Chapter 147: Samurai Film Immortal? Mogae Nohara Puts On Older Sister’s Pajamas!
However, Hiroshi Nohara didn’t care about any of that; he only cared about how to film “Seven Samurai” in the shortest possible time!
Monday afternoon, exactly two o’clock.
When the clapperboard for the first scene snapped shut with a crisp sound in the slightly trembling hand of Assistant Director Shohei Soejima.
“Seven Samurai” officially kicked off!
“Lighting! Main light for camera position one, lift it up another five centimeters, narrow the aperture by half a stop. I want that… feeling of a single ray of heavenly light barely squeezing through a gap in the clouds.”
Hiroshi Nohara wasn’t sitting behind the monitor that symbolized a director’s authority, but instead, like a phantom, he roamed every corner of the set.
And he offered various instructions with eyes as sharp as torches.
Or rather.
All instructions.
“Huh?”
The master craftsman in charge of lighting, named Otomo, a man who had been with the Kurosawa Group for almost twenty years and had a temper even more volatile than a lightbulb, instinctively furrowed his brow at the words.
He glanced at the diffused light curtain specially arranged overhead to simulate an overcast sky, then looked at the already near-perfect image on the monitor. His tone carried a hint of impatience befitting his seniority: “Nohara… Chief Director, the current lighting is already the most logical for natural light. If you lift it further, the characters’ faces will appear… flat, lacking three-dimensionality.”
Although his words were polite, the meaning behind them was crystal clear –
Amateurs, stop bossing people around!
The entire set fell silent in an instant.
All the members of the “Kurosawa Group,” like sharks smelling blood, turned their gazes, filled with anticipation for a spectacle, towards the young man.
They were waiting to see him make a fool of himself, waiting to see him silenced by Master Otomo’s “lighting theory” filled with professional jargon.
However, Hiroshi Nohara couldn’t even be bothered to lift his eyelids.
He calmly uttered two words.
“Do it.”
There was no room for negotiation in his voice, only an absolute command that brooked no argument.
Master Otomo’s already dark face instantly flushed to the color of liver!
Just as he was about to retort, to defend his dignity as a “professional” in a more aggressive manner, an icy voice sounded without warning from behind him.
“Otomo, are your ears deaf?”
Eiji Kurosawa had appeared behind him at some point.
His sharp eyes stared intently at him, as if looking at a disobedient foot soldier about to be beheaded.
“Didn’t you hear the Chief Director’s order?!” Eiji Kurosawa reprimanded.
“…” Otomo’s body trembled violently.
All his retorts, which were on the tip of his tongue, melted into a wave of wronged feelings that coursed back down his throat under that gaze, which could freeze a person to death.
This lighting technician, Otomo, was very obedient to Eiji Kurosawa.
So he pursed his lips, daring not to utter another word of nonsense, and could only, like the most obedient puppet, frantically direct his subordinates to readjust the damn lighting according to the young man’s request.
The atmosphere on set instantly dropped to freezing point.
Everyone understood.
Director Kurosawa was serious this time.
He genuinely intended to hand over the life-and-death power of this film entirely to that seemingly harmless young man!
“Camera! Camera two, bring the lens down another three degrees. Yes, I want a perspective looking up from below.”
Hiroshi Nohara’s voice rang out again.
“But, Chief Director…” The cameraman responsible for camera two, also a young man with considerable fame in the industry, hesitated for a moment, then finally mustered the courage to gently remind him, “This angle… will make the character’s chin look… strange. It doesn’t conform to traditional aesthetic composition.”
“I said, do it.”
Hiroshi Nohara didn’t even bother to turn his head. His gaze fell upon Taiji Miyoshi, the veteran actor playing “Kanbei,” who was standing in the rain, waiting for the scene to begin.
“Mr. Miyoshi,” Hiroshi Nohara continued to instruct, “later, when the farmers kneel before you, I don’t want you to show ‘sympathy,’ nor do I want you to show ‘pride.’ I only want one expression—”
He paused, and amidst countless confused gazes, he slowly uttered two words.
“—Annoyance.”
“Annoyance?!” Taiji Miyoshi was stunned.
He instinctively prepared to retort, “But… but, Chief Director, isn’t Kanbei a ‘benevolent’ character? Shouldn’t he feel compassion when he sees these suffering farmers? Why would it be… annoyance?”
“Because he sees through it.”
Hiroshi Nohara looked at him, and a deep insight into humanity flashed in his calm eyes: “He sees through the war, he sees through the slaughter, and even more so, he sees through these farmers before him, who, while appearing simple, are more cunning than bandits. He’s annoyed by all of it; he just wants to escape. But his damn ‘benevolence’ as a samurai doesn’t allow him to do so. What I want is this extreme contradiction, interwoven with annoyance and compassion.”
This interpretation, filled with philosophical contemplation, was like a lightning bolt that pierced the chaos, instantly illuminating Taiji Miyoshi’s confused heart!
He stared blankly at the young man. All doubt had faded from his composed face.
Only a profound shock, like a sudden enlightenment, remained!
“I… I understand!” he nodded heavily.
And the “Kurosawa Group” members around him, who had initially been watching with an attitude of enjoying the show, also quietly revealed an undisguised astonishment on their faces after hearing this.
For the first time, they realized that this young man might… be different from the “academics” they had met before, who only knew how to talk theory.
“Alright, all departments, prepare!”
Hiroshi Nohara clapped his hands, instantly pulling the set, filled with surging undercurrents, back on track.
“Action!”
With the command, the scene of a rain-soaked plea for help, filled with oppression and despair, officially began!
Then, a miracle happened.
Under Hiroshi Nohara’s “god-tier” direction, precise down to every micro-expression, every glance, and even the rhythm of every breath of dialogue.
The Kanto Faction actors, already accustomed to his “nanny-style” filming, became like a war machine instantly activated with all its potential, unleashing an unprecedented energy!
Kanbei’s contradiction of annoyance and compassion.
The farmers’ struggle, a blend of humility and cunning.
Katsushiro’s innocence and shock at the world…
Everything, under the young man’s precise control, was brought to life before the camera as if injected with a soul, like a painting!
One take!
Another take!
Even the few peasant extras, who were cameos by amateur contestants from “Super Change Change Change” and had no lines, under Hiroshi Nohara’s few magical words of guidance, delivered performances worthy of an acting award that would make any professional actor ashamed!
The entire filming process was as smooth as a symphony rehearsed thousands of times, without any unnecessary delays!
And the “Kurosawa Group” members who had initially held contempt were already standing frozen like puppets under a spell.
They watched the young man stroll through the set as if everything was under his control, and on their faces, only a deep numbness and… fear remained, as if their worldview had been repeatedly crushed by a heavy hammer!
They had never seen filmmaking done like this before!
Even Director Eiji Kurosawa, a once nationally renowned master of samurai films, had never experienced such a smooth filming progress!
…
As the sky darkened and the first day’s filming tasks concluded at a speed that almost defied imagination, a near miracle.
The makeshift screening room, assembled from tents, was already packed.
The air was thick with curiosity.
All the “Kurosawa Group” members, like prisoners about to face judgment, stared solemnly at the large curtain where a “public execution” was about to take place.
They didn’t believe it.
Deep down, they didn’t believe that anything worthwhile could be produced using such a “layman” and “counter-intuitive” filming method.
“Let’s begin.”
Hiroshi Nohara’s voice sounded calmly.
Editor Ichiro Watanabe took a deep breath and pressed the play button.
Then, the entire world fell silent.
On the screen, the deliberately “flat” lighting did not make the characters appear stiff; instead, it created a unique texture, like a classical oil painting, filled with a sense of oppression and fate.
The camera angle, looking up from below with an “ascendant” perspective, magnified Kanbei’s face, etched with contradiction and struggle, to a degree that could suffocate all the audience members!
That annoyance, that compassion, that extreme pain of a hero from a declining class, facing a world he both wanted to save and escape from…
It was like the sharpest knife, piercing deeply into everyone’s hearts present!
No editing was needed!
Not even background music was necessary!
Each and every perfect shot was, in itself, a silent poem filled with tragedy and power!
“…”
In the screening room, the silence was so profound that a needle drop could be heard.
Assistant Director Shohei Soejima stared blankly at the screen, only a deep sense of powerlessness and… awe remaining on his face!
He finally understood that he seemed to have been mistaken from the beginning.
This young man wasn’t “breaking the rules.”
He was setting the rules!
A brand new rule, belonging only to him, named “Hiroshi Nohara’s” film rule!
“I told you all when we were doing ‘World of the Strange,’ but you didn’t believe me.”
Eiji Kurosawa’s voice, filled with emotion, slowly echoed, like a giant stone shattering the silence.
“Now, do you believe it?”
“…”
No one answered.
Or rather, an answer was no longer needed.
The eyes that had once been filled with doubt and disdain were now completely filled with a near-pilgrimage-like fervor!
However, the young man who created this miracle seemed accustomed to it all.
He simply stood up calmly.
Under countless gazes filled with awe, he slowly uttered a new command: “Alright, ten-minute break. Then, prepare for the night shoot.”
Night… night shoot?!
Everyone froze.
They looked at the deep night sky outside the window, then at their own exhausted bodies, completely drained of energy, and disbelief and shock were written on every face.
Is… is this guy… even human?!
Does he… not need rest?!
However, this time, no one dared to raise any objections.
Because they knew they were following a monster, creating an unprecedented, brand-new history!
At the same time, everyone understood why Hiroshi Nohara was called… a monster at the Production Bureau Headquarters of Tokyo Television Station!
And so, for the entire following week.
Studio Number Seven became a sleepless purgatory, filled with miracles and groans.
Hiroshi Nohara, like a precision war machine wound with a perpetual motion spring, pushed forward the entire shooting process with an almost “perverted,” outrageous efficiency.
During the day, they rolled in the mud, fought amidst flames, and in the pouring artificial rain, they portrayed the tragedy and downfall of an era.
At night, under dim oil lamps, amidst dialogues filled with scheming and probing, they dissected the hypocrisy and struggles of a social class.
Everyone was pushed to their limits.
The usually pampered actors had shed all pretense of stardom, their faces dusty and grimy, yet excited as if they had been injected with adrenaline.
The battle-hardened veterans of the “Kurosawa Group” had long discarded all their ingrained experience and pride, like the most devout believers, executing the young man’s every seemingly absurd yet miraculously effective command almost blindly.
The lighting technician, Otomo, in pursuit of what Hiroshi Nohara called “eyelight that can penetrate the soul,” worked with his team for a full forty-eight hours in front of the monitor.
The entire film crew seemed to have gone mad.
Like ants caught in a giant vortex, they were involuntarily swept along by the young man at the center of the storm, sprinting towards an unknown destination at a speed that defied all common sense!
Until the dusk of the seventh day.
When the final shot, where Kanbei looked at the celebrating fields and said, “We lost again,” was passed with near-perfect execution on the first try…
“Cut!”
Hiroshi Nohara’s calm voice finally drew a perfect period to this war filled with madness and miracles.
“Seven Samurai” is officially wrapped!
“…”
The entire world seemed to have hit the mute button again.
Everyone stood frozen, and on their faces, etched with fatigue and dirt, only a deep bewilderment remained, as if they had just emerged from an unreal dream.
It’s over?
It’s… over just like that?
An epic masterpiece, truly an epic, was actually… completed in just one week?!
“Oh—!!!”
After a brief moment of silence, a cheer filled with ecstasy and release, powerful enough to shake the entire studio, erupted like a volcanic eruption!
Everyone cheered!
They hugged, they roared, they wept, like soldiers who had won an impossible victory in a desperate situation.
They vented the emotions that had been accumulating to their limit through primal roars!
And amidst this boiling sea of revelry and tears.
The young man who created all this calmly handed the several heavy film reels to Eiji Kurosawa, who was already moved to tears.
“Director Kurosawa, the rest is up to you.”
“Good… good!” Eiji Kurosawa nodded slowly, looking at Hiroshi Nohara’s face, which, though also tired, was still so composed. His tone became even more emotional. “Mr. Nohara, do you know?” he said softly.
“What?” Hiroshi Nohara looked at him.
“I am very fortunate that I was not born in the same era as you,” Eiji Kurosawa said, a smile of relief appearing on his face.
Especially as he looked at the heavy film reels in his hand, he slowly shook his head. “I used to be proud of the samurai films I made, but after seeing your ‘Seven Samurai,’ I realized that what I filmed were just action movies, still at the stage of ‘technique’…”
Saying this, Eiji Kurosawa looked at Hiroshi Nohara, who raised his eyebrows, and sighed, “But you, Mr. Nohara, you are already at the ‘Way’ level, at the ‘Immortal’ level!”
“……Director Kurosawa, do you mean that the samurai films I, Hiroshi Nohara, have made can be called ‘Samurai Film Immortal’?” Hiroshi Nohara asked with a twitch of his eye.
But Eiji Kurosawa had no intention of joking at this moment. He looked at Hiroshi Nohara and nodded seriously: “That’s right, you, Hiroshi Nohara, are the ‘Samurai Film Immortal’!”
“…” Hiroshi Nohara was a little speechless.
Although he knew that in his previous life, the famous director Akira Kurosawa’s Purple Seven Samurai 》 was an internationally acclaimed film that surpassed national standards.
From the individual to the class, and then to class contradictions and conflicts.
The principles explained were almost like ‘the Way’.
But coming to this world of Neon, being praised as the ubiquitous ‘Samurai Film Immortal’ still felt a bit like painting himself into a corner.
“No, no, no, I’m not a ‘Samurai Film Immortal’,” Hiroshi Nohara said with a wry smile. “I’m just an ordinary person.”
Immortal… Immortal my foot!
These aren’t good words anymore!
Hiroshi Nohara grumbled in his heart, but he had to maintain the humility of a junior and exchanged pleasantries with this master who had completely fallen into fanaticism, before finally being able to extricate himself.
“Nohara-kun, Monday!” Eiji Kurosawa stood by the black business car and said seriously, “On Monday, I’ll bring the edited sample film and personally go to the Production Bureau to find you and Deputy Director Asumi! See you then!”
“Okay, Director Kurosawa,” Hiroshi Nohara replied helplessly, but he let out a long sigh in his heart.
He felt that this week was more tiring than the past three months combined.
The physical fatigue was secondary; what mattered more was the mental exhaustion.
Especially dealing with an old stubborn person who was so energetic that he completely defied physiological laws, he really couldn’t handle it.
In the driver’s seat, the driver, who had been like the most loyal background prop the entire time, asked, “Minister Nohara, where are we going now?”
“Let’s go home, my home.”
Hiroshi Nohara leaned back against the soft leather seats in the back. After giving his home address, he closed his eyes, planning to take a short nap.
The car silently slid into Tokyo’s never-ending traffic. Outside the window, the twilight was gradually descending, along with the dazzling lights that were being lit up one after another, like bright stars falling to the mortal world.
He didn’t think about anything else.
Because in his mind, only one figure remained.
A figure wearing a cute little bear apron, always using those big, watery eyes, with a hint of innocent pouting, complaining that he wasn’t home on time for dinner, but who would rush into his arms like a swallow returning to its nest the moment he opened the door, brushing away all his fatigue, a charming figure.
Misae.
His one and only, warmest harbor in this icy city.
……
The night was as black as ink, gently enveloping the entire city.
The dim yellow streetlamp below the apartment building cast a lonely yet warm halo on the cold cement ground.
Hiroshi Nohara declined the driver’s offer to escort him upstairs and, dragging his legs that felt like they were filled with lead, walked step by step towards the familiar door that held all his sweet memories.
He didn’t ring the doorbell.
Instead, from his pocket, he carefully took out the key, which had already been warmed by the heat of his palm.
He wanted to give her a surprise.
The key was inserted into the lock with a barely audible click.
The door was silently pushed open a crack.
A cooking aroma, a mixture of the fresh scent of vegetables and rich soy sauce, poured out from the opening door like a pair of the gentlest hands, instantly smoothing out his exhaustion, which had already reached its limit.
She was cooking.
“What could it be?”
Hiroshi Nohara’s heart was instantly filled with a great surge of warmth.
He changed into his slippers, casually placed his heavy briefcase on the shoe cabinet at the entrance, and then, tiptoeing, like the most cunning leopard, he silently crept towards the kitchen, which was emitting a tempting aroma and warm light.
The kitchen light was not on high; only the dim yellow light under the range hood was lit.
A petite figure stood at the counter, her back to him.
She was wearing his most familiar pink pajamas, adorned with a cute little bear pattern. Her soft black hair was casually draped over her shoulders, swaying gently with her rhythmic chopping movements.
The scene was filled with the gentle tranquility of a peaceful life.
The corners of Hiroshi Nohara’s mouth involuntarily curved into a playfully affectionate smile.
Especially the curve of her hips, which had filled out her pajamas below her slender waist.
‘The big tiger is coming!’
So Hiroshi Nohara spread his arms wide, like a tiger about to hunt, and silently, step by step, approached the pitiful lamb who was completely unsuspecting of him.
However, just as his hands were about to touch the delicate body exuding a faint fragrance, his movements froze in mid-air without any warning.
His usually calm eyes, at this moment, involuntarily shrank violently!
Wrong!
This figure… is wrong!
Although she was wearing the same pajamas and had the same hairstyle, she was… too petite!
She was at least a head shorter than Misae!
The slender frame, characteristic of a young girl, and the slightly immature body curves full of youthful vitality, were clearly outlined in the dim yellow light, forming a silhouette that was both familiar and dangerously unfamiliar!
Hiroshi Nohara felt his brain struck by lightning!
An absurd and horrifying thought, uncontrollably, sprouted wildly from the depths of his heart!
Hiroshi Nohara blurted out, “Mogae Oyama?!”
“Oh dear!”
The petite figure, who was intently chopping vegetables, suddenly trembled!
Like a startled little rabbit, she quickly turned around.
A pretty face, seven parts similar to Misae Oyama but more delicate and lively, appeared in Hiroshi Nohara’s sight.
Her big, round eyes, like two of the most brilliant obsidian stones, first flashed with panic at being caught red-handed, and then were completely filled with a stronger light of surprise and fanaticism!
“Brother-in-law!”
She dropped the kitchen knife in her hand and, like a happy little butterfly, took light steps, accompanied by a gust of fragrance, and pounced towards Hiroshi Nohara!
“You’re back! I missed you so much!”
“…”
Hiroshi Nohara felt his temples throbbing wildly.
He subconsciously reached out and, before the youthful, vibrant body could crash into his arms, with the demeanor of an elder brother’s authority, he firmly pressed down on her fluffy little head.
“Stop,” his voice was calm, but carried an irrefutable power. “Why are you here?”
“Why can’t I be here?”
Mogae Oyama’s little head was held down by him, and she could only stop about a meter away from him. She pouted her cherry-like lips in dissatisfaction, but her big, round eyes twinkled with excitement. “This is my second sister’s house, which is also half my home! I’m coming to my own house, do I need to report to you, an ‘outsider’?”
She deliberately emphasized the word “outsider,” and the justifiable “provocation” unique to a sister-in-law was evident.
A few clear black lines instantly appeared on Hiroshi Nohara’s forehead.
Just as he was about to open his mouth and use his authority as a brother-in-law to suppress this improper trend, a voice full of surprise came from the bathroom doorway, which was filled with steam.
“Hiroshi-kun! You’re back!”
With a light “splash,” the frosted glass door of the bathroom was pushed open from the inside.
Misae was wearing another equally cute pair of pajamas, her wet long hair loosely wrapped in a towel. Her pretty face, just out of the bath, had a charming blush, like a ripe peach, exuding an enticing aroma.
Seeing Hiroshi Nohara, her beautiful eyes instantly curved into a sweet crescent moon. She took light steps and intended to step forward to give him a hug full of love.
However, when her gaze fell on the two figures, frozen at the kitchen entrance in a posture of “confrontation,” all the sweet words that had reached her lips turned into a sigh of helplessness.
“Oh dear, what are you two arguing about again?”
She quickly walked forward, like a mother hen protecting her chicks, and gently patted both her sister and her husband, who were in a “gunpowder-tinged” standoff.
“Mogae, no impudence, this is your brother-in-law!”
“Hiroshi-kun, you really are something, arguing with a child.”
As she spoke, she naturally linked her arm with Hiroshi Nohara’s and pulled him to her side. Her posture was like that of the most competent hostess, mediating a harmless family dispute.
“Don’t listen to this girl’s nonsense,” she tilted her flushed little face and gave Hiroshi Nohara a sweet, apologetic smile. “Mogae arrived yesterday. Not only her, but Mom and Dad are here too.”
“…Huh?”
Hiroshi Nohara felt his heart, already fragile from a week of high-intensity work, being completely overwhelmed by an even more absurd, almost unreal feeling!
His parents-in-law are here too?!
“Yes.”
Misae nodded, her pretty face beaming with pride. “You know how popular your Purple Super Change Change Change 》 is nationwide right now! In our Kumamoto Prefecture, there’s a folk art troupe called ‘Land of Fire Taiko’ that made it all the way to the national finals! Dad, as a representative of the Kumamoto Prefecture’s education community, was specifically sent by the prefecture to be the leader of their ‘family and friends support group’!”
“…”
The corners of Hiroshi Nohara’s mouth twitched uncontrollably.
He could almost imagine his stubborn father-in-law, dressed in a happi coat printed with “Kumamoto Must Win,” waving a small flag and leading a group of equally rustic uncles and aunties on the streets of Tokyo, shouting support slogans in their hearty Kumamoto dialect, a scene of magical realism.
“Then… where are they?” he asked weakly.
“Oh, Mom and Dad, they went to the television station with the art troupe today to familiarize themselves with the venue and participate in rehearsals.”
As Misae spoke, she pulled him to sit at the small dining table and then, like a squirrel showing off its treasures, brought out the pot of vegetable miso soup that had been simmering and filling the air with its aroma.
“This child, Mogae, insisted on tagging along for the fun. She said she wanted to see for herself how her legendary genius brother-in-law manipulates the whole of Neon with ease.”
As she spoke, she playfully glared at her sister, who was sticking out her tongue and making faces.
“So, you’ll have to bear with it for today, Hiroshi-kun,” she said, serving him a bowl of steaming miso soup. Her beautiful eyes were filled with tenderness and apology. “The house… might be a bit lively for a while.”
Hiroshi Nohara looked at the scene full of life before him, listened to the chirping sounds of youthful vitality around him, and smelled the aroma of home-cooked food filling his nostrils.
His already exhausted heart was inexplicably filled with a warmth of worldly life.
He let out a long sigh.
As if that breath carried away all the fatigue and loneliness of his week.
He looked at the two girls before him, one big and one small, both vibrant and both deeply cared for. A genuinely kind and infinitely doting smile, albeit with a hint of helplessness, finally bloomed on his handsome face.
“I understand.”
He picked up the bowl of miso soup that was full of the taste of “home” and took a gentle sip. The warm liquid slid down his throat like the gentlest warm current, instantly dispelling all the gloom in his heart.
“Welcome home, Mogae.”
His voice was calm, yet carried a power that could stabilize any wandering soul.
“And… my Mrs. Nohara, next time Uncle and Aunt visit, please remember to tell me in advance. I haven’t prepared any gifts, and it would be rude of me, your future son-in-law!”
“Oh my goodness!” Misae’s face turned red as soon as she heard words like ‘Mrs. Nohara’ and ‘future son-in-law.’
But she said sweetly, “I was afraid you were busy~”
