Chapter 150: Shunsuke Kamiki’s Fury! He’s Losing It!
Junichi Watanabe, a gold medal agent who had seen his fair share of storms in the industry, stood dumbfounded.
All the color drained from his face, which always wore a professional and gentle smile, leaving it utterly pale.
He looked at the young man, at his eyes that showed no ripple of emotion, and a bone-chilling coldness surged uncontrollably from his tailbone to the crown of his head!
Madman!
This guy named Hiroshi Nohara is a madman who plays by no rules!
Doesn’t he know that behind Shunsuke Kamiki stands the capricious yet immensely powerful Chairman Tokugawa Sato of Kirin Real Estate?!
Doesn’t he know that offending Tokugawa Sato is like making the most terrifying enemy for himself in the entire business world of Tokyo?!
Who in Japan nowadays doesn’t know that real estate developers are the biggest sugar daddies?
This young man of his…
truly doesn’t care about anything, doesn’t hold back at all?!
Of course.
Hiroshi Nohara truly didn’t know.
But even if he knew, he wouldn’t care, because in two years, let alone real estate developers, even the Japanese government would be pathetically dressing themselves under the mighty influence of their American daddy, not daring to cry, and even forced to say “Daddy is great.”
“You guys carry on, I’ll go sit in the audience seats.” Hiroshi Nohara waved his hand and turned to leave.
His posture was like a king who had just casually crushed an annoying ant.
Elegant.
And filled with absolute authority.
……
Backstage, in the luxurious dressing room originally reserved for the “Top Idol,” chaos had erupted.
Expensive cosmetics were swept onto the floor, mixing with shattered mirror fragments, glinting under the lights in a mess.
“Outrageous! Outrageous!”
Shunsuke Kamiki, who had just enjoyed the treatment of being the center of attention, now resembled a rooster whose glorious feathers had been plucked, roaring hysterically.
His naturally somewhat effeminate handsome face was now utterly distorted by extreme shame and humiliation, like a crumpled piece of expensive drawing paper.
The two security guards responsible for watching him stood like silent guardian gods, blocking the doorway on either side, their gazes looking at someone jumping around like a ridiculously laughable clown.
“Watanabe! Junichi Watanabe! You useless good-for-nothing! Where are you?!”
Shunsuke Kamiki grabbed the mobile phone on the table and, with a nearly breaking-voice roar, bellowed into the receiver: “Immediately! Right now! Get that bastard Masao Iwata over here at once! I want him to see with his own eyes how his subordinates are bullying me! I want him to have that guy named Hiroshi Nohara brought over! I want him to kneel! Kneel and lick my shoes!”
“Shunsuke-kun! Shunsuke-kun! Please calm down! Please calm down!”
From the other end of the phone came Junichi Watanabe’s voice, full of helplessness.
However, this plea was like a ladle of boiling oil poured onto an already raging bonfire!
“Calm down?! How can you tell me to calm down?!” Shunsuke Kamiki’s voice grew increasingly shrill: “I’m telling you, Junichi Watanabe! If you can’t settle this matter today! Tomorrow I’ll have Mr. Tokugawa kick you out of Kirin Office like a dog!”
The phone was hung up with a “snap.”
Shunsuke Kamiki paced back and forth frantically in the small dressing room like a completely enraged trapped beast.
Not long after, the sound of hurried footsteps approached from a distance.
Masao Iwata, the nominal chief director of the movie, now ran in like the most humble servant, panting and sweating profusely.
He was, of course, not far away.
After all, Shunsuke Kamiki was the sole and most important “box office guarantee” for his film, so he had to guard him meticulously, like serving an ancestor.
“Shunsuke-kun! Shunsuke-kun! What’s… what’s wrong? Who made you angry?”
Masao Iwata looked at the messy dressing room, and his already worried heart leaped into his throat.
“You still have the nerve to ask me?!”
Shunsuke Kamiki suddenly turned around, his peach blossom eyes, meticulously lined with eyeliner, glaring at him as if to devour him alive!
“Masao Iwata! I ask you! Is that guy named Hiroshi Nohara one of your people?!”
“Hiroshi… Nohara?”
Masao Iwata’s body trembled violently!
His already pale face turned even paler by a third upon hearing the name!
How could it be him?!
Why, of all people… him?!
A bone-chilling coldness surged uncontrollably from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head!
He remembered the young man, remembered his eyes that showed no ripple of emotion, remembered his god-like talent that could utterly crush all of his pride…
That fear, already ingrained in his bones, like a hibernating viper, was completely awakened at this moment!
“Yes… yes…” Masao Iwata’s voice stuttered due to extreme fear: “He… he is indeed from our production bureau… the Minister.”
“Minister?!” Upon hearing this, Shunsuke Kamiki not only showed no restraint but let out a contemptuous scoff as if he had heard a great joke: “I don’t care what damn minister he is! Masao Iwata! I order you now! Immediately! Right now! Bring that guy over here! I want him to kneel! And apologize to me!”
He pointed to his own expensive Gucci handmade leather shoes, his contorted handsome face filled with pathological madness: “I want him to admit in person that he is just a lowly dog at your Tokyo Television Station!”
These humiliating words, like a red-hot branding iron, seared themselves into Masao Iwata’s already full-of-holes heart.
He looked at the “Top Idol” before him, whose head was already swimming with lust and power, and a look of pity akin to looking at an idiot appeared in his eyes.
But he couldn’t offend this guy at the moment.
“Shunsuke-kun…”
Masao Iwata’s voice was dry and full of helplessness: “You… you probably don’t understand very well. Minister Nohara… he’s not an ordinary person.”
“He is…”
“I don’t care if he’s an ordinary person!”
However, before he could finish speaking, he was rudely interrupted by Shunsuke Kamiki’s impatient roar!
“Masao Iwata! Have you forgotten who your sugar daddy is?! Believe it or not, I’ll call Deputy Director Takada right now and have him kick you, you useless piece of trash, out of your chief director position?!”
As he spoke, he truly picked up the phone and skillfully dialed the number he knew by heart.
The phone rang for a long time before being answered.
From the other end came Toshihide Takada’s voice, devoid of any emotion, flat and calm.
“Hello?”
