Chapter 71: Eiji Kurosawa’s Arrival
Afternoon sunlight quietly filtered through the blinds, casting zebra stripes on the gleaming floor.
Eiji Kurosawa, as a first-class director in the Production Bureau, had his own classroom at the Production Bureau Headquarters, but his independent office was outside, so when he appeared in the Director’s Classroom, the entire floor seemed to fall silent for a moment.
After all, his fame was too resounding.
Therefore, wherever Eiji Kurosawa passed, whether it was assistant staff buried in work or directors of various levels passing by with coffee, all of them quickly stopped, bowed ninety degrees respectfully, and addressed him: “Director Kurosawa, good afternoon!”
“Mm.” He merely nodded slightly as a return courtesy.
Little emotion showed on that weathered face, but the sharpness in his eyes was enough to make anyone’s heart tighten.
His gaze swept over this office area temporarily requisitioned as the Nohara Classroom, and his brows furrowed imperceptibly.
There were many people here.
Nearly noisy.
But after he looked around, he found that most of those present were familiar faces from Kanto Television Station, people from the Kanto Faction he knew well.
“Sato, Yamamoto.” Eiji Kurosawa stopped and looked at the two who came forward upon hearing him: “What’s going on here? When did the Kanto Faction people gather so unitedly in such a small place? Are you preparing a Yamato Drama?”
The Yamato Drama he mentioned was the Neon Country Broadcasting Association（NHK） annual historical epic.
Renowned for its massive investment, grand scenes, and exquisite production.
It was the peak work in the television drama field, usually requiring the resources of the entire faction to complete.
Kenji Sato and Tsuyoshi Yamamoto, the two named, exchanged a glance, their faces showing complex expressions mixed with bitter smiles and reverence.
Kenji Sato stepped forward, his tone filled with irrepressible excitement: “Director Kurosawa, you’ve misunderstood. We’re preparing for Section Chief Nohara’s Unit Drama.”
“Unit Drama?” Eiji Kurosawa’s brows rose higher, a sharp glint flashing in his slightly cloudy eyes.
He certainly knew what a Unit Drama was.
One independent story per episode, creativity reigns supreme, rhythm is paramount.
This style was completely from another world compared to the grand narratives he excelled in, which used dozens of minutes to unfold character destinies and depict the winds and clouds of the era.
“Yes, Director Kurosawa.” Tsuyoshi Yamamoto spoke up at this moment, his usually hawk-like sharp face now showing a reverence almost like that of a student: “Section Chief Nohara’s concept has completely exceeded our imaginations. He incorporated a brand-new idea he named ‘Urban Legends’ into this live-action drama. After we saw his proposal, we truly understood what… genius means.”
Genius.
This word from Tsuyoshi Yamamoto, a powerhouse line producer who always had high standards and only recognized strength, carried more impact than any ratings report.
Eiji Kurosawa’s gaze swept back and forth over the faces of Kenji Sato and Tsuyoshi Yamamoto, which were filled with heartfelt conviction.
He knew these two too well.
Back at Kanto Television Station, they were the mid-level forces he had high hopes for.
One excelled at coordination, the other at execution; both capable and proud.
Yet now, these two middle-aged men who together were nearly a hundred years old, when mentioning that young person only twenty-three years old, both used the respectful title of section chief.
The awe and surrender from the heart were genuine.
This turned Eiji Kurosawa’s already strong curiosity into a desire bordering on probing.
What kind of young person could make these two unruly Kanto tigers willingly bow their heads?
“Take me to see.” Eiji Kurosawa’s voice was not loud, but carried an unquestionable authority. “Don’t make a fuss; I just want… to take a quiet look.”
“Yes!”
Sato and Yamamoto exchanged a glance, both seeing understanding in each other’s eyes.
They flanked him left and right, like two loyal guards, parting the crowd for this former king, clearing a path to the door of the new world.
No one dared to be rude to Eiji Kurosawa.
The entertainers present all knew his identity.
So they all made way for a road.
They arrived at the doorway of the independent room used as the section chief’s office.
The door was ajar, not fully closed, like a deliberate gap inviting peeks into its mysteries.
Eiji Kurosawa’s gaze peered through that gap.
“Hm?”
Then, he was stunned.
He had anticipated many possibilities.
Perhaps the young person was on the telephone, pointing out the world with high spirits; or maybe, he was racking his brains over a pile of complex reports and budgets.
But he had never imagined the scene before him.
The room was very quiet, only the soft rustle of the pen tip gliding over paper, like silkworms tirelessly nibbling mulberry leaves.
The young person hailed by all as a ‘genius’ was quietly sitting at the desk.
He wasn’t looking at reports, not on the telephone, not even lifting his head.
He was just drawing.
Sunlight slanted in from the window at his side, outlining his focused profile with a soft yet resolute contour.
His hand was steady, fast enough to leave afterimages.
Those fluid lines, precise compositions, and storyboards full of visual impact seemed not created by him, but already existing in his mind, merely copied down by him.
And beside his hand, a stack of completed manuscripts piled like a small mountain, thick enough to make any veteran manga artist break into a sweat.
“…This!” Eiji Kurosawa’s pupils suddenly contracted.
He knew Hiroshi Nohara was a former manga artist and had several manga artist friends himself.
But he had never seen anyone complete storyboard creation requiring such immense effort at this astonishing speed and in such fluid posture.
This was no longer simple drawing.
This was using a single pen to construct a complete, vivid world of images filled with light and shadow and sound!
“Director Kurosawa.”
Kenji Sato’s respectful voice sounded at this moment.
At some point, he had held out the storyboard draft of《Terrifying Touch》, which he had already pored over countless times, like offering a rare treasure: “Please look, this is the manuscript Section Chief Nohara made earlier. I think it’s very professional.”
“Mm, let me see.” Eiji Kurosawa withdrew his gaze from the door gap and let it fall on those thin sheets of paper.
He began flipping through them.
Then, all the calm and caution in his eyes were instantly replaced by a far more intense shock!
He saw it!
He saw the close-up of the female lead first touching the murder weapon—the lens slowly pushing from her fingertip to her eyes, her pupils contracting sharply in an instant, expressing her inner fear and horror to the fullest.
He saw the key scene before the truth reveal—half of the second male lead’s handsome face always shrouded in inescapable shadow, a textbook-level cinematic language using light and shadow to hint at the character’s duality.
He even saw concise notes beside every line of dialogue marking the actor’s micro-expressions at that moment—whether “corner of the mouth twitching involuntarily” or “eyes flashing a barely noticeable pleasure.”
This… this was no storyboard draft?!
This was clearly a filming bible translated into visual language, precise to every breath!
“My god!” Eiji Kurosawa’s hand trembled uncontrollably.
He looked up at Tsuyoshi Yamamoto, his weathered face filled with unprecedented shock: “As long as… as long as they film according to this, even a beginner fresh out of school could produce a decent work!”
“More than decent.”
A bitter yet immensely proud smile appeared on Tsuyoshi Yamamoto’s face: “Director Kurosawa, to be honest, all we’re doing now is trying every means to recreate in reality… exactly what Section Chief Nohara has drawn, unchanged. We’re not creating; we’re just… a group of craftsmen with passable skills, replicating a already perfectly designed, flawless artwork.”
His words made everyone around who heard nod in deep agreement.
It was the awe and surrender from the heart after witnessing true genius.
In this near-pilgrimage-like silence, the rustling pen sound in the room stopped.
Hiroshi Nohara put down his pen and gently placed the latest completed page of manuscript on top of that small mountain.
He stretched a big lazy stretch, loosened his stiff neck, emitting a few crisp joint cracks.
“Phew—”
“Finally done!”
Hiroshi Nohara let out a long breath.
Memories from his previous life were like an inexhaustible treasure trove, allowing him to complete these creations that others saw as requiring blood and sweat almost like cheating.
In just a few short days, the stories for the first six episodes of the first season had all taken shape under his pen.
As long as the actors were in place, he was confident he could film them all within a week!
He picked up the tea on the desk, already cold, to moisten his throat, but froze upon turning around.
Several figures stood at the doorway, who in that instant also saw the elder standing at the front, looking at him with an extremely complex gaze mixed with shock and appreciation.
“Director Kurosawa!”
Information about this industry titan flashed through Hiroshi Nohara’s mind instantly.
After all, he had met him in Asumi’s office that morning.
Almost instinctively, he set down the tea cup, strode over quickly, and in front of the elder, performed a standard ninety-degree bow, his posture humble, without any arrogance from his current success.
“My deepest apologies, senior! This junior was too focused and didn’t notice your arrival—how rude!”
In Neon Country, where etiquette and seniority were paramount, his demeanor was impeccable.
However, contrary to everyone’s expectations, Eiji Kurosawa did not just nod faintly as usual.
He personally extended his hands, spotted with age but still strong, steadily supporting Hiroshi Nohara’s arm and gently lifting his bowed waist.
“No.”
Eiji Kurosawa looked at the excessively young and handsome face before him, at those eyes that remained clear and calm even facing him, a touched smile appearing on his face:
“The one who should apologize is this uninvited old guy.”
He paused, those eyes that had seen countless rises and falls shining with an unprecedented light.
Eiji Kurosawa handed the first episode manuscript in his hand to Tsuyoshi Yamamoto behind him, then heavily patted Hiroshi Nohara’s shoulder, his voice hoarse yet weighty:
“Nohara-kun.”
“You truly are… young and promising.”
