I, Hiroshi Nohara, the star of Japanese cinema

Chapter 162 Poor Public Opinion Environment? That's exactly the kind of traffic we're after!

The cold lights in the corridor cast long shadows of the two people onto the mirror-like floor, making them appear distorted and disheveled.

At this moment, all color had drained from Yasui Kina's face.

He subconsciously raised his hand to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead, his voice hoarse: "He... he wasn't even angry. From beginning to end, he remained calm, even showing a gentle and composed smile. That... that's the scariest part."

Ito Chōan's eyes were also filled with the lingering fear of surviving a disaster.

As the strategist of the Tokyo faction, he was known for his deep cunning and ability to understand people's hearts.

But today, in front of that excessively young man, he felt like a patient who had been stripped naked and was standing on the operating table. All his thoughts and calculations were seen through by the other man's calm and unwavering eyes.

"His press conference wasn't just to clarify public opinion!" Ito Chōan's voice trembled slightly. "He definitely has ulterior motives! But... I don't know what will happen."

This conclusion plunged Yasui Takashi's already anxious heart into despair.

The two looked at each other in silence, their steps heavy as if filled with lead, as they walked step by step toward the throne of power located at the very top of the entire floor.

Takada Toshihide's office.

The number two figure in the Tokyo faction was waiting for the two of them.

"You're back?" His voice was as flat as a bottomless pool of stagnant water, revealing no emotion.

"Hi."

Yasui Takashi and Ito Nagasu sat down on the sofa.

Ito Chōan took a deep breath and recounted everything that had just happened in Asumi's office, word for word.

He didn't embellish or add any personal emotions; he simply presented every reaction and every word of the young man to Takada Toshihide in the most objective and serious tone possible.

When he mentioned "press conference," the air in the office seemed to be sucked out in an instant.

Takada Toshihide slowly turned around.

His face, which always carried a hint of gloom, was now so somber it seemed as if it could drip water.

But he didn't fly into a rage as Yasui Takashi and Ito Nagasu had expected. He simply walked calmly to the liquor cabinet, poured himself half a glass of whiskey, and then slowly sat down in the leather chair that symbolized power.

“Press conference…” he muttered to himself, his eyes gleaming. “Interesting. It seems I underestimated him. I thought he would go to Asumi and cry his eyes out, or go to that old fox Sakata to complain. I didn’t expect him to… choose the most direct, and also the most foolish, way.”

“Deputy Director, what do you mean…” Ito Nagaoshi asked tentatively.

"He's too young." Takada Toshihide's lips curled into a sneer. "Young people are always easily blinded by victory, always thinking they are omnipotent and can control everything. Does he think that with his silver tongue, he can turn the tide and make black into white? What does he take the media for? And what does he take himself for?"

He swirled the wine in his glass, the amber liquid swirling in a dangerous arc along the glass's surface.

"He's courting death." Takada Toshihide's voice was as cold as ice: "Once the fire of public opinion is ignited, it's not something a mere third-rate director like him can control. The more he tries to explain, the more flaws he'll reveal. The more he tries to clarify, the more he'll solidify his 'elitist' arrogance. At that point, we won't even need to lift a finger; the spittle of the enraged public will be enough to completely drown him and his film, which is filled with the stench of 'class'!"

Toshihide Takada is very good at understanding public opinion.

"Then...do we still have to attend that press conference tomorrow?" Yasui asked cautiously.

"Go? Go what?" Takada Toshihide scoffed, looking at the two ignorant children with disdain. "Go see how he makes a fool of himself in public? There's no need for that. We are the victors, the victors. All we need to do is sit in the highest stands, leisurely sipping red wine, and enjoy the loser's desperate, final struggle. That's enough."

He paused for a moment, then slowly issued the final order.

"Tomorrow, both of you stay in the office obediently. Don't go anywhere. All we have to do is wait. Wait and see how that kid, step by step, sends himself to the guillotine."

"Hi!"

Yasui Takashi and Ito Nagasu bowed in unison, their voices carrying a tacit understanding.

The two exchanged a glance, and in each other's eyes they saw a cruelty that came from the bottom of their hearts.

They could almost picture it: at tomorrow's highly anticipated press conference, how that arrogant young man, overwhelmed by the barrage of questions from reporters, would be rendered speechless, and ultimately, amidst a chorus of mocking and contemptuous boos, would he make a pathetic exit.

After all, who says they can't have reporters?

The two tactfully took their leave, and the office returned to its suffocating silence.

"Naive." Takada Toshihide slowly downed the whiskey in his glass, a smug smile that hadn't been seen in a long time appearing on his lips.

'Jingle Bell--'

The intercom on the table rang at an inopportune moment.

Takada Toshihide frowned and answered the phone.

On the other end came Masao Iwata's voice, filled with humility and ingratiation.

"Deputy Director Takada, it's me, Iwata. I hope I haven't disturbed your rest?"

"Speak," Takada Toshihide's voice was devoid of any emotion.

"Um... the filming of the movie... is basically... finished." Iwata Masao's voice carried a hint of boastful excitement: "Directors Ashikaga and Asano both said... the filming went very smoothly! Now, there are only a few big scenes left, and I estimate... in another two or three days, we'll be completely wrapped up!"

This news was like a warm breeze, finally dispelling the heavy gloom in Takada Toshihide's heart.

A more satisfied smile finally appeared on his usually gloomy face.

What a series of joyous events!

"Very good." He nodded in satisfaction. "Iwata, you did a good job this time. You didn't disappoint me."

This simple compliment almost brought Iwata Masao to tears on the other end of the phone.

"It's all...it's all thanks to your excellent leadership, Deputy Director! It's also thanks to Director Ashikaga and Director Asano for their excellent command! I...I was just a gofer, I dare not take credit! I dare not take credit!"

"Hmph, you do have some self-awareness." Takada Toshihide sneered, but the initial sternness in his tone had long since disappeared: "Remember, keep a close eye on things for these last few days! Absolutely no mistakes! Especially those two lead actors, serve them well! As soon as filming wraps, immediately! Right now! Cut out the final cut for me! I want to see a timeless classic in the shortest possible time, one that will utterly crush that old man and that arrogant brat!"

"Yes! Yes! I understand! I will definitely! I will definitely obey the arrangements of the two directors! Please rest assured!" Masao Iwata replied repeatedly on the phone.

After hanging up the phone, Takada Toshihide's smile grew even more smug.

He slowly stood up, walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window again, and looked down at the steel city below, which he had long considered his own.

He seemed to already see how, on New Year's Eve, his glamorous and commercially successful film, "The Samurai of the Cherry Blossom Tree," would crush the impoverished and controversial "Seven Samurai" with an unparalleled force!

……

The filming set of "The Samurai of the Cherry Blossom Tree" is currently shrouded in an atmosphere of tension and exhaustion.

The makeshift meeting tent was filled with smoke, making it difficult to open one's eyes.

Masao Iwata, the nominal film director, was now acting like the most humble servant, carefully refilling the scalding teacups for the two real "emperors."

"Director Ashikaga, Director Asano, please have some tea." His demeanor was as humble as that of a newcomer to the workplace.

However, Ashikaga Takashi didn't even bother to lift an eyelid. He simply waved his hand impatiently, his gaze like that of someone shooing away an eyesore: "Leave it there. Oh, and go get those extras outside! Tell them that if they run into the wrong position again during the final charge scene, nobody's getting dinner tonight!"

"And one more thing," Asano Kita added slowly, "Go and buy me all today's newspapers. Especially those third-rate tabloids, not a single one can be missing. I'd really like to see how badly that kid named Nohara is being criticized now."

"Yes! I'll go right away!" Iwata Masao agreed without the slightest hesitation, turned around and walked out of the power center that no longer belonged to him.

He was already used to all of this.

From general director to stagehand, and now to a menial worker responsible for serving tea and water and running errands to buy newspapers.

This enormous disparity had already utterly crushed his already fragile self-esteem into dust.

But he endured it all.

Because he knew this was his only chance to return to the poker table.

He even had to put up with those two arrogant leading actors who had long been spoiled by capital.

Whether it was Kamiki Shunsuke's humiliating request to help massage his legs, or Kitagawa Miyuki's request to buy cosmetics late at night, he did his best to fulfill them.

Because he knows that he is now nothing more than a dog groveling at the feet of power and capital, barely clinging to life.

Dogs have no right to talk about dignity.

When he returned to the tent, which was filled with the smell of cooking fires, carrying a large stack of newspapers that still smelled of fresh ink, the atmosphere inside had become incredibly relaxed.

"Hahaha! Look at this! Weekly Bunshun! They actually said that Hiroshi Nohara is a 'farmer's son who has forgotten his roots'! I'm dying of laughter! This headline is simply... a stroke of genius!"

Shunsuke Kamiki, the "top idol" who just moments ago played a tragic and affectionate samurai in front of the camera, now resembles the most wicked woman, pointing at the humiliating headline in the newspaper and laughing uncontrollably.

His already somewhat effeminate handsome face was now slightly distorted with schadenfreude, like an expensive piece of paper that had been crumpled.

"I told you long ago, that guy is just a lucky country bumpkin! He suddenly climbed to such a high position, isn't he going to be all high and mighty? Now look what happened, the media has caught him red-handed, serves him right! I want to see how he's going to hold that press conference tomorrow! I bet he'll be crying in front of all of Japan, won't he?"

This was full of malicious mockery, like a perfectly timed joke bomb that instantly ignited the entire tent!

"Who says otherwise?" Ashikaga Takashi sneered, his voice filled with superiority. "I told you long ago, movies aren't something those TV guys can handle! Especially sensitive topics like 'class,' those are taboo subjects! He's an outsider who doesn't even understand the most basic industry rules, yet he dares to come here and point fingers? He's simply... courting death!"

“That’s right!” Asano Kita chimed in gleefully, “I reckon his so-called ‘Seven Samurai’ has already become a laughing stock in Japan! By then, we won’t even need to lift a finger; the spittle of the enraged public will be enough to drown him and his film, which is filled with the stench of ‘elitism’!”

Hearing the scornful and mocking laughter around him, Masao Iwata silently distributed the newspapers to everyone.

A strange, familiar unease arose in his heart.

He thought of that young man, and his eyes, which remained calm and undisturbed no matter what difficulties he faced.

His intuition told him that things might not be so simple.

"Alright, let's not talk about that spoilsport anymore."

Kamiki Shunsuke tossed the newspaper aside with satisfaction. He stood up, stretched, and yawned like a Persian cat that had just had a hearty meal and was feeling quite content.

"My scenes for today are finished, I'm leaving now. The rest is up to you 'professionals'."

As he spoke, surrounded by a group of assistants, he walked out of the film set, which he had already turned into a chaotic mess, without looking back.

The black van, like a ghost, silently glided into Tokyo's never-ending traffic.

Inside the car, all the gloating on Shunsuke Kamiki's handsome face had faded, leaving only a gloomy expression devoid of any warmth.

He slowly picked up his personal mobile phone and skillfully dialed a number.

On the other end of the phone came a voice full of flattery and ingratiation.

"Hello? Mr. Junsuke? What can I do for you?"

“I saw those newspapers,” Kamiki Shunsuke’s voice was cruel. “Well done. But… it’s not enough.”

"Eh?"

"I want you to make the fire burn even brighter." Kamiki Shunsuke's voice sounded like it was being squeezed out from between his teeth. "I want to completely bind the name 'Nohara Hiroshi' with words like 'class,' 'elite,' and 'forgetting one's roots'! I want to make him the common enemy of all the 'common people' in our entire Japanese society!"

“And…” He paused, a chilling, venomous resentment flashing in his amorous peach blossom eyes: “Turn the guns on his unreleased ‘Seven Samurai’! I want all the audiences to develop a deep-seated loathing for this movie before they even step into the theater! I want both him and his movie to die in their infancy!”

"Only in this way can our film, 'The Samurai of the Cherry Blossom Tree,' become the sole, absolute king of samurai films during the New Year's season, without any competitors! Do you understand?!"

"Yes! Yes! I understand!" The voice on the other end of the phone became even more obsequious: "But the price..."

“Three times!” Kamiki Shunsuke scoffed, then hung up the phone.

It can be solved with money.

That's not a problem!

……

The following morning, Tokyo TV's No. 7 press conference room.

This place is one of the nerve centers of the entire Japanese media industry.

Normally, this prestigious venue, capable of accommodating hundreds of reporters, is only used when there are major announcements from television stations or when top celebrities announce their weddings. But today, it was already overflowing with people, as crowded as Shinjuku subway station during rush hour.

The air was filled with a restless and oppressive atmosphere, as if a storm was brewing.

"Hey, Yamada-senpai, what do you think... how will Hiroshi Nohara apologize today?" A young reporter carrying a camera, who looked like he had just started out, asked in a low voice to the senior colleague next to him, whose hair was already a bit gray, with a tone full of schadenfreude.

The senior, referred to as Yamada, simply curled his lip in disdain: "What other pose could there be? It's nothing more than bowing at a 90-degree angle first, tearfully admitting that he was 'young and reckless and spoke inappropriately,' and then, facing the camera, begging for the forgiveness of the people with snot and tears streaming down his face. I've seen this routine for almost 30 years, and I'm already tired of it."

“I don’t think just bowing will quell the public outrage this time,” another reporter from the gossip magazine FRIDAY said. “The label of ‘forgetting one’s roots’ is a major taboo in Japanese society! Especially for a farmer’s son to dare to say such things! In my opinion, he won’t be able to get over this unless he does a ‘dogeza’ (a traditional Japanese prostration ceremony) and kowtows to apologize in front of all of Japan today!”

"That's right! We must kneel down! Otherwise, we country folk will be the first to object!" In the crowd, a reporter with a heavy rural accent waved his fist indignantly.

The tide of public opinion had already nailed that young man, who had not yet made his debut, to the pillar of shame known as "enemy of the class."

However, amidst this clamor of condemnation, there are also some faint voices filled with contradictions and struggles.

“But… I still can’t quite believe it.” A rather quiet-looking female reporter whispered to her companion, “I… I’m a loyal reader of Yu Yu Hakusho and a die-hard fan of Tales of the Unusual. From his works, I see a kind person full of humanistic concern, with the deepest sympathy for ordinary people… How could he… how could he be that kind of ungrateful ‘elite’?”

“Who knows?” Her companion sighed helplessly. “People always change. Maybe the fame and fortune of Tokyo corrupted him. But… to be honest, I feel pretty bad about it too. His show is really good. I just hope he can apologize properly today. As long as he admits his mistake, I… I will still continue to support him.”

This is the original sin of traffic.

When you stand in the spotlight, enjoying the adulation of millions, you must also bear the risk of being devoured by that power.

Hiroshi Nohara certainly understood this principle.

I also plan to take advantage of this pattern!
The atmosphere in the backstage dressing room was somber.

Asahi paced back and forth in the not-so-spacious space, the Cuban cigar in his hand already deformed from being squeezed.

"This is unreasonable! This is simply unreasonable!"

He stubbed out the cigar, which had long since gone out, into the ashtray with a vengeance, his voice filled with barely suppressed rage: "Yasui Takashi! Ito Nagayasu! Those two bastards, how dare they play hide-and-seek with me! They won't answer the phone or reply to messages! Do they really think I, Asuka, can't do anything to them?!"

Eiji Kurosawa, on the other hand, sat quietly on the sofa like a silent volcano.

He didn't speak, but his bloodshot eyes burned with a raging fire!

The young people they are interested in.

The future of a Kanto faction.

Now, under their protection, they've been driven to the brink of despair by those Tokyo faction people!
How could they possibly be calm?
How could I forgive?
How could we let those guys get away with it?!

Beside them, the seven "samurai" who had been joking and laughing carefree on variety shows had long since lost any interest in joking.

They sat upright, their faces filled with a solemn expression of shared hatred for the enemy.

"Minister, let us go up on stage with you!" Makino Shunpei, who plays Kikuchiyo, was the first to stand up. His face, which always carried a hint of arrogance, was now filled with the passion and determination of youth: "This matter started because of our 'Seven Samurai,' so we should all bear the responsibility together! We'll go with you! We'll confront those bastard reporters face to face! I want to see how far they can go in distorting the truth!"

“That’s right!” Veteran actor Taiji Miyoshi, who plays Kanbei, nodded emphatically at this moment: “Nohara-kun, you are not fighting alone. We are your strongest support.”

"Hiroshi-kun." Asumi also stopped in his tracks, his eyes filled with the concern of an elder for a younger person.

"Don't worry, I've arranged everything. Three of the reporters present today are our people. I've already spoken to them, and they'll steer the conversation in a direction that's favorable to us. All you need to do is... follow our pre-arranged plan, lower your stance, sincerely apologize, and shift all the blame to 'youthful arrogance' and 'malicious interpretation by the media.' Leave the rest to me."

This arrangement, imbued with a sense of "protection," flowed gently through the hearts of everyone present like the most tender warm current.

However, Hiroshi Nohara simply put down his teacup calmly.

He slowly stood up and, amidst the concerned and worried gazes, bowed deeply to everyone.

"Deputy Director Asumi, Director Kurosawa, and all seniors."

His voice was gentle yet full of power.

"Thank you. But..."

He slowly straightened up, and a gentle smile, full of confidence and composure, bloomed again on his handsome face, which was enough to make anyone envious.

"This war belongs to me alone. Therefore, it is up to me alone to end it."

“Hiroshi-kun, you…” Asumi’s brows furrowed instantly.

"Don't worry, Deputy Director." Hiroshi Nohara's lips curled into a confident smile, and his clear eyes shone with an absolute light that could convince anyone: "I have a plan."

As he spoke, he turned around without the slightest hesitation and pushed open the door leading to the eye of the storm.

……

When that tall and slender figure appeared at the press conference, the entire venue seemed to be muted.

After a brief silence, a tsunami of flashes, accompanied by countless aggressive shutter sounds, instantly engulfed the young man completely!
The light was so dazzling that anyone would instinctively close their eyes.

Hiroshi Nohara didn't even blink.

He calmly walked step by step onto the trial stage that had long been prepared for him.

He stood behind the podium, his gaze calmly sweeping over the faces below the stage—faces filled with curiosity, disdain, and anger—before finally settling on the countless cameras pointing directly at him.

He knew that behind these images were countless pairs of eyes waiting for him to "confess".

This is also a live television broadcast.

"I know that everyone is here today to hear my apology."

Without the slightest bit of politeness, his first words were like a perfectly timed bomb, instantly igniting the entire room!

The reporters immediately became agitated, and countless trap-filled questions rained down on the young man!
"Minister Nohara! What is your response to the Weekly Bunshun's report calling you an 'ungrateful wretch'?!"

"Do you admit that you did make discriminatory remarks against 'common people' during the program?!"

"As the son of a farmer, aren't you ashamed of what you said?!"

However, faced with this media storm that was enough to break anyone with a weak mentality, Hiroshi Nohara simply raised his hand and made a "calm down" gesture.

That nonchalant attitude, that air of complete control, was like a bucket of ice water poured over someone's head, miraculously calming the already boiling clamor.

"Everyone, please let me finish speaking."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly to every corner of the venue.

"I apologize for the recent public opinion issues that have caused you trouble. But I want to say that we have all been misled. We have all fallen into a huge mental trap built by the word 'class'."

His tone shifted, and a profound insight, befitting a historian, flashed in his clear eyes.

"We always talk about samurai, about farmers, about so-called elites, about so-called commoners. But we overlook the one who truly determines the fate of all of them, the ultimate and only protagonist."

That is, the times.

"The end of the samurai era was not because they were not elite enough. Rather, it was because the advent of the musket allowed even a well-trained peasant to easily kill a samurai who had practiced swordsmanship for twenty years. This was a victory of technology, a victory of productivity, and a victory of the times."

"The arrival of the common people's era did not happen overnight. It evolved into the national era we have today, where everyone is equal and everyone has the opportunity to change their own destiny. This, too, is progress of the times."

The grand narrative, brimming with philosophical reflection, struck like a thunderbolt into the hearts of everyone present!
The reporters were all dumbfounded.

They came to hear gossip, to watch the spectacle, and to judge a "traitor who has forgotten his roots."

But now this young man is giving them a public lecture on "historical materialism"?!

This...this art style, isn't it a bit off?!

"Minister Nohara! Please stop trying to change the subject and evade the issue here!"

Finally, the reporter from FRIDAY was the first to react. He jumped up from his seat, his face, hidden behind black-rimmed glasses, filled with embarrassment and anger at being tricked!
"What we want to know isn't some bullshit 'era'! We just want to know, you! Hiroshi Nohara! Did you personally say that farmers are 'cunning, stingy, and murderers'?! Do you, deep down, look down on us ordinary citizens?!"

This question, like a dagger dipped in deadly poison, precisely pierced Hiroshi Nohara's seemingly impenetrable theoretical armor!
All eyes were once again focused on the young man!

They wanted to see how he would try to deny it this time!

However, under this hostile and scrutinizing gaze, Hiroshi Nohara's lips slowly curled into a playful, bright smile, like that of a child who had successfully pulled off a prank.

"Yes."

He calmly uttered those two words, words powerful enough to shake the entire neon-lit world.

"I did say that."

boom--!
The entire venue erupted in chaos!

The reporters, like a group of sharks that had smelled blood, went completely berserk!
He admitted it!

He actually admitted it!
However, before their ecstatic shutter clicks could completely capture this "shocking scandal," Hiroshi Nohara's calm, magnetic voice rang out again.

"But so what?"

He looked at the faces below the stage, completely stunned by his shocking remarks, and his smile grew even brighter.

"Because all of this is actually just a little Easter egg that I carefully prepared for everyone to promote my new movie."

"..."

An Easter egg?!
The whole world seemed to have been muted.

Everyone stared blankly at the young man, their faces displaying only a deep numbness and...absurdity, as if their values ​​had been repeatedly crushed by a heavy hammer!
What...what did they hear?!

This media storm, which they themselves started and swept across Japan, turned out to be... a trap set up by the other side to promote a movie?!
Backstage, Asumi and Eiji Kurosawa also stood there dumbfounded, their eyes, which had witnessed countless ups and downs of life, filled with disbelief and horror!

They watched the young man on the monitor, who single-handedly manipulated the entire Japanese media.

Those two hearts, hardened by countless power struggles, suddenly gained a new word.

"The future life is terrible!"

In such a public opinion environment, he was able to calmly and logically explain his reasoning and even take the opportunity to promote his movie.

This mindset, this wisdom, this ability...

He's even better than many seasoned veterans!
"So, everyone."

Hiroshi Nohara's performance was not over yet. Looking at the petrified faces below the stage, he slowly opened his arms, his posture like that of a magician about to reveal the final mystery to the world.

He said loudly:

"Today's press conference was never an apology meeting."

"This is the official press conference for my first film, 'Seven Samurai,' by Hiroshi Nohara!"

He made no promises and offered no further explanations.

He simply stared calmly at the countless cold cameras, his clear eyes gleaming with an absolute confidence that could convince anyone!

"I, Hiroshi Nohara, here today, with all the reputation I have built up from all my past works, make a promise to the audience of all Japan."

"Go to the cinema on December 24th, Christmas Eve."

"All the answers to questions about 'class,' 'era,' 'human nature,' and 'whether a farmer's son has forgotten his roots'..."

He paused, and amidst countless gazes, all already brimming with curiosity, he spoke clearly, word by word:

"—It's all in this movie."

Wow——!
The entire venue erupted in uproar!
This is no longer just simple advertising!
This is a declaration of war!

It was that young man, who had been pushed to the edge of a cliff, who launched a final, high-stakes gamble against them and against the entire Japanese society!
If he wins, he will be elevated to godhood in one step, completely establishing his unshakeable position in this era!
If you lose, you will be utterly disgraced and never be able to recover!

This young man, when everyone was eager to know the outcome of public opinion, used a forceful approach to launch a great propaganda campaign, and... a game for the strong and a game for the cowards!

P.S.: This is the third update today. There were some minor mistakes because I got a bit dizzy while typing. But I've fixed them all. I'd still appreciate some recommendation votes and monthly tickets!
(End of this chapter)