MMB Chapter 133 Triggers a Level-Crossing Synthesis! Purple Equipment!
Chapter 133 Triggers a Level-Crossing Synthesis! Purple Equipment!
Chapter 133 Triggers a Level-Crossing Synthesis! Purple Equipment!
In April in Tokyo, the cherry blossoms have already begun to fall.
Fuji Television, backstage at V1 studio.
The harsh white light from the vanity lamp shone on my face, revealing every detail of my skin's texture.
Kitahara Shin sat in front of the vanity mirror with his eyes closed.
The makeup artist used her fingers, dipped in hair wax, to gently comb the stray hairs from his forehead back. This wasn't the greasy slicked-back style, but rather a more voluminous, structured side-swept hairstyle.
As his forehead was fully exposed, the contours of his face underwent a dramatic change.
Sharp brow bones and a high, straight nose.
A pair of thin-rimmed silver glasses was gently placed on the bridge of the nose.
"Alright, Kitahara-san."
The makeup artist's voice carried a hint of barely suppressed amazement.
Kitahara Shin opened his eyes.
The person in the mirror was wearing a perfectly tailored white lab coat, with a dark blue shirt and a matching tie peeking out from the collar.
Behind the silver-rimmed glasses, those eyes were almost too calm, exuding a metallic quality that was rational to the point of being cold.
Kashiwagi Masaya.
The elite second brother, who graduated from the University of Tokyo and became a surgeon at a young age, was sitting there at that moment.
He simply pushed up his glasses, and the oppressive aura of "high-IQ S-level" overflowed from the lenses.
"So handsome!"
A clothing assistant passing by couldn't help but cover her mouth and gasp softly.
Abstinence, obsessive cleanliness, unapproachable.
Kitahara Shin adjusted the position of his tie clip in front of the mirror, his eyes flickering slightly.
"Let's go."
He stood up, the hem of his white coat drawing a clean arc with his movement.
Inside the photography studio.
The highlight of the first episode is ready.
This is the highlight moment for the third brother, "Kazuya".
According to the original script, Kazuya was caught stealing money at his workplace, and his older brother Tatsuya went to the police station to pick him up. Then, they had an argument in the park.
The original script was for Kazuya to cry and explain that he was poor and wanted money to play.
"All departments, prepare!"
Director Nakae Isao sat behind the monitor and shouted through a megaphone.
Standing on the sidelines, Kitahara Shin had changed into his crisp white lab coat, his hands in his pockets, quietly watching the game.
Beside the bench, Ishida Issei was looking down, his toes shuffling on the ground. As if sensing his gaze, he looked up and glanced in Kitahara Shin's direction.
His eyes held a hint of nervousness, as well as a touch of "rebellious" excitement.
Kitahara Shin remained expressionless, only giving him a slight nod through his silver-rimmed glasses.
Yosuke Eguchi, standing opposite him, also noticed the interaction. He grinned, gave Shin Kitahara a thumbs-up without making a sound, and then quickly adjusted his expression, entering the anxious older brother mode.
"Ready—Go!"
The clapperboard snapped shut.
The dim streetlights cast long shadows of the two people.
Why?
Yosuke Eguchi, wearing his signature leather jacket, spoke in a trembling voice, suppressing his anger: "Why did you steal? If you needed money, you could have earned it! Why did you have to do something like this?!"
Ishida Issei, who was opposite him, did not immediately kneel down and cry as written in the original script.
Instead, he took a piece of chewing gum out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth.
"Smack, smack."
In this solemn moment, the chewing sound seemed particularly jarring and irritating.
Director Nakae Koji, behind the monitor, paused for a moment and subconsciously glanced at the script in his hand.
This action wasn't in the script.
But he didn't call "cut" because Yosuke Eguchi's reaction was so real—that kind of fury after being ignored by his younger brother instantly ignited the scene.
"Speak up, Kazuya!"
Jiangkou rushed forward, grabbed Ishida by the collar, and slammed him hard against a lamppost.
"Bang!"
A muffled thud.
"money?"
Ishida Issei finally spoke.
He was forced to raise his head, and a mocking smile appeared on his young but颓废 (颓废 is a difficult word to translate directly, but it conveys a sense of listlessness, apathy, and a sense of dejection) face: "Brother, you're so unsophisticated."
"What?" Eguchi was stunned.
"I just want to see."
Ishida Issei stared into Eguchi's eyes, his lips twitching, but his eyes held a desolate stillness: "If I become a criminal, will the family that abandoned us, and that arrogant second brother—will they even look at me with the eyes of someone looking at trash?"
He spoke very softly when he said this, as if he were talking about something that had nothing to do with him.
But the hands gripping his pockets were trembling violently.
It is a twisted pain that yearns to be loved but can only confirm its existence through self-destruction.
The screenwriter, Shinji Nojima, who was sitting next to the monitor, was casually twirling his pen when he heard the line, and his hand suddenly stopped moving.
He leaned forward, staring intently at the screen on the monitor.
In the scene, Yosuke Eguchi was clearly stunned by the unexpected line. But as a seasoned actor, what surged up in that instant was not anger, but a tremendous, almost heart-wrenching heartache.
"asshole----"
Yosuke Eguchi's voice became hoarse.
He released his grip and suddenly pulled his prickly younger brother into a tight embrace.
"You bastard! Are you an idiot?! We're family!"
Ishida Issei's face, which had been sneering, crumbled the moment he felt that scalding embrace.
That rebellious shell shattered, revealing the crying face of the lost child inside.
"Card!"
Nakajima shouted.
There was no applause, only deathly silence.
The staff looked at each other, all of them could feel the tension of the scene just now, but the problem was—it was completely different from the script.
"Um—Ishida-kun."
Nakajima Kou frowned, stood up from behind the monitor, and beckoned: "Come here for a moment."
Issei Ishida's shoulders twitched.
He snapped out of his role, glanced at the director's serious expression, and felt a little uneasy.
Just as he was hesitating whether to go over and get scolded, a white figure blocked his way.
Kitahara Shin.
"Let's go."
Kitahara Shin said calmly, glancing at him, "Let's go together."
The two walked to the director's seat.
Screenwriter Shinji Nojima was also sitting there, holding the script in his hand, head down, seemingly lost in thought; the atmosphere was somewhat oppressive.
"What happened?"
Nakae Kou pointed at the monitor, his tone not stern, but clearly accusatory: "Those lines weren't in the script, were they? Why were you changing the script without permission?"
Ishida Issei opened his mouth, about to speak, but found his throat a little dry, and for a moment he didn't know how to explain.
Kitahara Shin spoke.
He stood half a step in front of Ishida, his expression calm and his tone even: "Ishida-kun feels that the original script's motive of stealing for money doesn't quite align with his understanding of the character 'Kazuya.'"
"Doesn't conform to common sense?" Nakae Ko was taken aback and looked at Ishida.
Now that someone had taken the lead, Ishida Issei's own enthusiasm surged. He glanced gratefully at Kitahara Shin's retreating figure, then took a deep breath and mustered his courage to look at the director and screenwriter: "Yes—yes!"
Once he started speaking, the rest flowed much more smoothly: "I think Kazuya, though rebellious, doesn't lack money; what he lacks is to be seen." He doesn't even mind being criticized; he just doesn't want to be ignored. So—so I think using this self-destructive method to gain attention is more like something an abandoned child would do.
After saying this, Ishida Issei lowered his head, his heart pounding, awaiting the rebuke for "talking nonsense."
However, no reprimand came.
Shinji Nojima, who had been keeping his head down, slowly raised his head.
This award-winning screenwriter, known for his "dark, cruel, and insightful exploration of human nature," now had a frighteningly sharp gaze behind his glasses.
"Self-destruction in the pursuit of attention —"
Shinji Nojima repeated it to himself, then looked at Issei Ishida, a sudden, intensely interested smile playing on his lips: "Interesting. This certainly has more tension than mere poverty."
He turned his head and looked at the script, which had been completely altered, and quickly drew several lines on the paper with his pen.
"director."
Shinji Nojima looked directly at Isao Nakae, his tone leaving no room for argument: "Let's postpone the other characters' scenes for now. Ishida-kun, come here, let's talk. I'd like to hear your thoughts on Kazuya's psychological changes in the later episodes."
"?"
Issei Ishida was dumbfounded.
Not only did they not get scolded, but they were also asked to revise the script with the top screenwriter?
"What are you standing there for?"
Kitahara Shin gently nudged his back and whispered, "Go. This is your role."
Ishida Issei snapped out of his daze, looked at Kitahara Shin, nodded vigorously, his eyes filled with gratitude and excitement, and then quickly followed Nojima Shinji toward the rest area.
Nakae Kou shook his head helplessly at the scene, then looked at Kitahara Shin and said with a wry smile, "Kitahara-san, you're just adding to my workload. The script needs to be revised again."
"But that would make the show even better, wouldn't it?"
Kitahara Shin pushed up his glasses, a rational glint flashing across the lenses.
"Too."
The director smiled, sat back down behind the monitor, and said, "Alright, since they've gone to revise the script, let's shoot your solo shot for the next scene. Is everything ready in the operating room?"
"Anytime is fine."
Kitahara Shin turned around and walked towards the "operating room" set not far away.
Break time.
The smoking area outside the photography studio.
Issei Ishida is back from the screenwriter's office.
They talked for a full half hour, but he didn't look tired; instead, he looked relaxed, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders.
"Give."
A can of hot coffee was handed to Kitahara Shin.
Thanks.
Kitahara Shin didn't stand on ceremony, reached out and took it, and pulled the tab with a "click".
Ishida Issei opened a can of cigarettes for himself, then took out a cigarette case, pulled one out and handed it to Kitahara Shin, and lit one for himself.
Smoke rose between the two men.
"Nojima-san agreed."
Ishida Issei exhaled a smoke ring, his eyes brightening considerably: "He said the script will be rewritten, and that scene will be reshot next week."
"That's a good thing." Kitahara Shin took a sip of coffee, his tone indifferent.
"To be honest, it scared me to death."
Ishida Issei leaned against the vending machine, watching the tobacco burning between his fingers, and suddenly gave a wry smile: "This is the first time I've ever done something like this on a film set. Although the media writes about me as some kind of rebellious second-generation star," always acting lawlessly, I've actually always been very law-abiding. I acted exactly as the director told me to, even if I thought the lines were terrible, I'd still grit my teeth and read them."
He turned to look at Kitahara Shin, his tone sincere: "If you hadn't started things today, I probably would have just gotten away with it. Thanks, Kitahara-san."
"No need to thank me."
Kitahara Shin flicked his cigarette ash, his voice calm: "The script is static, but people are dynamic. If an actor can't become one with the character, then the performance is garbage. Adjustments are inevitable."
Issei Ishida looked at him.
Just now on set, the way Kitahara Shin looked in his white coat, giving orders in the operating room, and the logical way he helped him organize his thoughts gave him a strong sense of déjà vu.
"Oh, right, Kitahara-san."
Ishida suddenly asked curiously, "Which academy did you graduate from? The Bungakuza? Or the Haikuza training center?"
Kitahara Shin paused, his hand holding the coffee catching in his throat. He turned to look at him. "Why do you ask that?"
"Because your performance was very standard."
Ishida Kazunari gestured, "The movement, the rhythm of the lines, and even those little details like adjusting his glasses—it's so precise, it's like it was measured with a ruler. This kind of 'technical' style must be from a professionally trained background, right?"
In this circle, "self-taught" usually means full of talent but lacking control, while "academic" means solid basic skills but prone to rigidity. In Ishida's eyes, Kitahara Shin was clearly the top student of the latter.
Kitahara Shin paused for a moment, then smiled.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you."
He finished the last sip of coffee and threw the empty can into the trash can: "I'm neither a Bungakuza nor a Haijuza, and I've never attended any acting school."
"ha?"
Ishida Issei's eyes widened, and his hand holding the cigarette trembled slightly: "You're not? — You're a self-taught practitioner?"
"Do I look like a good student?" Kitahara Shin asked rhetorically.
"—Like." Ishida nodded honestly, "Like that kind of weird senior who gets straight A's in school and then stays to teach after graduation."
Kitahara Shin shook his head helplessly.
"You're overthinking it. It's probably because I'm good at imitating."
He glanced at his watch and straightened the collar of his white coat. "Alright, break time is over. Time to go back; our next scene is a duet."
After saying that, he stood up straight and extended his right fist toward Ishida Issei.
Ishida Issei paused for a moment.
He then stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, a cheerful smile befitting a young man playing on his lips.
"Come on, second brother."
He also raised his fist.
"Bang."
The two fists lightly touched in mid-air.
It was already 11 p.m. when we finished work.
The streets of Tokyo were bathed in a warm, ambiguous orange-red hue from the neon lights.
"Kitahara-san".
As soon as I stepped out of the TV station, a voice came from behind me.
Issei Ishida stood in the shadow of the vending machine, a shoulder bag slung over his shoulder. He had changed back into his casual clothes, a loose-fitting hoodie, and looked like the rebellious teenager he once was.
"Are you free?" He scratched his head, his eyes slightly unfocused. "I know a good oden place around here. — If you don't mind."
Kitahara Shin stopped, glanced at his watch, and then adjusted his glasses.
"If someone's treating me, of course I'm free."
Ishida Issei paused for a moment, then grinned, and his awkwardness dissipated considerably.
"Let's go! That family's radishes are amazing!"
It was a small shop with only six seats in a back alley of Shinjuku.
A large, steaming pot filled with a dark broth.
Two grown men were huddled together in front of a narrow bar, with steaming hot radishes, beef tendons, and two glasses of warm sake in front of them.
After a few drinks, the initial awkwardness evaporated with the heat.
"To be honest, playing the role of Kazuya sometimes feels quite ironic to me."
Ishida Issei poked at the dark, boiled egg in his bowl and gave a wry smile. "In the script, I have to steal things to get my family's attention—if it were my dad, even if I blew up the Metropolitan Police Department, he'd probably just straighten his tie for the camera and say, 'Oh, what a naughty kid.'"
Being that guy's son is really tiring.
Ishida Issei took a swig of his drink, his eyes somewhat unfocused, as if venting pent-up resentment: "Everywhere I go, people point and whisper, as if I was born to be a womanizer or a good-for-nothing who only relies on his father. Sometimes I think, if I had been born into an ordinary fishmonger family, would I have been more at ease?"
He turned to look at Kitahara Shin, a hint of self-mockery in his eyes: "Sorry, I've had too much to drink and was talking about such trivial things."
Kitahara Shin slowly picked up a piece of radish and blew on it to cool it down.
"The radish is good."
He didn't rush to offer platitudes or feign sympathy; he simply took a calm bite: "You can't choose your origins. Just like this pot of oden, some radishes are born at the bottom, while others float on top. But whether it tastes good in the end depends on whether it absorbs the flavors."
Kitahara Shin put down his chopsticks and clinked glasses with Ishida: "You have a troublesome father, which is certainly unlucky. But looking at it another way, it's precisely because of these messy experiences that you can portray a broken child like Kazuya more convincingly than anyone else."
"Pain is the fuel for actors."
Kitahara Shin looked at him and smiled: "Consider this the only legacy he left you. Don't waste it."
Ishida Issei was stunned.
He stared at Kitahara Shin for a few seconds, then suddenly burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking with laughter.
"You have a really sharp tongue."
He wiped away the tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes, feeling inexplicably lighter. "But that's certainly true. Fuel—ha, then my fuel reserves are truly inexhaustible."
He raised his glass, this time not out of politeness, but out of genuine warmth: "Alright. Cheers to this damn fuel."
"Cheers."
The crisp sound of glasses clinking together felt especially warm in the cold night.
The meal was very enjoyable.
There was no airs of seniority or juniority, nor the pretense between celebrities; only mutual appreciation between two men with ambitions in acting.
One o'clock in the morning.
The two said goodbye at the intersection.
See you tomorrow, Second Brother.
Ishida Issei waved and turned to get into a taxi.
Kitahara Shin stood under the streetlight, watching the car's taillights disappear into the night.
He tightened the collar of his trench coat and turned to walk towards the hotel.
Just then.
Kitahara Shin paused, momentarily stunned.
Looks like I'm having pretty good luck today.
Under the streetlights ahead, a ball of light emitting a faint green glow was suspended.
He reached out and grabbed the ball of light.
[Item Obtained: Rebel's Silver Ear Cartilage Clip (Green, Rare)]
Description: A slightly oxidized ear clip made of sterling silver. It symbolizes those souls that refuse to be tamed; wearing it means you refuse to listen to those boring lectures.
effect:
[Wild Intuition]: Increases sensitivity to danger and malice by 20%.
[Auditory Shielding]: It allows you to actively block out surrounding noise and focus on your own world.
Kitahara Shin played with the small silver ring.
It's somewhat interesting, but it's a bit of a waste of his time.
He doesn't need to block out noise; in this circle, sometimes noise is the source of intelligence.
Moreover, the concept of "wild instinct" is a poor match for the character of "Masaya Kashiwagi".
Elegance is the ultimate form of rationality; it doesn't require wildness.
Kitahara Shin returned to his hotel room, drew the curtains, and shut out the noise from the outside world.
He sat on the sofa and brought up the system interface.
The equipment crafting interface is now available.
Kitahara Shin's gaze swept over his equipment inventory.
Since this new equipment is useless, why not—
His gaze lingered on the [debt collector's black leather gloves (green)].
This is indeed a magical tool when shooting yakuza films.
But now that he has the permanent title of "The Last Yakuza," which comes with an aura of intimidation, the function of these gloves seems somewhat redundant.
"It's decided."
With a slight thought, Kitahara Shin dragged the [Debt Collector's Black Leather Gloves] into the first crafting slot.
Next, he dragged the [Rebel's Silver Ear Bone Clip] that he had just picked up into the second crafting slot.
"Synthesis confirmed."
The system interface began to shake violently.
The green light collided and merged wildly in the two squares, eventually revealing a faint hint of deep purple.
[Triggered a cross-level synthesis! Congratulations, host, you have obtained a purple epic-level equipment.]
Kitahara Shin's pupils contracted slightly.
Purple?
Shouldn't it be blue?
The backs of three cards, each shimmering with a different light, slowly appeared before my eyes.
Please choose one.
Kitahara Shin took a deep breath and clicked on the first one.
Option A: [The Thief's Magnetic Ring] (Blue, Excellent)
Description: An ordinary-looking black ring, with miniature magnetic poles embedded inside. Effect:
[Following You Like a Shadow]: Increases finger dexterity by 50%. You can steal a wallet from someone's pocket without them noticing, or perform an impossible card swap in a magic show.
[Adsorption]: It can adsorb small metal objects (such as keys and coins) weighing up to 50 grams without air contact.
Kitahara Shin shook his head. If it were for performing magic, then it would certainly be useful.
But he doesn't need to do this kind of stunt for the time being.
Click on the second image.
Option B: [Bomb Disposal Expert's Blast Gauntlets] (Blue, Excellent)
Description: Finger gloves woven from special fibers, lightweight yet capable of withstanding the shockwave of an explosion. Effect:
【Absolute stillness】: Forcefully eliminates all physiological hand tremors during high-risk and precision operations such as "removal" and "wire cutting".
[Explosion-proof]: Hand protection is greatly improved, and it can withstand small-caliber bullets.
this is not bad.
In particular, the entry for "absolute stillness".
But it's still blue after all—I need to see what the purple one is like—
Kitahara Shin's gaze shifted to the last card.
The card emitted a faint purple glow, carrying a chilling sense of mystery.
The moment it was opened, a chilling aura wafted out.
Option C: [God's Left Hand - Sterile Touch] (Purple - Epic)
Appearance: A pair of seemingly ordinary white medical rubber gloves, but they gleam with an almost transparent silver sheen under light.
Once worn, it fits the skin perfectly, like a second skin.
Description: These are gloves belonging to the "Demon Doctor." Legend has it that there was a genius surgeon who never made a mistake on the operating table because he could touch the soul of his patients directly through these gloves. He was both a savior and a tormentor of life.
effect:
【Absolute Zero (Passive)】: When worn, the stability of your hands is enhanced to the limits of human capability. No matter how fast your heart rate is or how noisy the environment, the tremor in your fingertips will always be zero. Even if you are having eye surgery on a roller coaster, your hands will not deviate by an inch.
[Tactile Nerve (Passive)]: These gloves don't block touch; instead, they amplify it. You can feel the pulsation of blood vessels, the texture of muscles, and even the tremors of nerves through your skin. (Simply put: your hands are the highest-precision CT scanner.)
[Divine Domain (Active Domain Skill)]: When you wear gloves and spread your arms, you can create an "operating room aura" with a radius of 3 meters. Within this aura, everyone's emotions will be forcibly suppressed, creating an instinctive sense of "obedience" towards you. You are the surgeon, and they are the assistants. Your commands are absolute decrees.
Kitahara Shin stared at the card, his breath catching in his throat for a second.
No need to look at it at all, just select it directly.
Choose option C.
[Confirm selection.]
[Congratulations, host, you have obtained the equipment: God's Left Hand - Sterile Touch.]
The light dissipated.
In Kitahara Shin's hands, there was a pair of neatly folded white gloves.
It feels cool to the touch, like silk, or like the skin of some kind of creature.
He slowly put on his gloves.
"Smack."
The soft sound of rubber rebounding.
In that instant, the world changed.
The noisy background sounds seemed to fade away, and the dust floating in the air became clearly visible. He raised his hand and looked at his fingers.
Tall, stable, pale.
The fingers gently rubbed together, and the exquisitely delicate tactile feedback flowed from the fingertips throughout the body, as if you could even feel the movement of the air.
Kitahara Shin walked to the mirror.
The person in the mirror was still wearing pajamas, but the white-gloved hands gave the person an eerie, distorted aura.
That was an absolute confidence born from holding the power of life and death.
He pushed up his glasses, his eyes devoid of any warmth, a cold smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
"Surgery, begin."
the next day.
On the set of "Under One Roof".
Today we're filming the highlight of the second episode—a scene where Yi-ya is also in the operating room.
This was originally just a scene to show Masaya's work environment.
But the moment Kitahara Shin put on those "specially made" white gloves and walked into the simulated operating room with his hands raised.
The entire room fell silent.
The actual surgical professor in charge of medical guidance was sitting behind the monitor, drinking tea.
The moment Kitahara Shin walked in, the teacup in his hand froze in mid-air.
-
The bright light shone on Kitahara Shin's face, and his silver-rimmed glasses reflected the light, making it impossible to see his eyes.