I, Hiroshi Nohara, the star of Japanese cinema

Chapter 140: The Production of "Hachiko: A Dog's Tale"! A Shock to TV Tokyo!

The next morning, as the first rays of dawn pierced through the thin mist and gently bathed the vast expanse of emerald green rice paddies, the Nohara family's old house was already awakened by a warm aroma that blended the fragrance of rice with the savory taste of miso soup.

"Hey Hiroshi, you rarely come back, can't you sleep a little longer?"

In the kitchen, Nohara Tsuru looked at her handsome youngest son, who was skillfully helping her, with a gentle smile on her face.

Hiroshi Nohara placed the freshly fried tamagoyaki, which exuded an enticing aroma, onto a plate and said with a smile, "Mom, I'm used to waking up early in Tokyo. Besides, being able to eat breakfast made by you is much more important to me than sleeping."

These words were like a spoonful of perfectly balanced honey, instantly filling Nohara Tsuru's motherly heart with sweetness.

"You're so sweet-talking," she said with a laugh, but deep in her eyes was a tenderness that could never be extinguished.

At the dinner table, the family enjoyed a harmonious and happy time together.

With two faint dark circles under his eyes, Nohara Ginnosuke was clearly too excited from last night's engagement party to sleep well. He was slurping miso soup while, in the tone of an experienced man, imparting his "Ginnosuke-style" wisdom on how to manage a wife to his eldest son, who was also somewhat out of sorts.

“Xiaozhi, let me tell you, you can’t spoil women too much. You have to stand up for yourself when necessary! Otherwise, your status at home will be…”

Before he could finish speaking, an iron fist filled with the murderous aura of "Crane Flow" landed heavily under the table with a whoosh, striking his restless old leg precisely.

"Ouch!"

Nohara Ginnosuke let out a shrill scream, his old face instantly filled with grievance.

"Hahaha……"

A burst of good-natured laughter instantly filled the small Japanese-style room.

After breakfast, Nohara Tsuru pulled Misae, who was also laughing heartily, along with her, saying that they were going to visit a few familiar distant relatives and, incidentally, let her soon-to-be daughter-in-law get acquainted with the local customs and culture of Akita Prefecture.

Nohara Sashi was even more enthusiastic. Early in the morning, he drove his imposing Land Cruiser, carrying a detailed map of the surrounding land given to him by his future father-in-law, and set off in a great hurry to expand the territory of "Nohara Agriculture Co., Ltd."

The noisy old house has finally returned to tranquility.

Hiroshi Nohara returned to his Japanese-style room, filled with memories of his childhood, carrying a cup of warm barley tea.

He ignored the flood of work reports coming in from Tokyo, and he didn't think about the complex business plans.

He simply sat down quietly at the low table, spread out a sheet of snow-white drawing paper, and picked up the paintbrush that he had long regarded as his companion.

Outside the window, cicadas chirped in the height of summer, while rice paddies swayed in the breeze across the fields.

Inside the window, the soft rustling sound of a pen tip moving across paper is like a silkworm tirelessly munching on mulberry leaves.

His eyes were calm yet burning with passion.

What he painted was the legendary story about "loyalty" and "waiting" that he had conceived countless times in his mind.

The Tale of Hachiko, a loyal dog.

He doesn't need to think, he doesn't need to compose a picture.

Because all the stories and all the scenes had long been etched into his soul like the deepest imprints.

The pen tip moved across the paper with fluid grace.

A train station, a lonely Akita dog waiting, and an owner who will never return...

Spring, summer, autumn, and winter—the four seasons cycle.

Cherry blossoms bloom and fade, snow falls and melts.

The crowds in front of the station came and went, but only that lonely figure, day after day, year after year, rain or shine, watched over that miracle that could never happen.

Hiroshi Nohara drew very quickly, so quickly that it even left afterimages.

Those classic scenes that moved millions of viewers in his past life are reproduced on this small piece of paper in his brushstrokes, like film reels that have been fast-forwarded.

However, when he painted the last scene, when he painted the old Akita dog Hachiko slowly closing its eyes in the swirling snow, finally seeing its beloved owner again in its dream, who was giving it a gentle smile...

Hiroshi Nohara's hand holding the pen suddenly paused.

A warm drop of liquid uncontrollably slid down from the corner of his eye, dripping onto the unfinished drawing and spreading into a small, dark stain.

"Ugh……"

Hiroshi Nohara let out a long breath.

He knew that although the story had been embellished by art, the "loyalty" that transcended species and life and death was so real that it could move any heart that still had warmth.

"Movie……"

Looking at the thick stack of drawings before him, which embodied all his hard work, a more intense flame ignited in his eyes, which always held a hint of a smile.

If TV dramas and variety shows are the sharp weapons he used to conquer territory and build his own "ratings kingdom".

So perhaps film, this magical dream-making machine known as the "seventh art," is what he truly wants to conquer—that vast ocean of stars full of infinite possibilities.

"Besides..."

Hiroshi Nohara smiled confidently.

"The movie 'Hachiko Monogatari' from my previous life grossed an astonishing 2 billion yen at the box office in 1987. Based on the prices and purchasing power of this world, and with my current fame, if things go well, the final box office will definitely not be lower than that number."

"A movie can generate at least a billion yen in net profit... Just thinking about it is exciting."

Hiroshi Nohara doesn't mind having too much money!

So he carefully organized the detailed movie script that he had already written, along with the thick stack of comic storyboards, and put them into a brand new kraft paper file folder.

After doing all this, he stood up, stretched, and moved his stiff neck, making a few crisp cracking sounds.

It's time to show those guys in Tokyo what true, overwhelming power looks like.

……

In the only printing shop in Daqu City equipped with the latest high-speed fax machine, the owner, who was usually listless and made a living by photocopying ID cards and household registration books for his fellow villagers, was now looking at the young man in front of him as if he were a monster, stuffing a thick stack of manuscript paper, as thick as a brick, into the fax machine one by one.

"Young...young man," the shopkeeper's voice trembled slightly, "you...you're...you're sending a fax to Tokyo?"

"Yes." Hiroshi Nohara nodded.

"This... how many pages will this be? I... my machine... I'm afraid it'll take until dark to transfer them?" The boss swallowed hard.

"Don't worry, it won't ruin your business."

Hiroshi Nohara pulled out a few Fukuzawa Yukichi bills from his wallet and casually placed them on the counter, his posture exuding an undeniable air of wealth: "This is the deposit. We'll settle the rest of the bill after the delivery is complete."

The boss's eyes widened instantly when he saw those ten-thousand-yuan bills, enough to make anyone in the countryside go crazy.

He dared not utter another word of nonsense, and instead, like the most loyal servant, deftly adjusted the machine for this God of Wealth.

Since they've already paid, there's nothing more to say.

Then send it!
Soon, the fax machine began to buzz, like a wild beast awakened, greedily devouring the divine scripts belonging to Hachiko.

Hiroshi Nohara did not linger near the machine.

He picked up his phone and dialed the number he knew by heart.

The phone rang only once before it was quickly answered.

"Hiroshi-kun?!" Asumi's voice, full of surprise, came from the other end of the phone: "How was it? Did you have fun back home? Did you relax properly?"

The tone was full of concern from an elder for a younger person.

"Thanks to you, everything is fine." Hiroshi Nohara smiled. "However, I'm not calling you today to report on personal matters. I have a new film project here, the script and storyboards, which I've already sent to your office fax machine. You can take a look when you have time."

"A film project?!"

Asumi's voice suddenly rose, her surprise instantly replaced by a more intense shock: "Hiroshi-kun! You...you're not kidding, are you?! You already have three hit shows! How...how could you suddenly decide to go and make movies?!"

"It's just a vague idea." Hiroshi Nohara's tone remained nonchalant. "Take a look at the script first, and we'll talk about it later."

After he finished speaking, he hung up the phone decisively without giving the other party any chance to refute him.

All that remained on the other end of the phone was the leader of the Kanto faction, who had been a master strategist on the power chessboard of Tokyo Television, standing there dumbfounded, his refined face filled with disbelief and astonishment.

It wasn't because Hiroshi Nohara dared to hang up on him directly.

Instead, it was on the side.

The fax machine did indeed make a sound.

Asumi looked at the fax machine in his office, which was buzzing and frantically spitting out papers. His heart, which had become somewhat fragile because of Hiroshi Nohara's various "miracles," began to pound wildly again at this moment.

Almost instinctively, he rushed over and snatched the few sheets of manuscript paper that had just been faxed over, still warm to the touch, from the machine that was still spitting out paper.

His gaze fell on the cover.

Above, written in a powerful font, were several large characters that could move anyone.

—Hachiko: A Dog's Tale

"It really is a movie script!?"

Asumi's breath caught in her throat.

Then, trusting Hiroshi Nohara, he almost greedily and meticulously read the magical script, word by word.

His expression shifted from initial confusion to astonishment, then to shock, and finally to a profound and unfathomable emotion, completely overwhelmed by the purest feelings.

When he saw the end, when he saw the Akita dog named "Hachiko" waiting patiently for its owner in front of Shibuya Station for ten years, finally closing its eyes peacefully in the wind and snow...

This middle-aged man, whose emotions had long been hardened to the point of being as tough as steel through his experience in the business and political arenas, found his eyes, which always carried a hint of refined smile, suddenly filled with an uncontrollable mist.

"loyalty……"

He muttered to himself, his voice carrying a trembling sound of being utterly struck.

He knows it all too well.

He knew all too well what the word "loyalty" truly meant to a nation that upheld the "bushido spirit."

It was a supreme moral principle, deeply ingrained in our bones and almost a belief!
This story, in the purest, most tear-jerking, and most irrational way, elevates this "loyalty" to a sacred height that is enough to move anyone!

"What a...wonderful script! This...this is simply...a divine script tailor-made for the people of Japan!"

Asahi slammed his hand on the table. All hesitation vanished from his refined face, leaving only a fanaticism that emanated from his very bones!

He guessed that once this movie was made, the energy it could unleash would far exceed the combined energy of "Tales of the Unusual" and "Super Transformation"!

That will no longer be a simple ratings!
That will be a cultural phenomenon that will sweep across Japanese society, and even... reach beyond national borders and move the world!

No one can deny loyalty.

Once classes, gaps, and distances emerged among human beings, then...

Loyalty is the most fundamental element between people. However, after the initial elation, a deeper, more oppressive worry, like a dark cloud, once again enveloped Asumi's heart.

"Ugh……"

He let out a long breath, a breath filled with a sense of frustration and disappointment.

The script is divine, and the creativity is unparalleled.

but……

He looked at the script in his hand, then at the bustling and restless Tokyo outside the window, and at that moment he felt somewhat powerless.

Hiroshi Nohara is indeed a god.

But even gods get tired.

Animation, TV series, variety shows...

This young man, only twenty-three years old, has already, like a tireless ox, cultivated three fertile fields on this barren land for the Kanto faction, fields that would make anyone envious.

Now, he's even going to challenge himself with "movies".

This endless deep sea is full of unknowns and dangers?
A hint of doubt arose in Asumi's mind: "Isn't Hiroshi Nohara a little... too arrogant?"

It wasn't that he didn't believe in Hiroshi Nohara's talent.

He simply... didn't believe that Hiroshi Nohara could adapt to the film industry again.

It was an independent kingdom, completely different from the television industry, more closed and more exclusive.

There, talent is not the only passport.

Connections, seniority, factions, and even... luck can all be the final straw that breaks a genius's back.

Otherwise, how could Eiji Kurosawa, the director of the Kanto school and the number one samurai film director, have been silent for nearly seven or eight years without making a single film?
That is, they were just preparing to shoot another samurai film this year.

But based on his understanding...

Eiji Kurosawa's samurai film is still facing the same difficulties in production, with work even being halted several times.

At this moment, there was a gentle knock on the office door.

His chief secretary, that intellectual beauty, walked in with a somewhat strange expression on her face.

"Deputy Director, this is... a new project proposal for Director Kurosawa's new film, 'The Samurai in the Blacksmith Shop,' which was just sent over."

She gently placed a document on Asumi's desk.

Asumi looked at that familiar project report, which had been rejected countless times already, and her already agitated heart was completely ignited by an unnamed fire.

He didn't even bother to open it, but asked in a weary tone, "What happened now? Which part went wrong this time?"

"It's...it's the budget."

The secretary's voice was tinged with caution: "The board still feels that Director Kurosawa's project involves too much investment and carries too high a risk, and does not meet... does not meet current market expectations. They... they suggest cutting the budget again... by thirty percent."

"Bastard!"

Asahi slammed his hand on the table, his refined face contorted with undisguised rage!

"Even a national treasure like director Kurosawa has been repeatedly tortured and humiliated in this way! This damned film industry, already corrupted by capital and factions! Is there any hope for it?!"

He looked at the hopeful copy of "Hachiko: A Dog's Tale" in his hand, then at the despairing copy of "The Samurai in the Blacksmith's Shop" on the table, and a growing sense of powerlessness threatened to overwhelm him.

Hiroshi Nohara's ship wanted to carve a bloody path through this desolate ocean, which had long been sealed off by the icebergs of the old era.

The difficulty was far greater than he had imagined.

and……

Asumi looked at "The Samurai in the Blacksmith's Shop" and slowly pursed his lips, somewhat forced to admit it.

Samurai film.

It is indeed somewhat outdated.

That's how movies are; good themes from the past become outdated after a certain period.

Even a great director like Eiji Kurosawa is no exception.

He hasn't entered the film industry yet.

Hiroshi Nohara, who still wants to get in... can he really succeed?!

Or.

Asumi worries, "Will Hiroshi Nohara really make a movie?"

……

Eiji Kurosawa's studio in the suburbs of Tokyo.

In an editing room where sunlight never shines, Eiji Kurosawa is watching the rough cut footage, which he has already seen countless times, repeatedly, in an almost self-destructive manner.

This master, once known in the Japanese film industry for his "samurai spirit," now resembles an aged lion trapped in a cage. His once sharp eyes, which had produced countless classic shots, now only show lingering weariness and restlessness.

"stop."

His hoarse voice broke the monotonous clicking of the editing machine.

The image freezes on the face of a samurai filled with tragedy and determination. The owner of that face is the protagonist of his painstaking new work, "The Samurai in the Blacksmith's Shop".

"Soejima-kun, Watanabe-kun." Kurosawa Eiji didn't turn around, but lightly tapped the cold metal control panel with his knuckles. "You two, tell me the truth. This film, isn't it... a bit too peaceful?"

The assistant director, Shohei Soejima, and the editor, Ichiro Watanabe, who were called out, exchanged a glance, their faces showing just the right amount of respectful bewilderment.

"How could that be, Director?" Shohei Soejima quickly stepped forward. "I think this is your best samurai work in the last ten years! Especially the ending scene, it was simply a stroke of genius!"

"Yes, yes!" Editor Watanabe nodded in agreement, pointing to the frozen scene on the screen, his voice filled with professional analysis and admiration: "The protagonist, with his last comrades, fought a bloody battle, ultimately dying a tragic death beneath the daimyo's castle. And on the castle wall, the seemingly incompetent daimyo revealed a sinister smile, pulling out a whole row of matchlock muskets at the unsuspecting enemy troops who attacked! This twist was so unexpected!"

"The age of samurai ended with firearms. A tragedy marks the end of an era. This approach of using the small to reveal the big is full of your unique tragic aesthetics! I believe that once it's released, it will definitely cause a sensation!"

The two men's compliments were like two spoonfuls of lukewarm sugar water; instead of calming Kurosawa Eiji's anxiety, they made him even more irritable.

He let out a long breath, a breath that carried the desolation of a hero in his twilight years.

“I know all that you’re talking about.” He slowly turned around, his weathered face filled with the most rigorous scrutiny of a top creator of his own work: “But this… is not enough.”

He pointed at the screen, his voice filled with heartache: "Don't you think the core of this story is still too old? It's still the same old stuff: loyalty, betrayal, honor, revenge... I've been making samurai films my whole life, telling these kinds of stories my whole life. The audience... is already tired of it."

"But director, isn't that what samurai films are all about?" Shohei Soejima asked, somewhat puzzled.

“Yes, but also no.” Eiji Kurosawa shook his head, a hint of confusion, which he himself was unaware of, flashing in his slightly cloudy eyes: “I always feel that it… it’s missing something. It’s missing something new that can truly pierce this era.”

In this somber atmosphere filled with artistic dilemmas, the door to the editing room was gently pushed open.

His assistant, Kobayashi, with a look of fear on his face, carefully placed a document in front of Eiji Kurosawa as if presenting a death notice.

"Director... we just received a notification from the board of directors."

Eiji Kurosawa picked up the document and glanced at it casually. His already gloomy face instantly turned as black as the bottom of a pot.

“Budget cuts? The third time?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a chilling murderous intent: “From the initial 500 million, to 400 million, and now, only 300 million left? Do they… want me to film a war with just one camera?!”

"The board of directors said... that your insistence on not using popular idol stars as the male lead has made the film's commercial prospects uncertain, so..." Kobayashi's voice grew softer and softer until it was almost inaudible.

"A popular idol star?" Eiji Kurosawa sneered, his laughter filled with contempt and disdain. "To have a pretty boy who can't even hold a sword properly and whose crying scenes are all about using eye drops, play the samurai in my heart who carries the tragedy of an entire era? Are they... insulting me, or insulting the word 'samurai film'?!"

He crumpled the document into a ball and slammed it on the ground, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Tell them! Three hundred million it is! Even if only one hundred million is left, I, Eiji Kurosawa, will never bow my proud head to capital or to those scum!”

"Hey!" Xiaolin felt like he had been granted a pardon and scrambled out of the room.

The editing room fell into a deathly silence once again.

Shohei Soejima and Ichiro Watanabe watched the man pacing back and forth in the room like a thoroughly enraged lion, their faces filled with suppressed helplessness and sympathy.

They know it too well.

Times have truly changed.

Twenty years ago, ten years ago, who dared to cut Eiji Kurosawa's budget? Those producers would just kowtow to him, begging him to film more and more.

But now...

A hero grows old, a tiger falls from grace.

"Director, what about our subsequent filming plans?" Shohei Soejima asked cautiously.

"Reduce it!" Eiji Kurosawa spat out the word through gritted teeth, his voice filled with resentment and humiliation. "Change that planned battle of a thousand people to a hundred. Change all the streets that need to be built on location to studio shots. Tell the art department to create the most textured 'cheap and shabby' feel for me with the least amount of money!"

As he spoke, he slumped back into his chair, his spine, which had been straight all his life, now slightly hunched over.

He knew he lost.

He didn't lose to his opponent, but to this cold era that no longer belonged to him.

But as Eiji Kurosawa sat down in the chair, a name came to mind.

The name of a young man.

Hiroshi Nohara.

Eiji Kurosawa didn't know why he thought of this young man, especially since this young man had never actually made a movie, but had only produced animated films, directed episodic TV dramas, and created successful variety shows.

Indeed, they have all achieved very good results.

They all broke records.

Even on the closed filming set, he heard countless people praising Hiroshi Nohara.

However, Eiji Kurosawa is now certain that Hiroshi Nohara has never made a movie and will never make one.

After all, Hiroshi Nohara isn't in the film industry.

"But why am I thinking of him?" Eiji Kurosawa rubbed his temples, feeling absurd that he was thinking of Hiroshi Nohara.

Because deep down, without even realizing it, he felt that it would be better if Hiroshi Nohara were by his side...

I am a well-established first-class director.

Now, I can't help but think of a young man who has just graduated from university and has never made or been involved in film before?
Isn't that absurd?
Eiji Kurosawa couldn't help but give a wry smile: "Am I really out of touch with the times? I wish a young person... could teach me?"

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(End of this chapter)