dkrc Chapter 114 The Masters of Face Changing
Chapter 114 The Masters of Face Changing
Chapter 114 The Masters of Face Changing
At 7 a.m., in the live broadcast studio of NHK's morning news, the male anchor, who is known for his composure, spoke noticeably faster than usual.
"Breaking news. According to our correspondent in Italy, the film 'The Grand Hotel' (also known as 'The Lies of a Grand Hotel'), directed by our country's director Juzo Itami and starring newcomer Nobu Kitahara, won the Jury Grand Prix (Silver Lion) at the recently concluded 48th Venice International Film Festival. This is following—"
The television screen switched to the awards ceremony.
Juzo Itami, dressed in a black suit, held up the heavy trophy and was surrounded by a group of blond-haired, blue-eyed foreign filmmakers.
His eyes narrowed into slits with laughter, like a fox who had just stolen a chicken; his smugness was palpable even through the screen.
Although Kitahara Shin himself did not go to Venice, this did not stop the TV station from "forcibly riding the wave" of popularity.
The director thoughtfully cut to a still from the movie in the lower right corner of the screen, showing Kitahara Shin wearing an ill-fitting old suit, kneeling in a magnificent but empty hotel lobby, awkwardly reaching out to pick up a coin that had fallen into a gap in the carpet.
The sense of utter collapse from losing all dignity is heartbreaking even through the screen.
Next to it was a bold, large gold caption: "[The Birth of a Genius: Kitahara Shin]".
Kitahara Shin held a slice of toast in his hand, sat cross-legged on the sofa in his apartment, and watched the TV screen showing himself forcibly pieced together with Itami. He took a couple of bites.
"This photo choice is really awful," he muttered.
The scene shifts, no longer showing a live recording, but back to the studio.
The guest we invited this time is the famous film critic Tanaka.
Kitahara Shin remembers this person.
Just three days ago, this same Mr. Tanaka wrote a lengthy 2,000-word column in Asahi Geino, vehemently criticizing Grand Hotel as "a self-indulgent obsession with violence and nihilism" and "ironclad proof of Itami Juzo's talent depletion."
But now, Mr. Tanaka on TV pushed up his glasses, his face glowing, as if he deserved half the credit for that trophy.
"Actually, I've been following director Itami's experiment all along."
Speaking to the camera, Tanaka's sincerity was almost heartbreaking: "Beneath the shell of violent aesthetics, he explores the loneliness and redemption deep within the modern human heart. Especially Kitahara Shin's performance, that explosive power, that delicate portrayal teetering on the edge of collapse—tsk tsk, I've said it before, he is the hope for the future of Japanese cinema. This award is well-deserved and the best reward for us longtime supporters."
Kitahara Shin almost choked on the bread in his mouth.
No, buddy.
Aren't you embarrassed?
He picked up the remote and changed the channel.
Fuji Television.
Several famous talk show hosts were discussing animatedly, their spittle flying as they exclaimed, "I heard that Hollywood producers are all captivated by Kitahara Shin!"
"This is bringing glory to the country!"
Let's switch to another channel.
Even TV Tokyo, which usually only broadcasts anime, displayed the award announcement scrolling at the bottom of the screen.
Overnight, the winds of change swept through Tokyo.
Those pundits who were spouting venom in the newspapers yesterday, wishing they could trample Juzo Itami into the mud, seem to have collectively drunk the soup of oblivion today, completely forgetting all the harsh words they said before.
Without even blushing, they immediately changed their tune, showering each other with sycophantic praise as if it were free, each one acting like a "ten-year veteran fan" better than anyone else.
Their skill in changing course with the wind was simply breathtaking.
Even the phone on the coffee table started ringing incessantly.
This time it was the firm's newly hired finance manager calling.
"President! They've gone mad! They've all gone mad!"
His voice was extremely agitated. "The distribution manager from Toho just called my personal cell phone, crying and begging for more copies! Those theater chains that pulled our film from the schedule are now willing to give up five percent of their revenue share just to get it re-released! And GG Entertainment's office phone lines are practically ringing off the hook!"
"Calm down."
Kitahara Shin swallowed the last bite of bread, his tone flat, "Tell them that scheduling can be discussed, but revenue sharing has to be done according to the new rules."
As for GG merchants, leave them for now, and send me the compiled list.
He had just hung up the phone and was about to change his clothes when another mobile phone rang.
This time it was Daejeon calling.
"Kitahara, haven't you left yet? Come over here right now!"
Ota's voice sounded even more excited than the accountant's, amidst a cacophony of voices in the background: "Hurry up and get to the office!"
"What's wrong now?" Kitahara Shin asked, a headache in his eyes. "If it's another newspaper apologizing, you can handle it yourself."
""
"Have you forgotten? Didn't you ask me to recruit new people?"
Da Tian lowered his voice on the other end, "Taking advantage of the Venice wave, I've brought you a lot of promising talents. Come and take a look!"
"Okay, I got it. I'll head over now."
After hanging up the phone, Kitahara Nobu turned off the TV.
The room returned to silence.
Looking at the blacked-out screen, Kitahara Shin twitched the corner of his mouth.
This circle is really humorous.
The victor is king, the loser is villain—that's the only truth. When you win, even your farts smell sweet; when you lose, even your breathing is wrong.
However, none of this matters anymore.
For him, the chapter about Venice is over.
The trophy belongs to Juzo Itami, and the honor belongs to everyone, but the foundation for Shin Kitahara's path has only just begun to be laid.
Since Da Tian said he has some good seedlings, let's go take a look.
He picked up his coat, pushed open the door, and went out.
2 PM, Shibuya.
Kitahara Shin pushed open the door to the office.
After this period of operation, the firm has long since shed its initial immaturity. Although it is not yet a top-tier firm, under Da Tian's management, both the interior decoration and the employees' morale have become the hallmark of a large, reputable company.
Kitahara Shin was stunned by the sight before him as soon as he stepped out of the elevator.
The corridor was packed with people.
The man is handsome, and the woman is beautiful.
These people all looked very young; some were wearing high school uniforms, others were dressed fashionably, and they were all holding resumes, standing in a long line waiting for their interviews.
"Isn't that too much?"
Kitahara Shin sidestepped a long-legged beauty who was touching up her makeup and finally squeezed into the office. "Ota, where did you go to gather all the school beauties and hunks in Tokyo?"
Ota finally managed to squeeze out of the crowd, covered in sweat. When he saw Kitahara Shin, his eyes lit up, and he quickly grabbed Kitahara Shin's arm and pulled him into a corner.
"Shhh-keep it down."
Da Tian glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention, then lowered his voice and said with a mischievous grin, "Isn't this all thanks to you?"
He nudged Kitahara Shin with his shoulder, his tone brimming with the slyness of a shrewd businessman who'd just pulled off a successful scheme: "I just added one line to the recruitment poster—'Want to be the next Kitahara Shin to win an award at Venice?' Good grief, these kids went crazy and swarmed over as soon as they saw those words."
"This is false advertising." Kitahara Shin said speechlessly, pulling up a chair and sitting down.
"This is called vision marketing."
Da Tian chuckled and pushed a stack of resumes over. "Don't rush to criticize. Take a look at the quality of these people. I just did a quick screening, and there are quite a few promising talents. Young people these days are much better nourished than we were back then; they're all incredibly fresh and energetic."
Kitahara Shin casually flipped through a few resumes.
indeed.
Both in terms of appearance and temperament, the quality of this group of interviewees was frighteningly high.
That's not surprising. After all, these kids grew up during the 1980s, when Japan's economy was at its most frenzied and glorious. They drank the finest milk, wore the most fashionable clothes, and received the most relaxed and confident education. They've never experienced what "scarcity" means.
That golden age, built with real money, not only drove land prices sky-high, but also nurtured the spirit of that generation of young people. Their eyes shone with light, their faces were free of bitterness, and the confidence and ease that emanated from their very bones was something that the children who grew up in the "Lost Thirty Years" could never match.
"Your current fame is your biggest asset."
"Before, we had to beg people to come to us; now, people are begging us to take them in. That's the Oscar effect—oh wait, I mean the Silver Lion effect."
Kitahara Shin smiled but didn't say anything. He stood up, walked to the one-way glass, and looked at the crowd in the waiting hall outside.
A variety of young faces.
Some were so nervous they were rubbing their hands together, some were practicing smiling in front of the mirror, and some were chatting with the people next to them.
Sudden.
Kitahara Shin's gaze stopped.
In a corner of the crowd, near the water dispenser, stood a tall girl.
She was wearing a very ordinary beige trench coat, her hair was simply tied in a ponytail, and she wore a pair of slightly large black-rimmed glasses, seemingly trying to conceal her appearance.
But that kind of thing can't be hidden.
Even among this group of handsome men and beautiful women, her towering height and her cool and gentle temperament still stood out like a lamp lit in the dark.
She kept her head down, clutching her resume tightly in her hand, her whole being tense, looking like she wanted to be noticed but was also afraid of being recognized.
Kitahara Shin narrowed his eyes.
Isn't that Nanako Matsushima?
How did she end up here?
"Ota," Kitahara Shin pointed in that direction, "call in the guy in the beige trench coat."
"Which one?" Da Tian leaned closer for a look. "Oh, that tall one? Okay, I think she's pretty good too, but she's been acting all evasive and doesn't seem very confident."
Five minutes later.
There was a knock on the office door.
"Please come in."
The door was pushed open a crack, and Nanako Matsushima, like a student who had done something wrong and was called to the disciplinary office, dawdled and squeezed in.
Today, she deliberately wore a very low-key beige trench coat, and her face was covered by black-rimmed glasses that could cover half of her face. She was clutching the notebook that she cherished tightly in her arms, and her whole body was as tense as a fully drawn bowstring.
Upon entering, she saw Kitahara Shin sitting behind his desk, looking at her with a half-smile. Her prepared self-introduction instantly caught in her throat.
"Kita---Teacher Kitahara!"
She stood at attention almost instinctively, and the address slipped out.
"Alright, close the door."
Kitahara Shin pointed to the chair opposite him. "Also, take off your glasses. I didn't see you wearing glasses when you were peeking from behind the equipment case on set, so why are you acting all high and mighty here?"
Nanako froze, her face turning bright red instantly.
So it turns out—he had already found out!
She hurriedly closed the door, took off her glasses, revealing a beautiful yet flustered face. She lowered her head, walked to the chair, and sat down, clutching the notebook tightly in her arms, looking extremely nervous.
"Nanako".
Kitahara Shin leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the table, producing a series of dull "tap-tap" sounds.
"What are you doing here? Don't you have an agency?"
Upon hearing this, Nanako's already tense body stiffened even more. Like a primary school student being called on by the teacher, she only dared to sit on the third of the chair.
"I----"
"Wait a moment."
Kitahara Shin raised his hand to interrupt her.
"If I remember correctly, you signed with Asahi Kasei, right?"
"7
Kitahara Shin put it bluntly: "I don't need to elaborate on the size of Asahi Kasei. You have access to top-tier exposure resources, plus your face—to be honest, it's only a matter of time before you become famous. All you lack is a suitable gig or a TV series that will give you exposure."
He was telling the truth.
Although Nanako Matsushima in front of me still looks young and doesn't quite know how to do makeup, her naturally gifted bone structure is already undeniable.
As long as she stays at her original big company and steadily shoots magazines and gets recognized, a lot of producers will naturally come knocking on her door in a year or two.
"Is there any need to abandon that aircraft carrier and come to my newly launched little wrecked boat?"
These words were like a bucket of cold water, poured directly down my throat.
The room was so quiet that the only sound was the noisy conversations coming from the hallway outside.
Nanako Matsushima lowered her head, her hands tightly gripping the notebook in her arms, her fingertips turning white from the force.
Of course she knew Kitahara Shin was right.
The original agency was indeed excellent, with a grand building and dedicated agents. But—
"I don't like it there."
She suddenly spoke.
The sound wasn't loud, but it was very steady.
Nanako looked up, and the panic in her eyes, hidden behind her black-rimmed glasses, was gone, replaced by an almost stubborn determination.
"They only made me wear pretty clothes, taught me how to smile sweetly, and how to pose to make my legs look longer. Every time I went to audition, they said that Matsushima-san just needed to be a pretty doll."
1
She took a deep breath and looked intently at Kitahara Shin. "But I don't want to be a puppet, a decorative vase. I want to act, to act like you."
"Like me?" Kitahara Shin blinked and laughed.
"You have similar opportunities in your company."
"It's different!"
At this point, she seemed to have mustered all her courage and said loudly, "Although I might have opportunities, I absolutely cannot act on a set like 'The Grand Hotel's Lies.' I feel that only by staying by your side can I learn true acting! Please, please take me in!"
After saying that, she suddenly stood up and bowed deeply to Kitahara Shin, her head almost hitting the table.
Kitahara Shin did not reply immediately.
He looked at the girl in front of him, who was bent over and trembling slightly, and gently stroked his chin with his fingers.
Impressive.
The future queen of Japanese dramas is now begging to work for me.
A potential star like Nanako Matsushima would be a cash cow that companies would fight tooth and nail to acquire in later generations.
Now it's been delivered right to my lips.
If even Nanako Matsushima could be poached—
What about the others?
Once this thought popped into his head, it grew wildly in Kitahara Shin's mind like weeds.
The Japanese entertainment industry is currently on the eve of a golden transition between the old and the new.
Yukie Nakama is probably still a backup dancer at some performing arts school in Okinawa; Ryoko Hirosue is likely still a primary school student running around everywhere; and then there are the slightly older Yuki Uchida and Izumi Inamori—
These names, which will dominate Japanese television screens for two decades to come, are either still unknown or, like Nanako, are being treated as unimportant "decorative figures" in the corners of some large companies.
Why not be a little more greedy?
Instead of waiting for them to become famous before collaborating, it's better to bring them all to our territory now.
Transform this small, still-under-renovation studio into the only "Whampoa Military Academy" for the Japanese entertainment industry over the next thirty years.
Ambition is contagious.
Kitahara Shin withdrew his gaze, looking at Nanako who was still bowing, and the smile on his lips slowly deepened.
"Alright, straighten your back now."
He said it calmly.
Nanako carefully straightened up, looking at him nervously, "Kitahara-san?"
"Since you've put it this way, if I were to kick you out, it would seem like I'm being heartless."
Kitahara Shin took out a pre-prepared general newcomer contract from the drawer and casually tossed it on the table. "I know you haven't resolved the contract issue yet, but Ota will talk to Asahi Kasei. You don't need to worry about it."
Nanako stared at the contract, her eyes widening instantly, as if she hadn't yet realized that happiness had come so suddenly.
"Once you sign it, you'll be one of us."
Kitahara Shin picked up his pen and tapped it on the table. "But let me make this clear: once you're in my circle, you won't have the chance to be just a pretty face anymore. I'll squeeze every last drop of your potential out of you, so be prepared to cry."
"Yes! I'm not afraid!"
Nanako's cheeks flushed with excitement, and her hand trembled as she gripped the pen. "Thank you, Kitahara-san! I will—I will definitely work my hardest!"
Kitahara Shin watched her leave, clutching the contract in a daze, and couldn't help but shake his head and smile.
Then, he picked up the phone and dialed Daejeon's internal line.
"Ota."
"You can help me screen the candidates at the entrance, but I hope you can find more people and recruit from more places."
"Well, it's okay to spend more money; we must cast a wide net."