dkrc Chapter 174 "The Shadow of the Tower" and the Whispers of the Ancients
Chapter 174 "The Shadow of the Tower" and the Whispers of the Ancients
Chapter 174 "The Shadow of the Tower" and the Whispers of the Ancients
In late January, the cold wind in Tokyo was still biting.
Kitahara Shin sat behind his desk, holding a fountain pen in his hand, with several sheets of paper filled with writing in front of him.
Outside the window, the view of the port area was exceptionally clear under the winter sun. Not far away, the building in Roppongi, which was undergoing final renovations, had become the focus of conversation among many industry insiders—a symbol of the imminent rise of the "Kitahara Empire."
There was a knock on the office door.
"Please come in."
Ota Shoichi walked in, carrying several thick folders. His complexion was ruddy; ever since "The White Tower"...
After achieving phenomenal ratings, this agent walked with an air of confidence, and even her hairline didn't look so worrying anymore.
Ota: "President, this is the initial screening report for the new talent department. This week we screened hundreds of resumes, and even sent people to local performing arts schools. These are the most promising candidates."
He handed over the first folder, his expression somewhat subtle: "But this first one—has a rather special identity."
Kitahara Shin took it and opened it.
The photo on the first page shows a girl with shoulder-length short hair, wearing a school uniform. She is only sixteen or seventeen years old, with clear eyes, but her brows reveal an innate nobility and stubbornness.
The name field reads: Matsu Takako.
Kitahara Shin raised an eyebrow.
The youngest daughter of Matsumoto Koshiro (a famous Kabuki actor), the future queen of Japanese dramas, and also the one who later sang "Let It".
The singer of "Go". She is a "super star kid" born with a silver spoon in her mouth.
"The young lady of the Koryo-ya company—" Ota rubbed his hands together, his tone conflicted. "President, although she has exceptional talent, she's not easy to manage. She's backed by the entire Kabuki industry, and her father, Matsumoto Koshiro, is notoriously strict. If we sign her, we'll not only be responsible for making her famous, but we'll also have to constantly watch our family's mood. If they're not satisfied with the roles we arrange, it'll offend them."
"Offended someone?"
Kitahara Shin chuckled softly, his fingers gently tracing the photograph. "Ota, you need to think about this differently. Precisely because she has the Kabuki world behind her, if we can promote her and even help her surpass her father's achievements in film, television, and music, then that connection will become our moat."
"Sign it. Tell her I don't see her as a celebrity's child; I only see her as actress Matsu Takako."
Da Tian paused for a moment, then nodded.
Kitahara Shin turned to the second page.
A boy who looks somewhat thin and even a little gloomy. In the photo, his eyes are somewhat evasive, his hair is messy, but his bone structure is excellent, exuding a wild and unruly spirit.
Name: Yosuke Kuboya.
The future youngest Best Actor winner at the Japan Academy Film Prize, a genius full of inspiration and madness, the "King" in IWGP.
"What about this one? He looks like a delinquent," Ota commented.
"He's a genius."
Kitahara Shin's assessment was succinct: "You'll see later. Give him maximum freedom, don't bind him with the rules for idols."
Then, Kitahara Shin turned to the third page.
His hand paused when he saw the photo.
The photo is a bit blurry, and it seems to have been taken secretly in a playground in the countryside. The photo shows a short-haired girl who looks only thirteen or fourteen years old, and her small canine tooth is faintly visible when she smiles.
That overwhelming sense of "transparency" seems to wash away the dust of the entire world.
Name: Ryoko Hirosue
He was born in Kochi Prefecture.
Ota leaned closer for a look: "Oh, this one. He was discovered by a talent scout in Kochi Prefecture. He's still a junior high school student. He looks quite innocent, like a tomboy, but I wonder if he'll have any audience appeal—"
"Does he have audience appeal?"
Kitahara Shin couldn't help but laugh.
If even this person who dominated the late 1990s and was called "the last beautiful girl of the 20th century" doesn't have audience appeal, then the Japanese entertainment industry might as well shut down.
"Daejeon, we must take this one."
Kitahara Shin closed the folder, his tone more serious than ever before: "Speak to her parents at all costs. Even promise to help her with her schooling in Tokyo. She's a future 'monster,' an idol capable of creating a social phenomenon."
Da Tian was startled by his boss's confident tone and quickly drew three asterisks on his notebook.
"Understood. I'll go to Kochi Prefecture myself."
Kitahara Shin leaned back in his chair, looking at the three resumes.
Matsu Takako, Kuboya Yosuke, Hirosue Ryoko.
In addition, there are Rie Miyazawa and Nanako Matsushima, who are already working at the company.
This lineup, if placed in the future, would be practically the "Avengers".
"Daita, remember my words."
Kitahara Shin raised his head, his eyes deep: "Don't use the old trick of 'exploitation' on truly talented people. Obedient puppets are everywhere, Johnny's has a ton of them, but we need diamonds that can shine."
"Give them resources, give them respect, and treat them as equal partners. Even—let them retain a bit of their own temperament."
"Only in such fertile soil will they wholeheartedly make money for us, and only then can they grow into towering trees in this empire."
Ota nodded thoughtfully, looking at the young president in front of him, a feeling of indescribable admiration welling up in his heart.
This is Kitahara Shin's vision.
This is also the fundamental difference between him and those traditional agencies that treat artists like slaves.
After finishing his business, Kitahara Shin picked up the manuscript again.
This is the column he promised to give to Watanabe Tsuneo.
Title: The Shadow of the Tower: Desire and Redemption Amidst the Foam Ruins.
This is not the kind of diary entry that celebrities often write, such as "What I ate today, I'm in a good mood".
Kitahara Shin poured all his insights from filming "The White Tower" into his writing, combined with his observations of contemporary Japanese society.
"—When the illusion of the bubble economy burst, we were all like Goro Zaizen trapped in a white tower. We longed to climb higher, to grasp at that straw called 'success,' but forgot whether the path beneath our feet was solid."
"In this era where everyone is on edge, 'evil' may be a survival instinct, but 'good' is the bottom line that makes us human. As an actor, I cannot solve the economic winter, but I hope to offer a small outlet or a spark of thought to those shivering in the cold through the screen."
His writing is seasoned and his viewpoints are sharp.
There is no feigned suffering, only a penetrating analysis that strikes at the heart of the matter.
The entire Japanese cultural world was shaken on the day this article was published in the Yomiuri Shimbun.
Countless critics, writers, and sociologists were stunned. They couldn't believe that something written by a young actor who was not even 25 years old.
There are even rumors that it was ghostwritten.
But the very next day after the rumors began, Watanabe Tsuneo, president of the Yomiuri Shimbun, personally published a short commentary in the newspaper: "I have seen this article with my own eyes; it was written by Kitahara-kun. His handwriting reflects his character, and his writing reflects his heart. In today's superficial entertainment industry, it is truly rare to find a young man with such depth of thought."
This is practically a "royal imperial gift".
With Watanabe Tsuneo's endorsement, Kitahara Shin's image instantly rose to a higher level. He was no longer just an "actor," but a thoughtful and profound "cultured person."
This golden shield will be the best protection during the upcoming awards season.
Tokyo, Akasaka, a high-class restaurant with a history of over 100 years.
The air was filled with the aroma of expensive incense and aged sake.
This is a private box accessible only to members, and it's also where the so-called "high-ups" of the Japanese film industry set the rules.
Several elderly people with gray hair, dressed in dark kimonos, were sitting around a round mahogany table. Most of them were in their sixties or seventies, with a false sense of authority cultivated from years of holding high positions, and a greasy feeling from being steeped in alcohol and power.
They are the core judges of the Japan Academy Film Prize (Japan's Oscars), holding the power over which countless actors dream of winning their coveted trophies.
At this moment, the atmosphere was somewhat somber, even carrying a hint of bitter tension.
"Hmph, what kind of cultured person is he?" What "profound analysis"?
An old man with a goatee, twirling two walnuts in his hand, casually tossed the newly delivered Yomiuri Shimbun onto the tatami mat, his tone full of disdain and envy: "Look at how the newspapers are praising him! Even that old fox Watanabe is endorsing him, saying his handwriting reflects his personality." In my opinion, this article was probably ghostwritten! What does an actor not even twenty-five years old know about society? What does he know about human nature? He's just trying to attract attention!
"that is."
A fat old man with a face full of scars and a belly sticking to the edge of the table chimed in, picking up a piece of expensive tuna belly and chewing it with greasy mouth: "This kid's too arrogant. From his debut until now, it's only been a few years? Less than three, right? A smooth ride all the way, without experiencing a single setback, and he's already been hailed as some kind of national actor. Does he even respect us seniors?"
At this point, the fat old man put down his chopsticks, rubbed his fingers meaningfully, and made a gesture that everyone in that circle understood—it meant asking for "sincerity."
"Everyone, all the major agencies have come to pay their respects this year, right? Burning Group gave us golf membership cards, Horipro..."
They sent antiques and calligraphy—except for Kitahara Shin's office.
The fat old man sneered and slammed his wine glass heavily on the table: "Not even a 'tea fee'! Not even a decent visiting card! They completely disregard us! Does he think winning the ratings championship means he can ignore the rules? This is the film industry, not his childish television world!"
In Japanese award selection, although it is nominally touted as "fair and impartial," the unspoken rules behind the scenes are "personal connections and social etiquette."
Want to win an award? Sure.
First, you have to learn to bow your head, learn to give gifts, and learn to act like a grandson in front of these old men.
Only Kitahara Shin.
His firm acted like a clueless, naive young man, submitting the application form according to procedure without any behind-the-scenes maneuvering. This kind of "aloofness" was seen as an unforgivable offense by these seasoned veterans who were used to being fawned over.
"If you ask me, this year's Best Actor award should not be given to him under any circumstances."
, 7
The old man with the goatee tapped the table, setting the tone: "If he wins Best Actor so easily, all the young people will follow his example, refusing to pay their respects and breaking the rules. How will we old bones survive? What will become of the prestige of the Academy Awards?"
"But----"
A slightly younger judge sitting at the end of the table hesitated for a moment, "His performance in 'The Grand Hotel' was indeed very good, and the box office was high. If we don't give it to him, the public opinion will be..."
"Public opinion? Public opinion is worthless!"
Another judge, wearing thick-rimmed glasses, scoffed and began to dissect Kitahara Shin's resume in a seemingly professional tone, but actually full of prejudice: "That Kitahara Shin, to put it bluntly, just got lucky. Think about his rise to fame—he started by acting in those low-class gangster films to grab attention, and even did some kind of acrobatics on variety shows, it was downright low-class! That's just taking a risky path!"
"And then? He came across 'Tokyo Love Story.' It's because Yuji Sakamoto's script is so good! You could put any dog in that kind of pure love drama and it would be a hit, so what does it have to do with him? It's the script that saved the day!"
"And look at 'Grand Hotel,' which was nominated this time. That's something that madman Juzo Itami made! It's supposed to be a niche subject, but somehow it just hit the sweet spot for these stupid viewers. This guy just got lucky and stumbled upon a trend!"
""
This group of old fogies, who haven't been to a film set in a long time and only know how to pontificate at the dinner table all day, stubbornly believe that Kitahara Shin's success is accidental and a bug of the times.
They couldn't see how Kitahara Shin controlled the lightning on set, how he repeatedly practiced for a single shot, or the overwhelming talent he possessed.
In their eyes, he was a nouveau riche who didn't know the rules, was incredibly lucky, and had to be suppressed.
"So—who should get the Best Actor award?"
"Give it to Ken Takakura, or Rentaro Mikuni."
The goatee-wearing old man took a sip of sake, a decaying calculation in his eyes: "After all, he's a senior figure, his experience speaks for itself, and he's been very sensible all these years. Giving it to them makes us academics seem classy, respectful of hierarchy, and committed to tradition. As for that Kitahara Shin—"
A disdainful smile curled at the corner of his lips as he spoke like he was giving alms to a beggar: "Just give him a Best Newcomer Award," or perhaps a temporary "Topic of the Year" award to appease him. Young people need to endure a few more years; it's only right. This is also to temper his character, lest he become arrogant and overconfident."
"Haha, brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!"
The fat old man burst into laughter, "That's exactly what we should do! Let him know that in the film industry, without our approval, he's nothing!"
"As for that Watanabe Tsuneo—"
The old man with the goatee narrowed his eyes, his tone softening slightly, but still firm: "Although he's the president of the Yomiuri Shimbun, and quite capable, he's ultimately in the newspaper and baseball business; his influence doesn't extend to the judging panel of our film industry. As long as we stick to our story and emphasize 'seniority' and 'artistic merit,' no one can find fault with us."
Several wine glasses clinked together, making a crisp sound.
The murky liquor swirled in the glass, reflecting the greedy and ugly faces of this group of people.
They thought they were gatekeepers, able to arbitrarily shut out the young man. Little did they know, they were trying to stop a tsunami that was about to engulf the entire era.
These rumors quickly reached Kitahara Shin's ears through various channels.
The media also began to sense the tension.
Gossip magazines began publishing lengthy analyses of "whether Kitahara Shin would be subjected to unspoken rules" and "the behind-the-scenes manipulation of the Best Actor competition."
-
.
In the past, Kitahara Shin might have been a little nervous.
But now.
[Minato Ward, Kitahara Shin Apartments]
Kitahara Shin sat on the sofa, watching a TV program about "predicting the best actor," a playful smile playing on his lips.
"President, there's a rumor going around that those old guys want to give the award to someone else," Ota said with some concern. "Should we also...make a move?"
"Need not."
Kitahara Shin peeled a grape and popped it into his mouth, his tone relaxed: "Let them make a scene. The bigger the scene, the better."
Holding Yoshinaga Sayuri's vote and Watanabe Tsuneo's public opinion support, these two trump cards would make even the King of Heaven think twice before playing them.
Those old fogies thought they were upholding the dignity of the circle, but little did they know they were digging their own graves.
"By the way, Daejeon."
Kitahara Shin suddenly asked, "What did Miyazaki say about the premiere of 'Porco Rosso'?"
Three days later.
three days later.
A large movie theater in Shinjuku, Tokyo.
Porco Rosso premiere.
The cinema entrance was packed with people. A huge poster prominently featured a pig wearing sunglasses and piloting a red airplane. At the very bottom of the poster, a line of eye-catching text read:
Voice actor: Shin Kitahara.
This is the prestige of a top star.
When Kitahara Shin appeared on set in a casual leather jacket, the screams nearly lifted the roof off the theater.
"Ahhh! Nobu-kun!!"
"So handsome! It really is him!"
Kitahara Shin smiled and waved, but he soon noticed something interesting.
The fan base here is quite different from that of TV drama fans.
Besides the enthusiastic young women, there were also many middle-aged men who looked quite composed, and even quite a few families who brought their children.
"Is this the charm of animation?"
Kitahara Shin sighed inwardly. Animated films certainly have a wider audience than TV dramas and are more "family-friendly."
interactive session.
Host: "Kitahara-san, how do you interpret the character Porco Rosso? Everyone says this pig is very handsome, what do you think?"
Kitahara Shin picked up the microphone and smiled: "I don't know if he's handsome or not. But I do know that every middle-aged man has a pig inside him who doesn't want to fly, but just wants to lie down and bask in the sun."
"Hahaha!"
The middle-aged men in the audience chuckled knowingly. This down-to-earth response instantly bridged the gap between them.
After the event.
Backstage lounge.
Hayao Miyazaki was sitting on the sofa smoking when he saw Shin Kitahara come in, and he smiled, a rare occurrence for him.
"Thank you for your hard work. What you said earlier was quite good."
Hayao Miyazaki pointed to the chair next to him. "Sit down. I happen to have a friend I'd like to introduce you to."
Kitahara Shin turned his head.
A young man with glasses, messy hair, and a T-shirt with a strange pattern was sitting somewhat awkwardly in the corner. He looked a little neurotic, his eyes wandering, but occasionally a glint of fanaticism would flash in them.
"This is Hideaki Anno."
Hayao Miyazaki introduced, "One of the crazy guys at GAINAX. They're currently preparing a new animation, I think it's called something—"
What was the new century again?
Kitahara Shin's pupils contracted sharply.
Hideaki Anno.
Evangelion (EVA).
The mastermind behind the "money-grabbing scheme" that would completely change the history of Japanese animation and create countless legends two years later.
At this time, Hideaki Anno still appeared to be just a frustrated otaku leader.
"Hello, I'm Kitahara Shin."
Kitahara Shin reached out his hand, his eyes filled with the excitement of discovering a treasure.
"Ah—you, hello."
Hideaki Anno stood up somewhat awkwardly and shook hands. His palms were sweaty, clearly indicating he wasn't very good at handling such social situations.
"I heard you're preparing a new animation?"
Kitahara Shin didn't loosen his grip; instead, he tightened it even more, his tone so sincere it was frightening: "If you're short of money, or need voice acting resources—please contact me."
"I am very interested in this kind of thing—exploring the completion of the human soul."
Hideaki Anno was stunned.
Looking at the dazzling superstar before him, he felt his mind buzzing.
Soulful Completion?
How did this person know what I was thinking?!
Meanwhile, Hayao Miyazaki, watching this scene, exhaled a smoke ring and a meaningful smile appeared on his lips.