scenes would… probably affect the story’s rhythm.”
“Rhythm?” Shunsuke Kamiki finally raised his charming peach blossom eyes, but with a look of disdain as if viewing an idiot: “Director Iwata, have you got something wrong? Do audiences pay to see some bullshit rhythm? They come to see me! To see this face!”
He pointed at his impeccably handsome face, a mocking curve at his lips:
“So, I don’t care how you do it. What I want is simple. First, cut half the female lead’s irrelevant emotional scenes and replace them with my solo showcases.”
“Second, every shot must use the best lighting, the best angles, to film me a hundred times handsomer than now! Especially my left side—remember, left side! That’s my golden angle! Got it?!”
Even speaking, he didn’t care that the female lead sat right beside him, as if issuing a casual command.
As if it had to be obeyed!
These amateurish demands, utterly humiliating, seared like a red-hot iron into Masao Iwata’s already battered heart.
He was a director!
“You—!”
Masao Iwata shot to his feet, his hollow eyes igniting with anger at his trampled dignity!
“Kamiki! Film is an art! Not your…”
“Iwata! Shut up!”
But before he finished, Toshihide Takada’s warning growl cut him off sharply!
Toshihide Takada slowly set down his teacup, his usually gloomy face now blooming with a sly fox’s confident smile.
He looked at Shunsuke Kamiki like a shrewd businessman appraising his most valuable commodity.
“Junskie makes a good point.”
His voice was mild yet chilling: “Art matters, of course. But box office is the only pursuit for us making commercial films. Junskie’s personal charm is this movie’s biggest box office guarantee. We must maximize that guarantee.”
He turned to Masao Iwata, now dumbfounded by his words, his gaze like looking at a childish fool.
“Iwata, what are you standing there for? Hurry and note it down! Every demand from Junskie must be met 100%! That’s an order!”
“…” Masao Iwata trembled.
But at that moment, Toshihide Takada glared at him and said sternly: “Quick, pour wine for our male lead! Use some common sense!”
“Hahahaha! Well said! Well said, Takada!”
In this stifling atmosphere of oppression and humiliation, an arrogant laugh burst unannounced from beyond the heavy wooden door!
“See? Kirin Real Estate choosing to cooperate with Tokyo Television Station was absolutely the right pick! This scope! This boldness! Worthy of the Production Bureau’s Executive Deputy Director!”
With the laughter came a corpulent man in a clearly expensive custom kimono, a string of large emerald prayer beads around his neck, entering unhurriedly like a moving mountain, flanked by black-suited bodyguards.
It was Kirin Real Estate’s Chairman, the largest investor in 《Samurai of the Cherry Blossom Tree》—Tokugawa Sato.
“Chairman Sato!”
Toshihide Takada and Masao Iwata sprang from the sofa simultaneously, bowing deeply to the man.
“Ah, Chairman, you’ve arrived.”
Miyuki Kitagawa also rose quickly, her face resuming its sweetest, most obedient smile, stepping gracefully forward to support the seemingly mobility-impaired “god of wealth.”
But before her hand touched his wide kimono sleeve, a fan-like hand pushed her aside unceremoniously with undeniable force.
“Go go go, out of the way. Don’t get in the way.”
Tokugawa Sato didn’t even lift an eyelid; his slit-like eyes were already captivated by another, more “appetizing” figure.
“Oh my, Tokugawa…”
Under Masao Iwata’s incredulous, ghost-seeing stare nearby.
The star who moments ago was arrogant and overbearing now turned into a cute little kitten, stepping lightly and quickly forward to greet him.
He personally took Tokugawa Sato’s arm, cooing coquettishly: “Why are you so late? I’ve… been waiting for you so long.”
“…!”
The entire room plunged into eerie, pin-drop silence.
Masao Iwata stared blankly at this magical realist scene, his already pale face draining of all expression in an instant.
He felt like he understood something, standing dazed in place.
Watching the “top idol” smiling radiantly as he escorted the corpulent chairman to the main seat, his already numb heart was now utterly drowned in an absurd, almost unreal sensation!
He finally realized he might have… been wrong from the start.
This project’s true “female lead” was perhaps not that woman named Miyuki Kitagawa at all.
But… this guy…
Only Toshihide Takada remained calmly standing, his face bearing an unruffled, warm smile.
As if all this was just a perfectly normal, anticipated business courtesy.
Watching the “top idol” pour that invaluable Romanee-Conti like a professional waiter for Tokugawa Sato, a flicker of viper-like cold disdain passed deep in his gloomy eyes.
Toshihide Takada glanced at the stunned Masao Iwata beside him, frowning slightly in annoyance at this subordinate and distant relative.
He directly reached out and pressed him back onto the sofa.
He himself sat down slowly as Chairman Tokugawa Sato did, his face resuming its amiable, humble smile.
Not a trace of arrogance or indifference.
Extremely enthusiastic!
As if there was no Tokyo Television Station Executive Deputy Director here, only a salesman entertaining a client!
And it was practically the case.
Chairman Tokugawa Sato was a sugar daddy he had only recently connected with; whether he could secure advertising business depended on this chairman’s nod.
As for these male and female leads, it didn’t matter.
They were just toys to please Chairman Tokugawa Sato.
Whatever about box office.
Wasn’t it.
Just small fireworks to amuse Chairman Tokugawa Sato?
Toshihide Takada’s smile grew more deferential; he personally filled Chairman Tokugawa Sato’s glass with the pricey Romanee-Conti, the crimson liquid swirling in the crystal goblet, reflecting the hawk-like gleam deep in his eyes.
“Chairman Sato, your presence honors all of Tokyo Television Station. This toast, on behalf of the Production Bureau, to you!”
His posture was very low, every word precisely calculated to scratch the right itch.
“Spare me!” Tokugawa Sato just waved dismissively, his slit eyes showing an superior’s impatient scrutiny.
He didn’t even glance at Toshihide Takada, his gaze fixed on the young Shunsuke Kamiki.
“Tokugawa~” So Shunsuke Kamiki spoke sweetly.
Leaning on Tokugawa Sato’s plump shoulder, his charming peach blossom eyes gazed waterily at him, his tone laced with unabashed flattery: “See, even Deputy Director Takada is so sincere. Just take one sip, okay?”
Where was the imperious top idol who had trodden everyone underfoot moments ago?
Clearly a prized Persian cat, knowing exactly how to please its master and its own value.
“Hahahaha! Our Junskie sure knows how to talk!”
Tokugawa Sato was delighted by the coquetry; he reached out his thick hand with its massive emerald ring, pinching that flawless handsome face none too gently, his eyes naked with possessiveness.
“Good! For Junskie’s sake, I’ll drink this!”
He lifted his glass, clinking it lightly against Toshihide Takada’s humbly held one, then drained it.
In the room, only Masao Iwata and Miyuki Kitagawa sat rigidly like wooden statues.
Masao Iwata’s face had lost all dignity of a director, left only with numbness crushed by reality.
And on Miyuki Kitagawa’s usually sweet-smiling face, the smile now stiff as a cheap mask, extremely forced.
Especially seeing Shunsuke Kamiki’s fawning demeanor, her slender fingers gripping the goblet whitened with force.
It was a complex mix of jealousy and unwillingness, enough to drive one mad.
“By the way, Director Iwata.”
Having finished his wine, Tokugawa Sato finally recalled business, his slit eyes landing on the dazed man, his hand still fondly caressing that handsome face.
“Our Junskie’s face is what Kirin Real Estate spent big money to promote. When filming, make it detailed, make it beautiful! Every shot, every angle, must be perfect! If I see him on screen even a fraction less handsome than now…”
He paused, voice icy: “You can’t bear the consequences.”
These threatening words poured down like a bucket of ice water.
At Toshihide Takada’s glance, Masao Iwata jolted, sprang up from the sofa, bowed deeply and vowed:
“Yes! Yes! Chairman, rest assured! I… I will perfectly present Kamiki’s stunning beauty on the big screen! Every shot will be a work of art!”
“Mm, that’s more like it.” Tokugawa Sato nodded in satisfaction.
His slit eyes then casually glanced at Miyuki Kitagawa, who had maintained a stiff smile since earlier.
“Oh, right. And that… female lead.” His voice was emotionless, casual as discussing trivia: “Our group’s Vice President Kamiki has done well lately, made me good money. He mentioned this girl is his. Since he spoke up, I have to give face. Director Iwata, remember to give her some scenes.”
Some scenes.
These four words, like four sharpest needles, precisely stabbed into Miyuki Kitagawa’s already battered heart.
Her already pale face went ashen as paper.
She knew she was just a trivial after-dinner sweet in this filthy capitalist feast, to vary the taste.
Yet she felt ever more jealous.
She was the woman, after all.
But this Chairman Tokugawa Sato actually…
She had planned to leverage Vice President Kamiki to climb to Chairman Tokugawa Sato.
Now, it seemed impossible.
But before Masao Iwata could respond, a coquettish, indignant complaint rang out again.
“Oh, Tokugawa.” Shunsuke Kamiki pouted petulantly.
His handsome face full of childish grievance and dominance: “How can you give her more scenes? Mine must be ten times hers! No, a hundred times! This movie can have only me as lead! I’m the brightest star!”
These childish fantasies didn’t repel Tokugawa Sato; instead, his plump face burst into a doting, near-maniacal laugh.
“Hahaha! You little demon! Getting bolder with my favor!”
He laughed heartily, his massive body shaking on the sofa like an erupting meat mountain.
Looking at the pouting youth who seemed ready to cry if refused, his slit eyes gleamed with undisguised satisfaction and possessiveness.
“Good, good, whatever you want.”
Like soothing a sulky pet, his voice full of appeasement: “Kamiki did help me close a big deal lately, so some face must be given. But rest assured, this movie centers on you! After this project, I’ll invest in a better one for you as the sole, absolute lead! How’s that?”
“Really?” Shunsuke Kamiki pouted aggrievedly.
Seeing this, Tokugawa Sato laughed louder: “When have I ever lied to you?”
“Then we pinky swear!” Shunsuke Kamiki extended his fair, slender pinky like an innocent child: “No take-backs!”
Chairman Sato laughed even more delightedly: “Hahahaha! Pinky swear it is!”
Deal sealed, Shunsuke Kamiki finally smiled contentedly.
But when his gaze inadvertently met Miyuki Kitagawa’s perpetually stiff smile, his charming peach blossom eyes flashed with cold mockery and disdain from a victor’s stance.
His look saying—this is the unbridgeable gap!
“…”
Miyuki Kitagawa’s body trembled uncontrollably.
Her beautiful eyes now filled with icy flames.
She said nothing, just drained the crimson liquid in her glass.
The burning liquid slid down her throat like the sharpest knife, flaying her jealousy-riddled, hole-filled heart raw.
She knew she had to do something.
Something to make this man, toying with everyone, pay a price.
“Alright, alright, since the Chairman and Junskie both said so.”
In this undercurrent-laden atmosphere, Toshihide Takada’s peacemaker voice rang out perfectly timed.
He looked at Masao Iwata still frozen nearby, his eyes carrying an undeniable command.
“Iwata, you heard that, right? Hurry and assure the Chairman and Junskie you’ll make this work a timeless classic showcasing Kirin Real Estate’s strength and Junskie’s stunning beauty?”
“Yes! Yes!”
Masao Iwata snapped awake, stood quickly, bowed deeply again to the true “sugar daddies,” his voice resolute as if staking his life.
“Rest assured, gentlemen! I, Masao Iwata, will not fail the mission!”
Watching this “harmonious” and “united” scene, Toshihide Takada’s face finally showed a satisfied, demonic smile.
The room’s atmosphere grew ever better.
Though in his peripheral vision.
Everyone harbored their own schemes.
Even the designated female lead Miyuki Kitagawa now eyed the long-suppressed Masao Iwata with flickering glances.
As if struck by an idea.
So as everyone began private chats, she twisted her slim waist to sit beside Masao Iwata, goblet in hand, giggling coquettishly: “Director Iwata, after filming starts, this slave girl will need your guidance on script and acting~”
Nearby, Toshihide Takada saw this with a mocking glint in his eyes but said nothing.
For him, the Production Bureau’s Deputy Director.
Entertainers.
Were puppets to manipulate.
Especially the lowest-status idol stars in the entertainment circle.
Summoned and dismissed at will.
Some things.
Were all too commonplace!
