MMB Chapter 175 Red Carpet Night and the Gaze of an Old Era
Chapter 175 Red Carpet Night and the Gaze of an Old Era
Chapter 175 Red Carpet Night and the Gaze of an Old Era
Faced with Hideaki Anno's shocked and almost stunned expression, Shin Kitahara did not explain why he had the ability to "read minds." Instead, he simply pulled up a chair and sat directly opposite the future "rogue" director.
He leaned forward slightly, his eyes no longer holding the polite demeanor of a national superstar, but a kind of fervent fervor that no otaku could resist, a fervor shared by "kindred spirits": "It's not just about spiritual completion. Anno-san, actually I noticed that when I was watching *Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind*. When that giant warrior appeared, his body dissolved and crumbled, that viscous texture like rotting flesh—you drew that, didn't you?"
"boom-
—"
Hideaki Anno felt as if fireworks had exploded in his mind.
If an ordinary person praised him for "doing a good job with the animation," he would at most hum along, thinking the other person was just being polite. But Kitahara Shin's opening remarks precisely hit the nail on the head regarding his proudest achievement, which was also the one that almost made him cough up blood while trying to draw it well: the "Giant God Warrior animation."
"You...you noticed?!"
Hideaki Anno's eyes lit up instantly, his dejected mood vanished, and he almost jumped off the sofa, the mecha model in his hands creaking under his grip: "That sense of collapse! I'm not trying to describe mechanical malfunction, but rather the feeling of biological tissue—"
"It's a tribute to the texture of monster suits in tokusatsu films, and the twisted vitality of creatures before their destruction, right?"
""
Kitahara Shin chuckled and picked up the conversation, then added, "And there's that classic Gaina pose from *Gunbuster* (the pose with arms crossed). To be honest, I've watched that shot several times. As a semi-tokusatsu fan and mecha enthusiast, I really admire the person who could draw such a shot."
Now, Hideaki Anno was completely captivated.
In an era where mainstream media only know how to praise Miyazaki Hayao's "fairytale-like" style and look down on these "otaku" who make mecha and tokusatsu, it is surprising that there is a big star standing at the top of the entertainment industry who understands him so well.
This isn't a celebrity; this is practically a long-lost brother!
"A kindred spirit!!"
Hideaki Anno was so excited he was incoherent, his palms sweating profusely. Forgetting his social anxiety, he grabbed Shin Kitahara and began to talk at length about his ideas for the new project: "Um—the thing I'm thinking of doing now, the protagonist is autistic, and the robot isn't just a simple block of metal, but—a kind of restraint device! What I want to explore is the barriers between people—"
Halfway through his sentence, his voice lowered again, and his eyes became somewhat evasive: "But—the script was too bleak. The investors—were never very optimistic about it. They thought this kind of thing wouldn't sell as a toy."
Of course.
In the 90s, when everyone was busy making action-packed, classic, and family-friendly animations, who would be willing to invest money in a film where the protagonist is a loser, everyone is a psychopath, and the audience might end up feeling depressed?
Apart from Kitahara Shin.
"I voted."
Kitahara Shin interrupted his self-doubt with a resolute voice, like Zaizen Goro issuing a surgical order: "How much money do you need? Count me in on your production committee."
"And I only have one request."
He stared into Hideaki Anno's eyes and said, enunciating each word clearly, "Never change your script to cater to the market. Go as crazy as you want. Draw however you want to take revenge on society. I want to see the most authentic Hideaki Anno."
Quiet.
The lounge fell into a deathly silence.
Hideaki Anno stared wide-eyed at the man before him, who was as handsome as the sun, and his eyes instantly welled up with tears.
In this world where capital reigns supreme, where everyone forces him to rewrite the script and act like a "normal person," there is actually someone willing to spend money to make him "go crazy" and promise never to interfere.
"Kitahara-san————"
Hideaki Anno slid off the sofa, his knees buckling, almost causing him to kneel and kowtow on the spot: "I—I will definitely not let you down!! I will draw my very soul into it!!"
Beside him, Hayao Miyazaki, who had been silently smoking, took a deep drag and coughed twice, choking on his smoke.
"Cough cough————"
Through the swirling smoke, the old man looked at Kitahara Shin with an expression that was both as if he were looking at a fool and as if he were touched.
He knew his apprentice too well. Anno's head was full of filth; could this kind of mystical film really make money? And why would he invest so much money in it?
This kid—he's doing this to save face for me, isn't he?
Miyazaki sighed inwardly: Because Anno is my apprentice, and I introduced him, Kitahara is willing to lose money to help me take care of this good-for-nothing—not only giving him money, but also giving him dignity.
What a loyal and devoted child!
A warm feeling welled up in Miyazaki's heart. He hadn't expected that Kitahara Shin, who was as shrewd as a fox in the business world, would be so respectful of his teacher. Miyazaki remembered this favor.
However, the old man was unaware of this.
At that moment, Kitahara Shin was not thinking about "giving Miyazaki face" at all.
Looking at Hideaki Anno, who was so excited he was about to cry, he felt as if he were seeing not a down-on-his-luck otaku, but a mountain of gold about to erupt.
That's EVA.
Those are the future "money-making warriors of the new century".
That was half of the entire generation of Heisei-era otaku, a legend that could sell merchandise for thirty years and plunder the entire anime and manga market.
This deal made them incredibly rich.
"Then it's settled."
Kitahara Shin stood up, smiled, and patted Anno Hideaki on the shoulder, like a kind senior and a shrewd hunter: "Have your producer contact my agency later. Money is not a problem, but I hope that if there is a need in the future, and if I have suitable newcomers who want to try voice acting, Director Anno can give them a chance."
"No problem! Absolutely no problem!" Hideaki Anno thumped his chest loudly. "Just ask, and I'll reserve the lead role for you!"
Kitahara Shin was in a great mood as he walked out of the lounge.
He not only acquired shares in "EVA", but also managed to bring this future animation master onto his chariot.
As for Miyazaki Hayao's eyes, filled with love and emotion—
Well, let this beautiful misunderstanding continue.
The next morning.
Kitahara Office, Minato Ward.
In the reception room sat three somewhat reserved young people.
Yosuke Kubozuka was wearing a hoodie two sizes too big, his head down, his eyes occasionally glancing towards the door, carrying the unruliness and unease unique to adolescence.
Matsu Takako was dressed in a well-fitting suit and sat upright, clearly a well-bred young lady, but her lips were tightly pursed.
This reveals her inner tension.
At the far side, Ryoko Hirosue, who still had baby fat and short hair, was looking around the modern office with her big, curious eyes.
"Click".
The door opened.
Kitahara Shin walked in, followed by Ota, who was beaming with joy.
"Sorry to keep you waiting."
Kitahara Shin greeted him with a smile and sat down in the main seat without any of the haughty airs one would expect from a big boss.
"Kitahara-san!"
Yosuke Kubozuka practically launched himself off the ground, stood up, and bowed. For a rebellious teenager of that age, Shin Kitahara, who could play a gangster, an elite, and even do a backflip on a variety show, was simply the idol of idols.
Matsu Takako also politely rose and bowed. Although her expression was calm, a glint of light flashed in her eyes. After all, in this industry, who wouldn't want to meet this "goddess of ratings"?
Only Ryoko Hirosue didn't immediately bow; instead, she stared intently at Shin Kitahara's face, as if confirming whether the person on television had truly stepped out.
"Please sit down."
Kitahara Shin waved his hand, "We're just having a casual chat today, no need to be so formal."
He glanced at Da Tian, who immediately distributed the prepared letter of intent to the three men.
"You can take the specific terms back and review them at your leisure, or consult a lawyer."
Kitahara Shin cut to the chase: "I only want to say a few things today. First, the agency will provide each of you with your own dedicated management team, instead of one manager leading a bunch of people like in other companies."
"Secondly, regarding future development. If you have anything you want to do, such as Kuwako wanting to pursue reggae music, or Ryoko wanting to go to university, feel free to mention it. The company will not only provide 100% support, but will also reimburse related educational expenses."
"Third, and most importantly."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the three young faces: "Here, we are equal partners. I don't treat you as cash cows, nor as slaves. I hope you can become true artists," not products on an assembly line.
Upon hearing this, all three of them were stunned.
They had been in contact with other agencies before. Those agents always said things like "You have to be obedient," "You have to lose weight," and "You have to conform to our persona." No one ever talked to them about "equality," let alone supported their personal interests.
Especially Matsu Takako. As the eldest daughter of a Kabuki family, she had seen too much of the industry's rules and hierarchy. Kitahara Shin's words were simply heretical.
"that----"
Yosuke Kubozuka couldn't help but raise his hand, asking hesitantly, "Kitahara-san, won't the company lose money doing this? What if we become famous and then leave?"
Only a hothead like him would dare to ask such a question.
Ota, who was listening nearby, broke out in a cold sweat. He was about to reprimand them when Kitahara Shin raised his hand to stop him.
Kitahara Shin smiled.
"Losing money? Maybe."
He looked at Yosuke Kubozuka with an open and honest gaze: "But if you really become that famous and feel you can go it alone and want to venture out on your own, I have no right to stop you, right? You can't force things. Even if we do part ways in the end, I hope we can still be friends and business partners."
"This industry is cold, but I hope there can be some warmth in this firm. I want to be kind and righteous to everyone."
The air was still for a few seconds.
"He is benevolent and righteous."
The word carried a compelling power when spoken by this man known as an "ambitious man".
Matsu Takako looked at him, her guard slowly lowering. She finally understood why her father, Matsumoto Koshiro, had gone against everyone's wishes to send her here instead of to those established, large firms.
Because people are treated as human beings here.
"Okay, that's all for today."
Kitahara Shin stood up, glanced at his watch, and said, "Go back and think it over. If you're willing to join, you're welcome anytime."
After saying that, he turned around and prepared to leave.
"Wait a moment!"
A crisp sound rang out.
It's Ryoko Hirosue.
This young girl from Kochi Prefecture, not yet an adult, possessed the fearless spirit of a newborn calf. She stood up, looked directly into Kitahara Shin's eyes, and asked, "Um—if we sign a contract, when can I act with you?"
As is customary, the boss would usually say something like, "Work hard, and you'll have opportunities in the future," which is just empty talk.
But Kitahara Shin stopped and looked back at her.
"If nothing unexpected happens."
He said casually, as if he were explaining what to eat tomorrow: "In a month or two."
"Why?!"
The three of them were completely dumbfounded.
One or two months? To act with this national-level TV King?
What kind of rocket speed is this?
"Get ready. That script—it'll really tough you out."
After leaving behind these meaningful words, Kitahara Shin pushed open the door and left.
In the reception room, only three young people remained, looking at each other in bewilderment.
"Really?!"
Yosuke Kubozuka scratched his messy hair, looking incredulous. "A month or two later? Is he kidding me?"
""
"Whether it's true or not."
Ryoko Hirosue sat down again, picked up the contract, and her eyes became unusually firm: "At least he was willing to say that, which is already giving us a lot of face. Other agencies would only make us shine their seniors' shoes. I think—there's nothing to hesitate about."
Matsu Takako, who had remained silent, watched the direction Kitahara Shin had left in, her fingers gently tracing the edge of the contract.
"He's serious."
She said softly, "My father said that although this man may seem arrogant, he never speaks empty words."
Five o'clock in the afternoon.
Tokyo Prince Hotel.
The scene at the 17th Japan Academy Film Prize ceremony.
The red carpet was already packed with media and fans. The flashes of light from the cameras were like a non-stop barrage of lightning, illuminating the evening sky.
A stretched Lincoln slowly came to a stop.
The car door opened.
First up was director Juzo Itami, followed by veteran actor Rentaro Mikuni, and then the middle-aged powerhouse Toshiaki Karasawa.
Finally, a shiny leather shoe stepped onto the red carpet.
Kitahara Shin came out.
He was wearing a custom-made black tuxedo, without a tie, but with a bow tie. His hair was combed back, revealing a smooth, full forehead.
"Aaaaaah!! Nobu-kun!!"
"Kitahara!! Look this way!!"
The screams erupted instantly, their decibel level completely drowning out the on-site announcements.
Kitahara Shin smiled and waved, then turned and helped a fellow actress from the same production. His composed and unhurried demeanor made him stand out even on the star-studded red carpet.
"It's been a long time, Kitahara-kun."
Toshiaki Karasawa walked over with a smile and patted him on the shoulder. "I've really been impressed by 'The White Tower' lately. To be honest, when I first heard you were going to play Zaizen, I was thinking about auditioning for it. But then I thought better of it, and thank goodness I didn't, or I'd be slapped in the face right now."
Kitahara Shinya laughed: "Karazawa-san is too modest. If you were the one acting, I might not be able to win. Next time, if there's a chance, let's have a real contest."
"Haha, okay! It's a deal!"
The two chatted and laughed, showing no signs of the tension that often arises between rivals.
The cast and crew of "The Grand Hotel Lies" walked the red carpet in a grand procession, capturing countless photos wherever they went.
Backstage lounge.
This is another corner of the Vanity Fair, where the air is filled with the scent of perfume and a subtle hint of gunpowder.
Kitahara Shin had just finished touching up his makeup and was about to sit down at the round table in front of him.
He encountered someone at the corner of the corridor.
He was an elderly man with gray hair, wearing a crested haori (a traditional Japanese formal dress).
Akira Nishimura.
The veteran actor who starred in "Mito Kōmon" is also one of the nominees for Best Actor, heavily promoted by the so-called "conservatives." Last year, he starred in an art film called "The Last Shot," which, despite its poor box office performance, received high praise from critics and was considered a "textbook example of acting."
The two met unexpectedly in a narrow corridor.
Kitahara Shin politely stopped and bowed slightly: "Hello, Nishimura-senpai."
Akira Nishimura stopped and looked Kitahara Shin up and down with a scrutinizing gaze that carried a hint of arrogance.
"Oh, it's Kitahara-kun."
He didn't return the gift, but simply nodded slightly, his tone carrying a condescending, lecturing quality: "You're quite famous lately. I see you on TV every day."
"You flatter me, senior. I was just lucky."
"luck?"
Akira Nishimura snorted, took a step forward, and approached Shin Kitahara. He lowered his voice and said, "It was definitely luck. But young man, you can't go far in acting with just luck and a little bit of cleverness. Movies are different from television; they need depth and experience."
"You're still too green. Take a few more years to mature. Some things you can't just take because you want them."
The implication couldn't be clearer—forget about tonight's Best Actor award; it belongs to us old folks.
The staff passing by all felt the oppressive atmosphere and quickly walked with their heads down, afraid of being affected.
Kitahara Shin looked at the arrogant old man in front of him.
He wasn't angry; not even the curve of his lips changed.
However, his eyes changed.
[Mind Equipment: God's Left Hand - Sterile Touch (Purple) Activated]
In that instant, Kitahara Shin's pupils seemed to shrink to pinpoints.
He didn't speak, but simply looked at Akira Nishimura silently. There was no anger or rebuttal in his eyes, only a condescending indifference and pity, as if he were looking at a corpse or a tumor waiting to be removed.
That was the gaze of Goro Zaizen as he looked down upon all living beings from the top of the white tower.
That was the strong's silent mockery of the weak.
Akira Nishimura originally wanted to say a few more words of reprimand, but when he was stared at by that look, the hairs on the back of his neck instantly stood on end.
That sense of oppression—even made this veteran actor, who had been acting for decades, feel a slight unease.
He subconsciously took half a step back, his imposing manner instantly vanishing.
Kitahara Shin withdrew his gaze, smiled slightly, and resumed his gentle and refined demeanor: "I've learned something. But I think—times always move forward, don't they?"
After saying that, he turned sideways and strode past Akira Nishimura.
The old man was left standing there, his face ashen, his hand holding the cane trembling slightly.
Enter the hall.
The awards ceremony is about to begin.
Kitahara Shin found his seat. It was at the first-row round table, where only the truly top nominees were entitled to sit.
Just as he sat down.
A strange silence fell over the entrance to the venue, followed by a cacophony of camera shutters clicking away.
Sayuri Yoshinaga has arrived.
She didn't wear one of those flashy backless evening gowns, but rather a very traditional deep purple tomesode kimono (the highest level of formal attire for married women).
Time has left its mark on her face; fine lines around her eyes are clearly visible. She is no longer the innocent "Little Lily" of yesteryear, and her figure is no longer as slender as that of young actresses. But as she walked down the aisle, the dignified aura befitting a "national treasure-level film queen" overshadowed the brilliance of all the young actresses on the red carpet.
It is a kind of majesty that doesn't rely on showing skin or piling up jewelry.
She is like the "godmother" of this glamorous circle. With every step she takes, the actors sitting on both sides—whether they are rising stars or veterans—subconsciously straighten their backs, and some even bow slightly in greeting.
She walked confidently and steadily toward the main stage, her eyes fixed straight ahead.
As she passed by Kitahara Shin's table.
She didn't stop walking, nor did she even turn her head, as if she were just passing by a piece of air.
but.
In the instant the two brushed past each other.
In the blind spots of countless eyes and cameras around.
Her chin pressed down very slightly, almost imperceptibly.
That wasn't a greeting; it was more like a silent "confirmation."
I've confirmed you're here too.
Make sure you're ready to receive that honor.
This movement was extremely fast and very well concealed.
But Kitahara Shin saw it.
Moreover, several of the most perceptive veteran photojournalists on site, relying on their professional instincts, captured this extremely subtle moment of interaction.
"Snap! Snap!"
The sound of camera shutters clicking was continuous.
As Kitahara Shin watched Yoshinaga Sayuri's dignified back, a meaningful smile slowly crept onto his previously calm lips.
That was a signal.
A signal from the top of the "altar".
Tonight, this grand drama of the transition between the old and new eras is finally about to begin.
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