I, Hiroshi Nohara, the star of Japanese cinema

Chapter 144 Eiji Kurosawa's Bow! "Seven Samurai" Officially Launched! Spy Kenji Sato!

TV Tokyo, production headquarters building.

Asumi's office.

"...Peasants are the stingiest, the most cunning, the cowardly, the wicked, and the incompetent! But who made them like this? It was you, you warriors!"

Eiji Kurosawa, the master revered as a "living legend" in the Japanese film industry, was now like a most devout student, repeatedly and almost greedily savoring Hiroshi Nohara's earth-shattering lines.

His sharp eyes, which had captured countless classic shots, were now burning with a terrifying light that could set the entire room ablaze!
His large, powerful hand, covered in age spots, was still gripping Hiroshi Nohara's arm tightly, as if he were grasping not the arm of a young man, but a lifeline that could pull him out of the quagmire of his long-dried-up inspiration!

"Nohara-kun! Your...your idea...is simply...simply genius!" His voice was hoarse with extreme excitement. All the weariness and confusion on his weathered face had faded, leaving only a look of fervor and awe after glimpsing the light of divine wisdom in the darkness!
"Director Kurosawa, please don't get agitated." Hiroshi Nohara's face showed a helpless expression that was both funny and exasperating.

He knew he seemed to have accidentally stirred up a hornet's nest.

Asumi, standing to the side, was completely stunned by what she saw.

He stared blankly at the national treasure-level master, then at the young man who had been calmly smiling the whole time, and felt utterly absurd!

Kurosawa Eiji!

That stubborn old man, whom even the deputy director had to treat with utmost respect, addressing him as "Director Kurosawa"!
Now, he's acting like a little fan, grabbing the arm of a young man who's even younger than his grandson, his face flushed, begging for "guidance."
This...this is no longer just a simple matter of "valuing"!

This is clearly a divine miracle!

"Hiroshi-kun, that 'Seven Samurai' you mentioned..." Kurosawa Eiji took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the fervor in his heart, his eyes fixed on Nohara Hiroshi, as if trying to see right through him: "These seven people, don't they... each have their own version of events?"

“Yes.” Hiroshi Nohara nodded. He knew that some things, once ignited, could never be extinguished.

He simply sat down again on that soft sofa, and in front of the two big shots who were already completely impressed by him, he slowly began to construct that magnificent world that was enough to overturn the entire history of Japanese cinema.

"Director Kurosawa, the core of your script is 'the tragedy of a fake samurai.' But I'm thinking, why can't we broaden the scope a bit more?"

His voice was calm, yet it struck Kurosawa Eiji's heart like a heavy hammer.

“We’re not talking about a single samurai, but an entire social class. We don’t need a single protagonist, but a group of characters. Seven samurai, seven distinct personalities, seven completely different lives. Each of them represents one of the core virtues of the ‘Bushido’ spirit.”

He paused, and under the increasingly intense gazes of the two men, slowly extended a finger.

"First, there is the leader, Shimada Kanbei. He is a veteran of countless battles, both wise and brave, but he has long been weary of killing. He represents 'benevolence'—the benevolent are invincible, it is the compassionate heart that chooses to stand up even after seeing through the impermanence of the world."

"Secondly, there is the sword master, Kyuzo. He is taciturn, his swordsmanship is divine, and he has spent his life pursuing the ultimate in swordsmanship. He represents 'honor' - the honor of a samurai, which is more important than life."

"And there's Kanbei's old friend, Shichiroji. He used to be a samurai, but he had long since taken off his armor and become a peddler. But when his old friend called, he returned without hesitation. He represents 'loyalty'—a promise between men that transcends life and death."

"Next is Hayashida Heihachi. He's always cheerful, and even in dire straits, he can defuse his companions' tension with a joke. He represents 'courage'—true courage is not being fearless, but choosing to smile even in fear."

"There is also Gorobei Katayama, a wise man who is well-versed in military strategy. He represents 'wisdom'."

"Katsushiro Okamoto, a young samurai of noble birth but naive to the ways of the world, cherishes the purest yearning for the samurai spirit and represents 'sincerity'."

"Finally, and most importantly, the last person." Hiroshi Nohara's lips curled into a meaningful smile: "Kikuchiyo. A peasant who, through lies and brute force, forced his way into the ranks of samurai—a fake. He's rude, lecherous, and boastful, possessing almost all the worst traits of a peasant. But more than anyone else, he yearns to be a true samurai. He represents 'compassion'—sympathy for the weak, and an inseparable pity for his own origins. He will be the most important bridge connecting the two opposing classes of 'samurai' and 'peasant'."

"..."

The entire office fell into an eerie, deathly silence once again.

Eiji Kurosawa sat there blankly, all expression gone from his weathered face, leaving only a numbness and emptiness, a result of being utterly crushed by his absolute genius.

Seven warriors, seven virtues.

Benevolence, honor, loyalty, courage, wisdom, sincerity, compassion...

This...this is no longer a simple story!
This is an immortal epic that can completely deconstruct and then sublimate the entire spirit of "Bushido"!

"Then...what about the farmers?!" Eiji Kurosawa's voice was hoarse with extreme excitement. He was like a drowning man grasping at the last straw!
"The farmers are the real core of this story."

Hiroshi Nohara looked at him, a profound insight into human nature flashing in his calm eyes: "Director Kurosawa, you just said that your story is too peaceful. That's because you portrayed the farmers as too 'good'."

"They are simple, kind, oppressed by bandits, and waiting for the samurai to save them. It's a classic heroic narrative. But it's not true."

What is reality?

"The truth is, farmers are more terrifying and cunning than bandits!"

Hiroshi Nohara slowly and clearly uttered his "peasant theory," a statement that was enough to overturn the worldviews of everyone present.

"They are stingy, cunning, cowardly, and wicked... but who made them like this? It is you warriors!"

This argument, full of dialectics and irony, is like the sharpest scalpel, precisely cutting through the idyllic, hypocritical veil that has been beautified a thousand times by countless works of art.

It laid bare the bloody reality, filled with class antagonism and the struggle of humanity, to everyone!
"Class... antagonism..."

Asuka muttered to herself, and for the first time, a deep-seated fear, emanating from the very marrow of her bones, surfaced in her eyes, which always gleamed with shrewdness.

Looking at the young man, he felt as if he were not seeing a director, but a terrifying monster who could see through the underlying logic of how society works!

"That's right! That's exactly it!" Eiji Kurosawa slapped his thigh, and his once somewhat ashen old face now shone with a radiance that was almost like a final burst of energy before death!

"I understand! I understand everything! We're not telling a simple story of a samurai saving farmers! We're telling a tragedy about 'trust' and 'betrayal,' 'protection' and 'exploitation,' a story filled with the struggles of human nature!"

"The samurai protected the peasants, yet was ultimately abandoned by them. The peasants used the samurai, but also regained their lost dignity through the samurai's protection. This... this is the true, sophisticated reversal, full of tragic aesthetics!"

Like a martial arts master who has unlocked his full potential, he paced back and forth excitedly in the office, muttering to himself. His sharp eyes blazed with a creative fervor that would make anyone take notice!
"Then... what about the ending? How did it end?" Asumi looked at the two men who were already caught up in the creative frenzy and finally couldn't help but ask the question that he cared about most.

"The ending?" Hiroshi Nohara's lips curled into a cold, surgically precise arc.

"The ending, of course, was victory. The bandits were wiped out, the village was saved, and the farmers sang and danced, celebrating the harvest. But..."

He paused, and under the increasingly tense gazes of the two men, slowly uttered that cruel answer that would make all heroic narratives pale in comparison.

"Of the seven warriors, four died. Only three survived."

"Why?!" Asumi blurted out almost immediately!

"Because the three who survived represent the true tragic core of this story."

Hiroshi Nohara looked at him with eyes that were like those of a god looking down on the wars of mortals, full of calm and indifference.

"The first one is the leader, Kanbei. He looked at the jubilant peasants and said the line I had prepared—'We've lost again. The peasants are the ones who won.' His survival symbolizes the samurai class's utter disillusionment with this new era."

"The second one is Shichiroji. He took off his armor and went back to being a street vendor. His survival symbolizes the samurai spirit, the helpless compromise and transformation in the face of practical interests."

"The third, and the last, was that young man, Katsushiro. He fell in love with the daughter of a farmer in the village, and in the end, he chose to stay in the village and become a farmer. His survival symbolized the complete fusion of the samurai bloodline with the peasant class. It also foreshadowed that the era that belonged to the samurai, full of glory and slaughter, had completely ended."

silence.

Deathly silence.

Asumi sat there blankly, his professional brain, filled with the "ironclad rules" and "experience" of traditional television, completely blank at that moment!
This is so wonderful!
He finally understood that this young man was using the fates of seven samurai to compose a most tragic and profound elegy for the demise of a social class!

This...this is no longer a simple movie!
This is art! It is immortal art that can still be appreciated by future generations a hundred years from now!
"Fine...fine! What a great 'we lost again'!"

Eiji Kurosawa could no longer hold back. This giant who had dominated the Japanese film industry for half a century, like a pilgrim who had finally found his life's pursuit, let out a hearty laugh that had been suppressed for too long, full of ecstasy and excitement!

He turned around abruptly, and under Asuka's incredulous, almost ghost-like gaze, he bowed deeply once again before the young man, who was even smaller than his grandson.

He bowed again!
"Nohara-kun!"

Eiji Kurosawa's voice was no longer hoarse or confused, but instead resonant and powerful, as if he had survived a catastrophe: "Please allow me to come with you to film this 'Seven Samurai'! Let this old man witness your monstrous mind!"

"I, Eiji Kurosawa, implore you! Join me in bringing this masterpiece, which is enough to change the entire history of Japanese cinema, to this world!"

"please!"

"This is truly a film that transcends my previous understanding; it can no longer be simply called a samurai film... it's almost a 'way,' a film about Bushido!"

This is too formal.

Hiroshi Nohara reached out and, with the respect of a junior to a senior, steadily helped this master, who had long been a legend in the Japanese film industry but now looked like a lost child, up from his ninety-degree bow full of seeking and humility.

"Director Kurosawa, you flatter me."

Hiroshi Nohara's gentle smile returned: "It is my honor to work with a master like you."

Asumi, who was standing to the side, was completely stunned.

He stared blankly at the two figures, one old and one young, two generations of legends, as if they had completed some kind of sacred handover ceremony in his office.

The scene was utterly absurd.

Yet it carries a sense of destiny-like harmony.

Eiji Kurosawa, the national treasure-level master whom even the deputy director had to address with respect as "Director Kurosawa," the old stubborn man known throughout the Japanese film industry for his "aloofness" and "obsession," was actually... completely convinced by this young man who was even younger than his grandson with just a few casual words.

This... this can no longer be simply summarized by the word "talent".

This is a precise insight into and absolute control over people's hearts!

"What a monster!" Asumi thought to herself.

While Asumi was still in shock, Hiroshi Nohara's gaze had already calmly fallen upon him.

“Deputy Director Asumi,” Hiroshi Nohara said with a smile, “You see, even a senior like Director Kurosawa is willing to condescend to work with a junior like me. So, does that mean my half-baked film project, *Hachiko Monogatari*, can… be put on the agenda?”

Asuka's body trembled violently!
A wry smile appeared on his face.

He finally understood.

This young man wasn't "helping" at all.

He's laying the groundwork!

He used Eiji Kurosawa's unshakeable reputation in the entire film industry to equip his soon-to-be-launched behemoth, full of unknowns and dangers, with the most powerful engine capable of crushing all doubts and obstacles!
“Alright!” Asumi nodded heavily, his voice carrying a resolute and tragic tone: “Hiroshi-kun, don’t worry! As long as your ‘Seven Samurai’ is successful, no! Even if it fails! I, Asumi, will beg Director Sakata and those old guys on the board of directors to approve the budget for ‘Hachiko’!”

"Thank you very much, Deputy Director." Hiroshi Nohara said gratefully.

"Let's go! Nohara-kun! Let's go!"

Eiji Kurosawa, who was standing to the side, couldn't wait any longer: "To my studio! Now! Immediately! Right now! I want to hear you tell me the whole story of those seven samurai, word for word!"

As he spoke, he grabbed Hiroshi Nohara and rushed out of the office, which he had already turned upside down, like a gust of wind.

Only Asumi remained standing there, watching the two figures with their contrastingly cute backs, a helpless smile appearing on her face. "The movie ticket market is going to change too," Asumi sighed, shaking her head.

……

Eiji Kurosawa's studio is located in an unassuming two-story building in the suburbs of Tokyo.

There are no modern glass curtain walls or cold metal decorations here.

The simple decor, the ivy climbing the walls, the lush green grass, and the classically styled courtyard landscape all speak to the owner's aloofness and persistence, which are out of step with this restless era.

"Tea, please."

Eiji Kurosawa, a tyrant who could silence any producer in public, was now like the most humble apprentice, personally brewing a steaming cup of sencha for Hiroshi Nohara.

Those large, strong hands, covered in age spots, carried a hint of barely perceptible tension as they picked up the teacup.

He looked at the young man who was calmly surveying his "humble abode," and a slight embarrassment and awkwardness appeared on his weathered face.

“Um… Nohara-kun.” He cleared his throat, his voice carrying a hint of unspoken helplessness: “To be honest, my film ‘The Samurai in the Blacksmith’ has been going on for almost half a year, with the script going through more than a dozen drafts and hundreds of actors auditioning… Now, the 500 million yen budget allocated by the board of directors has already been… almost entirely used up.”

As he spoke, his old face turned slightly red, like a child who had done something wrong.

"Right now, the only cash we have left is... a little over 100 million."

More than 100 million.

This number might be considered ample for an ordinary film.

However, for an epic samurai masterpiece that often requires battles involving thousands of people and real-life sets, this is nothing short of a drop in the ocean.

However, Hiroshi Nohara simply smiled calmly, as if one hundred million was just a perfectly normal number.

"enough."

Hiroshi Nohara said, "Director Kurosawa, please don't rush. Can I take a look at the footage you shot before?"

"Ah? Oh! Okay! Okay!" Eiji Kurosawa quickly led Hiroshi Nohara into the editing room that never saw sunlight.

He personally operated the rather old-fashioned editing machine, projecting the rough cut he had already watched countless times onto the huge screen once again.

Hiroshi Nohara watched quietly.

He saw it—the back of the warrior, filled with tragic grandeur and resolute determination, standing alone in the setting sun.

He saw it—the lord, a man of deception and betrayal, revealing a sinister smile on the city wall.

He even saw the brutal siege battle, which, though not large in scale, was filled with Eiji Kurosawa's unique violent aesthetics in every shot.

The visuals are beautiful, the composition is exquisite, and the actors' performances are impeccable.

But, as Eiji Kurosawa himself said.

It is peaceful now.

Like a glass of sake that has been opened and left out for too long, it is still mellow, but it has lost that fiery intensity that could burn the soul.

"How was it?" As the last image froze, Eiji Kurosawa's voice once again carried that barely perceptible tension.

“Very good.” Hiroshi Nohara gave the most objective evaluation. He pointed to the several visually impactful war scenes on the screen, his clear eyes sparkling with the brilliance of a professional producer: “Director Kurosawa, we can use a lot of the footage you shot before in Seven Samurai directly.”

"Huh?!" Eiji Kurosawa was stunned.

“Look,” Hiroshi Nohara stood up and walked to the screen, like a master battlefield commander surveying the battlefield of light and shadow: “We can use this long shot of bandits raiding the village. We can also keep this montage of the protagonist training his foot soldiers, with a slightly faster pace. And for this siege scene, we just need to shoot a few close-ups of the protagonist to seamlessly integrate it.”

"In this way, we can save at least 30 million in production costs."

"Moreover," Hiroshi Nohara's lips curled into a confident smile, "the story of Seven Samurai mostly takes place in a dilapidated, impoverished mountain village that is repeatedly robbed by bandits. We don't need magnificent castles or exquisite streets. All we need is to find a sufficiently desolate and textured real-life location, and use the least amount of money to create the most authentic 'poverty'."

"As for the actors..." He turned around, a sly smile spreading across his face: "Director Kurosawa, don't forget. We have an entire army of cheap and reliable actors from the Kanto region!"

"Good! Good! Good!"

Eiji Kurosawa slapped his thigh hard, and his once somewhat ashen old face was now full of energy!
Because Hiroshi Nohara is right!
"We'll do it your way! Nohara-kun! From today onwards, you're the executive producer of this film! I, Eiji Kurosawa, will be your assistant director!"

He paced back and forth excitedly, not even giving Hiroshi Nohara a chance to speak, and made a decision on the spot: "This was originally your script, your idea, your concept! If you are not the general producer and the general director, then I, Eiji Kurosawa, am the deceitful general director. I might as well just commit seppuku!"

Seeing the serious expression on his senior Eiji Kurosawa's face, Hiroshi Nohara smiled helplessly and said, "Alright then."

……

The enormous shockwaves brought about by Hiroshi Nohara's impending foray into the film industry quickly swept across the entire TV Tokyo network with unparalleled force.

【Nohara Hiroshi·Independent Production Department】.

The huge office was already boiling over like a fishpond that had been hit by a depth charge!
"Have you heard?! The minister... he's decided to go and make a movie!"

"What?! Really?! Who are you working with?!"

"Who else could it be?! Eiji Kurosawa! The legendary director Kurosawa! I heard from Deputy Director Ming Rihai's secretary that yesterday, Director Kurosawa personally came to 'invite' the minister to come out of retirement!"

"Holy crap! This...this is too surreal! The minister...he's only twenty-three years old!"

"What's so strange about that?" Minami Hoshi, a fanatical fan who had long worshipped Hiroshi Nohara as a god, stood with his hands on his hips, his young face filled with pride and smugness. "Don't you all know who our captain is! TV dramas, anime, variety shows, in which field hasn't he become a god instantly? The film industry is nothing to him, isn't it?"

"It is! It is!"

"When the minister designs something, it's bound to be top-notch!"

"I'm already looking forward to it! I wonder what kind of mind-blowing masterpiece the minister will bring us this time!"

For a time, the entire department was immersed in a near-blind worship and fanaticism for their minister's godlike abilities.

They had long been accustomed to following in the footsteps of that young man, witnessing one seemingly impossible miracle after another.

They firmly believe that this time will be no exception.

However, in this atmosphere filled with the joy of victory, a figure in the corner of the TV drama classroom seemed somewhat out of place.

Kenji Sato, the nominal "liaison officer," was looking down, seemingly organizing the documents in his hands.

Behind those gold-rimmed glasses, however, gleamed a sharp light that seemed out of place in the lively atmosphere around them.

He stood up without making a sound, and gave Yamamoto Takeshi, who was chatting enthusiastically beside him, a perfectly timed, apologetic smile.

"Section Chief Yamamoto, I'm going out for a smoke."

"go Go."

No one noticed his subtle abnormality.

Kenji Sato walked out of the office filled with light and heat and came to the quiet escape window at the end of the corridor.

He didn't light a cigarette, but instead took out the pager he had already polished to a shine from his pocket.

He skillfully entered a number he knew by heart, along with a coded message full of suggestive implications.

Would you like some coffee?

Not long after, the pager emitted a slight vibration.

Above, there was only one short, cold reply.

[First floor, storage room.]

Kenji Sato's eye twitched almost imperceptibly.

He took a deep breath, put the pager back in his pocket, and then, with his usual steps, walked towards the employee elevator that led to the lowest and darkest corner of the building.

First floor, storage room.

A dim incandescent light bulb crackled overhead, casting long, calculating shadows of two men on the cold cement floor.

"Go ahead."

Takada Toshihide, the number two figure in the Tokyo faction, was standing in the corner filled with discarded props.

His voice was as flat as a bottomless pool of stagnant water, revealing no emotion.

"He...he's really going to make a movie."

Kenji Sato lowered his head, his voice carrying a hint of awe for the young man that he himself was unaware of: "The project with Eiji Kurosawa seems to be about samurai and farmers."

He respectfully handed over the project outline printed from the internal system.

Takada Toshihide did not answer immediately.

He simply turned around slowly, his cold eyes like two drawn swords piercing the depths of Kenji Sato's soul.

“Sato-kun.” His voice was as soft as a devil’s whisper, yet it carried a cruelty that could send chills down anyone’s spine: “Do you know? I… am very disappointed.”

Kenji Sato's body trembled violently.

“I thought you were the sharpest knife I had planted by his side. I needed you to deliver a fatal blow from behind when he was at his most triumphant.”

Takada Toshihide slowly walked up to him, reached out, and patted his still slightly trembling shoulder heavily.

"But what about you? You did nothing. You just watched him grow step by step from an unknown nobody into a behemoth that even I find troublesome."

“I…” Sato Kenji felt as if a ball of hot cotton was stuffed into his throat. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t utter a single word.

A hint of fear, as if he had been seen through, appeared on that face that always carried a somewhat refined smile.

"But that's okay."

A cold, devilish smile curled at the corners of Takada Toshihide's lips: "Now, the opportunity has arrived."

He finally took over the project.

If I could defeat Hiroshi Nohara in the same field, perhaps I could finally vent my anger?
Looking at the terrified Sato Kenji in front of him, he smiled and gently patted his arm: "Alright, you are, after all, Chairman Sato Tokugawa's distant nephew, so I will give you some face. Now go back, you have done very well."

(End of this chapter)