Chapter 145: Straight To The Set To Film 《seven Samurai》! Can’t Wait A Single Minute!
Toshihide Takada had already returned to his office by now, habitually standing with his back to the door in front of that huge floor-to-ceiling window, holding a cup of coffee, overlooking the steel city below his feet.
The air in the office froze.
Masao Iwata, who had just entered, stood like a soulless statue, humbly bending his waist as he sat on the low stool beside the sofa.
“Creak—”
The door was pushed open, and two figures entered one after the other.
Walking in front was Soji Ashikaga, his chin always slightly raised, that gaze forever arrogantly scrutinizing each item like props to check if they met standards.
Because in the field of period dramas at Tokyo Television Station, he was a second-class director who could rank in the top three.
Following behind him was a slightly plump man whose face always carried a genial smile, looking like a friendly neighborhood uncle.
He was Kouta Asano, also a second-class director, specializing in era dramas full of human relations.
Although he was smiling, his demeanor was still full of arrogance.
“Deputy Director Takada.” But the two still respectfully bowed to that mountain-like back.
“Mm.” Toshihide Takada slowly turned around, his sullen face showing no sign of joy or anger.
His gaze first swept over the faces of his two trusted subordinates, then fell on Masao Iwata, who had kept his head down from start to finish, like a wooden block.
“Iwata, let me introduce you.” Toshihide Takada’s voice was flat: “These two are Director Soji Ashikaga and Director Kouta Asano. The two of them will serve as assistant directors to assist you in completing this film project.”
“Director Ashikaga, Director Asano, hello.” Masao Iwata quickly stood up and deeply bowed to the two.
His posture was as humble as a newcomer just entering the workplace.
However, Soji Ashikaga merely adjusted the glasses on his nose bridge, letting out an almost inaudible cold snort from his nose, his face utterly indifferent, not even glancing at him properly.
And Kouta Asano, although his face still wore that warm smile, showed not the slightest hint of amusement in his narrowed eyes.
That bone-deep contempt was not concealed at all.
They knew Masao Iwata.
They had inquired on the way here.
A loser who started out directing late-night slot animations and ended up botching the project.
A defeated dog in the television drama field who was beaten senseless by that kid named Hiroshi Nohara.
Now, surprisingly… he was to ride above them, two veteran directors who had immersed themselves in the period drama field for nearly ten years, as chief director?
It was utterly ridiculous!
“Deputy Director Takada.” Soji Ashikaga finally couldn’t hold back; he glanced at Masao Iwata, who was still in his ridiculous bowing posture, his voice laced with impatience and arrogance: “If I may speak bluntly, film projects and television dramas are completely different fields. Having a newcomer director like Director Iwata serve as chief commander… isn’t that a bit too hasty?”
Though his words were tactful, the meaning between the lines was all too clear—
Is he even worthy?
The atmosphere in the office instantly became somewhat delicate.
Masao Iwata’s already pale face flushed pig-liver red in an instant, a flash of malice from public humiliation in his eyes.
“Enough.”
But Toshihide Takada merely smiled calmly.
He walked to his two proud subordinates, heavily patting their shoulders one by one, his voice a low murmur.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
He paused, then said helplessly under their gazes: “You have to give me some face, right? This filming task is very important, and I also want to give this relative of my wife’s a chance. So can you help me out?”
“……”
Soji Ashikaga and Kouta Asano exchanged a glance, both seeing a hint of understanding in each other’s eyes.
Of course they knew.
For Deputy Director Takada to hand an A-level film project worth three hundred million yen to a loser whose resume was full of failures, there had to be a reason behind it.
He hadn’t expected it to be Deputy Director Takada’s relative.
“Moreover.” Toshihide Takada changed tack, a smile reappearing on his sullen face: “I guarantee you, as long as this film succeeds, I’ll approve the highest possible budgets for your future shoots. That should be fine, right? And for your application to the Independent Production Department, I’ll submit it to Director Sakata as well.”
This tempting promise was like two doses of the strongest heart stimulant, instantly dispelling all unwillingness in their hearts!
They bowed to Toshihide Takada in unison: “We understand!”
“Very good.” Toshihide Takada nodded in satisfaction.
He knew these two unruly wild horses were temporarily harnessed to his war chariot.
“Alright, everyone sit.” He waved his hand, gesturing for the three to sit, then returned to the desk symbolizing power: “Now, let’s talk business.”
“Regarding this 《Samurai of the Cherry Blossom Tree》, I’ve read the script. The story framework is good, very much in our Tokyo Faction’s signature style—gorgeous, hot-blooded, full of commercial elements. But there are a few places I need you to pay special attention to.”
He looked at Masao Iwata: “Iwata, I don’t care how you shoot or what techniques you use. I have only one requirement—the lead actor and lead actress’s shots must be given full play! Especially the lead actor! I want him to be flawlessly handsome from start to finish! Understand? Otherwise, the big backer behind the scenes will be very dissatisfied! Do I need to spell out the consequences?”
“Yes! I understand!” Masao Iwata nodded vigorously.
Of course he understood.
This lead actor was the favorite role of Chairman Tokugawa Sato’s Persian cat!
If he wasn’t shot handsome, this chief director might not even know how he died.
Soji Ashikaga and Kouta Asano exchanged another glance, both seeing a knowing sly smile in each other’s eyes.
They understood all too well.
This was the most typical case of “bringing investment into the crew.”
It seemed the “big backer” behind Iwata-kun thought highly of this lead actor.
“Alright, next issue.” Toshihide Takada ignored this undercurrent interlude, looking at his two true technical pillars as if casually asking: “I hear that old guy Eiji Kurosawa is recently… preparing to shoot a samurai film too?”
“Yes, Deputy Director.” Soji Ashikaga adjusted his glasses, his voice full of undisguised contempt: “Called… 《Samurai in the Blacksmith Shop》. I heard about it—a fake samurai story, an outdated theme. And I hear the board of directors has slashed his budget to just three hundred million yen.”
“Three hundred million? With that old stubborn’s temper, what can he even produce?”
Kouta Asano also sneered, his usually genial smiling face now full of schadenfreude: “I heard that for the sake of so-called ‘artistic pursuit,’ he insists on not using any popular idol stars, instead choosing an obscure stage play actor as the lead. This is simply… suicidal!”
“Exactly!” Soji Ashikaga’s voice was full of a sense of superiority: “What do audiences want now? Handsome men! Beauties! Gorgeous special effects! Hot-blooded fights! Who has the patience for his preachy, old-fashioned tragic style? That stuff is long outdated!”
“A few days ago, I specially asked someone to check out his closed set.”
Kouta Asano seemed to recall something, a weird look of watching a show on his face: “You wouldn’t believe it! The scene was insane! Apparently, to pursue so-called ‘realism,’ he had the actors rolling in the mud for a whole week! What they shot was filthy and grimy—no trace of our Tokyo Faction’s gorgeous beauty. It was like… a bunch of beggars fighting in a garbage dump!”
This biting description caused the entire office to erupt in suppressed guffaws.
Toshihide Takada laughed too.
His laughter was full of the confidence of having everything under control.
He knew he had won for sure.
One was a gorgeous samurai epic costing three hundred million yen, starring popular idol stars, full of commercial elements.
The other was also three hundred million yen, but by an over-the-hill old stubborn leading unknown actors rolling in mud to produce an arty, poverty-stricken borefest.
This war hadn’t even started, and the outcome was already set.
“Very good.”
Toshihide Takada slowly stood up with a smile: “I don’t care what methods you use. Throw money, pile on effects, hire the best martial arts choreographers, use the most gorgeous lenses… I have only one requirement.”
He looked at the three, his eyes flashing with chilling madness: “For this year’s New Year’s slot, I want that old guy to lose down to his underwear! I want everyone to know whose era this is!”
Toshihide Takada, who had lost too many times to the Kanto Faction, really wanted a solid comeback in the film field!
But they had no idea that next door, a far more terrifying and lethal god-level proposal capable of crushing all their schemes was quietly launching.
In this war of films, the true contender was never the already heroic but faded Eiji Kurosawa.
But the one backed by the entire literary circle of a parallel neon world—
Hiroshi Nohara!
……
“Let’s go! Nohara-kun! We’re going now! To the set!” Eiji Kurosawa was extremely excited.
“Eh?!” This time it was Hiroshi Nohara who was stunned: “Now? Director Kurosawa, this… this is too fast, right? We haven’t finalized the script details, actors, locations, props… these are all still up in the air.”
“Those are no problem!” But Eiji Kurosawa was like a sleeping lion instantly awakened, his whole body radiating the obsession and fanaticism of a top creator!
He pulled out his portable mobile phone, a rare item in this era, dialing a number so fast it left an afterimage, then roared into the receiver without question:
“Hey! It’s me! Kurosawa! Notify everyone! 《Samurai in the Blacksmith Shop》 project team, all personnel, immediately! Right now! Assemble at Toho’s Studio 7!”
“Rebuild that Warring States Period village set! Yes! That one! Just tweak it a bit! I want the most dilapidated, the poorest, the one that best embodies the farmers’ despair! Props team! Dig out all the rusted samurai swords and broken armor from the warehouse!”
“Also! Costume team! I want a hundred sets of the raggedest farmer clothes! The kind with soil and sweat stench! By afternoon! I want a perfect Warring States Period poor mountain village ready for shooting by afternoon!”
That barrage of orders shot out like machine-gun fire, “rat-tat-tat,” making Hiroshi Nohara’s eye twitch beside him.
“Let’s go, Nohara-kun.” After hanging up, Eiji Kurosawa grabbed Hiroshi Nohara without another word and headed out.
Hiroshi Nohara could only helplessly board the black business car belonging to Eiji Kurosawa.
……
The black business car sped through Tokyo’s traffic.
The interior was spacious like a mini mobile office, the driver steadily at the wheel up front, the air filled with the fragrance of bento boxes.
Because the driver had really bought bento boxes from the convenience store.
It was noon now.
“Here, Nohara-kun, don’t stand on ceremony, have some to tide you over.”
Eiji Kurosawa, like the most enthusiastic host, handed over two luxurious-looking bento boxes packed with everything from A5 Kobe beef to Hokkaido sea urchin.
Clearly a deluxe bento.
And Eiji Kurosawa added: “Eating in the car is fine, we’re in a rush, really sorry about this.”
Of course, though he said sorry, his tone held no apology at all.
Only fanaticism and excitement.
Hiroshi Nohara took the bento worth over ten thousand yen outside with a wry smile, the bit of helplessness from being “kidnapped” diluted somewhat by this old stubborn’s pure passion for creation.
“Director Eiji Kurosawa, locations and props are fine, but what about actors?”
While elegantly picking up a piece of wagyu with snowflake marbling with chopsticks, Hiroshi Nohara casually asked: “Seven samurai with distinct personalities, plus the ambiguous farmer Chiyo—this can’t be faked with random extras.”
“Well…”
At this, Eiji Kurosawa magicked a thick, dictionary-like deluxe-bound booklet from his briefcase and tossed it over: “Take a look at this.”
“This is…” Hiroshi Nohara caught it instinctively, opened the first page, and his pupils shrank sharply!
It wasn’t a script or materials at all.
But meticulously made actor cards!
Each card featured a half-body shot, art photo, and an exhaustingly detailed personal resume—from height, weight, measurements, to alma mater, all works performed, even favored role types and industry reputation, all clearly marked.
And most crucially, every actor in this booklet was without exception… from the Kanto Faction!
“Director Kurosawa, why do I feel… like I’ve walked into a trap you set up long ago?” Hiroshi Nohara looked up at the chuckling old man across from him, a helpless wry smile on his face.
“Ahem!” Eiji Kurosawa’s old face reddened; he covered his guilty conscience with a cough.
He turned to pretend to look at the scenery outside, forcibly assuming the master director’s posture: “Well… this is just… being prepared. After all, though our Kanto Faction is suppressed badly in the film circle by those guys, when it comes to actors’ strength and professionalism, we’re not inferior at all!”
This “protective” statement made Hiroshi Nohara burst into laughter.
He knew this seemingly aloof old man cared more about the collective honor of the “Kanto Faction” deep down than anyone.
He said no more, turning his attention back to the thick “actor directory.”
His fingers flew over those familiar or unfamiliar faces.
Those actors who left countless classic images on the screen in his previous life now lay quietly like soldiers awaiting inspection in this small booklet.
In neon, producers and directors truly held supreme power.
They were practically kings of the film crew!
Completely different from the weak position of Huaxia directors compared to Huaxia crews in his previous life.
But this was all for the better.
In Hiroshi Nohara’s mind, the long-dormant grand hall of 《Seven Samurai》 was thoroughly awakened at this moment!
“Kanbei needs an actor with leader charisma, eyes carrying worldly vicissitudes… him, Taiji Miyoshi. I saw his performance in 《World of the Strange》; that immovable aura fits perfectly.”
“Chiyo, the most complex role—a farmer by birth yet yearning to be a samurai, with beast-like vitality and childlike innocence… Shunpei Makino, yes, him! Those eyes hide a beast ready to break free anytime!”
“Kyuzo, the silent swordsmanship master, calm as a machine when killing… Mm, this newcomer is good, Ryuji Fushimi, clean and cold eyes.”
……
His fingers pointed one by one in the booklet, names spilling lightly from his lips.
That posture wasn’t like selecting actors for an epic film.
But like casually picking a few favorite flowers in his own back garden.
Eiji Kurosawa listened quietly.
He watched this young person, fully cooperating without condition!
“Alright, just these seven.”
In no time, Hiroshi Nohara closed the thick directory, selections complete.
He thought and continued:
“As for the farmers and bandits, that’s even easier. Just pick dozens from the expressive amateur contestants in our 《Super Change Change Change》. Their simplicity and wildness can’t be imitated by any pros.”
This counterintuitive casting logic left Eiji Kurosawa utterly stunned.
Using… a bunch of variety show amateurs for a movie?
This… this was simply… unheard of!
However, before he could recover from this shocking bombshell, the young person made an even more astonishing move that nearly made his eyes pop out.
“Director Kurosawa, can I borrow some paper and pen?” Hiroshi Nohara asked.
“Ah? Oh!” Eiji Kurosawa snapped awake, quickly pulling a stack of new A4 drawing paper and a high-end-looking Montblanc pen from the car’s hidden compartment.
These were standard in the car; he wrote things too.
“Thanks.” Hiroshi Nohara took the paper and pen without hesitation.
The pen tip fell and swiftly began simple sketch creation.
The car went utterly silent.
Only the soft scratch of the pen nib on paper, like fate’s spinning wheel, weaving a newborn legend.
Eiji Kurosawa watched in a daze.
He saw those ragged farmers, in the rain, humbly kneeling before the fallen samurai, eyes full of despair and hope.
He saw those seven distinct samurai first assembling at the village entrance, under the flag painted with their images, those seven figures like insurmountable mountains standing between heaven and earth.
He even saw that tragic and heroic final battle full of mud and blood!
That precise storyboard, tense composition, the glory of samurai, cunning of farmers, sorrow of the chaotic era revealed between the lines…
Like the sharpest samurai sword, it fiercely slashed open the mental shackles long confined by traditional samurai film tropes!
“This… this is…” His voice trembled uncontrollably.
He had thought this young person was just outlining a general story.
But he never imagined the other would… use this near-“divine revelation” method to vividly present every shot, every image of a film not yet in production right before his eyes!
This was beyond simple “genius.”
It was a demonic absolute dominance over cinematic art!
“Whew! Done!”
When Hiroshi Nohara set down his pen and gently pushed the thick stack of ink-fresh manuscripts to him, Eiji Kurosawa felt his breathing stop completely.
He tremblingly reached out to take them, flipping through the contents rapidly.
“Nohara-kun…”
Finally, Eiji Kurosawa slowly looked up at Hiroshi Nohara, all pride of a samurai film master gone from his face.
Only deep emotion remained: “You really are a monster!”
Who could conjure a brilliant concept in their mind after a few talks?
Who could effortlessly sketch countless storyboard drafts?
Who would go straight to the set without a word…
And decide to shoot the film without a shred of fear?
Now, in Eiji Kurosawa’s eyes.
Hiroshi Nohara wasn’t a monster.
What else could he be!?
