MMB Chapter 227 Head-on Confrontation
Chapter 227 Head-on Confrontation
Chapter 227 Head-on Confrontation
The show is called "Tonight, Let's Talk Straight".
In the world of Japanese variety talk shows, the host of this program, Shuichi Tanabe, is notoriously difficult to fool. He's not the type of host who flatters and panders to guests, only letting them say nice things. He likes to suddenly turn around and hand them a knife when the conversation is going at its smoothest, to see how the guest reacts.
Many celebrities do a lot of homework before appearing on this show, studying his past questioning habits, listing all the sensitive issues that might be asked, and preparing responses for each one.
Kitahara Shin made no preparations before he went.
When the studio lights came on, the audience seats were already full.
Shuichi Tanabe, sitting in the host's seat, watched Shin Kitahara walk out with his usual professional smile, then stood up to shake hands.
"Mr. Kitahara, welcome."
"It's an honor to meet you." Kitahara Shin sat down opposite him, his demeanor no different from when he was in a meeting at his own company.
Shuichi Tanabe glanced at him and got straight to the point without any preamble.
There's been a lot of talk about "Bayside Shakedown" lately, but to be honest, the most heated discussion isn't about the plot, but rather that one thing—
Trench coat.
He paused, then posed the question, his tone calm yet sharp as a razor-sharp blade: "Mr. Kitahara, many viewers and media outlets believe that your limited-edition merchandise strategy is essentially eroding your fans' trust and exploiting your fame for quick profits. What is your opinion on this?"
There was a slight commotion in the audience.
Kitahara Shin did not answer immediately, but tilted his head slightly, as if he was seriously considering the wording of the question.
After about three seconds of silence, he spoke.
"I think the term 'harvesting leeks' has a premise—that what you're selling isn't worth the price."
His tone was calm, but not in a way that was deliberately suppressing his emotions; rather, he genuinely felt that there was nothing to get excited about.
"So I want to address this premise first."
Kitahara Shin turned to the staff on the sidelines and gestured with his chin: "Bring the things out."
An assistant walked onto the stage and placed a package on the coffee table.
Kitahara Shin opened it himself, unfolded the military green M-51 trench coat, and draped it over his lap. Under the strong lights of the photography studio, the texture of the fabric was clearly visible.
"Mr. Tanabe, would you like to touch it?"
Tanabe Shuichi paused for a second, then leaned forward and reached out to pinch his collar.
His expression changed subtly.
"Heavy," he said.
"Yes." Kitahara Shin turned the clothes over and pointed to the lining. "The supplier of this fabric makes uniforms for the military. We use the same batch of fabric, not the kind of collaborative material on the market that has cartoon prints and pills after two washes."
He folded the trench coat again and put it back on the coffee table.
"We conducted market research on the pricing of this garment. Regular clothing made of the same fabric and with the same craftsmanship sells for 30% to 50% more in department stores. Whether it's expensive or not is for you to decide."
Tanabe Osamu nodded, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, but simply continued asking questions.
"How do you explain the strategy of limiting production to 10,000 pieces? If the clothing itself is of excellent quality, why not just release it in large quantities instead of resorting to this kind of scarcity marketing?"
"Because I don't want to sell clothes."
Kitahara Shin said this in a very flat tone.
Shuichi Tanabe narrowed his eyes: "Could you be more specific?"
"What I want to sell is one thing—the act of accompanying this show to the end." Kitahara Shin raised his eyes and looked at Tanabe Shuichi. "Each of these 10,000 trench coats has a number, and there's a handwritten shipping record card in the packaging. Five years from now, ten years from now, the person holding this coat can know that they were one of the first people to watch 'Bayside Shakedown.' This coat records more than just a purchase; it records a point in time."
He paused.
"If this is called harvesting leeks, then I admit, I harvested them very carefully."
"7
The audience was silent at first, then someone burst out laughing.
Shuichi Tanabe smiled, but his smile carried a hint of genuine interest, not just polite self-control.
He changed direction.
"Then let me ask you another question. The current viewership ratings for 'Bayside Shakedown' are among the lowest of your past works. Some believe that this round of promotional activities is, to some extent, an attempt to compensate for the poor ratings. Do you accept this assessment?"
"I don't accept it." Kitahara Shin's answer was straightforward, "But I understand why some people think that way."
"In the dramas I've filmed before, like 'Legal High' and 'The White Tower,' the first episode would throw out the most important card, so the audience wouldn't have to wait and could immediately feel the impact of the drama. Those kinds of dramas are straightforward from the start."
"But 'Bayside Shakedown' doesn't follow this approach."
Kitahara Shin leaned back in his chair, his tone still calm, but with an indescribable quality, as if he were talking about something he had thought about very clearly, but was not necessarily willing to tell everyone.
"This drama tells the story of a group of ordinary people going to work. The police chief has to watch his boss's face, the detective wants to catch a murderer but is tripped up by documents, the bureaucrats at headquarters are in meetings, and people are bleeding on the scene. You can't explain all these things in one episode. You need time for the audience to get to know these people, and one day they will suddenly realize that the unlucky Aoshima Shunsaku on the screen looks a lot like someone they know."
"They are even very much like themselves."
He paused.
"When that day comes, the show will truly begin. What I'm doing now is keeping the door open and letting more people in before that day arrives."
Shuichi Tanabe was silent for a moment, then put down the card in his hand.
This action is not common in the many years he has hosted this show.
“If that’s the case,” he said slowly, “then this trench coat is indeed more than just a piece of clothing.”
"Yes." Kitahara Shin nodded slightly.
After the program aired, the direction of public opinion was somewhat unexpected.
Those commentators who were originally waiting to see Kitahara Shin make a fool of himself or give a bunch of official platitudes to get by, remained silent for a while after the show aired.
The criticism hasn't disappeared, but its nature has changed.
The original argument that "the movie star has fallen and is starting to exploit his fans" has been gradually diluted by another voice—the group of people who actually went to watch "Bayside Shakedown" from the first episode have begun to make some comments that are not so certain, but not so negative either.
"I went there to see just how bad it really was."
"When I watched the third episode, I suddenly remembered our company's section chief who always shifted the blame."
"Toshisaku Aoshima is a bit annoying, but his annoyance is very real."
These comments are scattered everywhere, not forming a big wave, but like tiny bubbles starting to rise from the bottom of the water, their number is slowly increasing.
The ratings didn't see a significant jump, remaining within the thirteen or fourteen percent range. In stark contrast, several other prime-time dramas airing at the same time easily surpassed twenty percent.
However, Kitahara Shin's attitude towards this number is no different from that at the beginning of the broadcast.
Secretary Aida delivered the weekly viewership report. Kitahara Shin glanced at it, put it down, and continued reading the script.
Ota Masakazu sat beside him, looking at his expression, opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing.
He slowly began to believe that Kitahara Shin already had a map in his mind showing how this matter would unfold.
Ijuin Toru received that letter on an ordinary afternoon.
The envelope was made of kraft paper, with a formal printed address and the Kitahara Office logo affixed to the back.
He opened it, and inside was a stiff cardboard sheet printed with: "First Batch Limited Release · Number 0732 · Pre-order Confirmation Notice"
Below is a line of small print stating that the trench coat will be shipped within two weeks, along with official shipping instructions.
Ijuin Toru flipped through the card for a while, then casually stuck it on the bookshelf, between a row of CDs.
That night, he started watching "Bayside Shakedown" from the first episode again.
It wasn't because of any particular reason, I just don't know why, but I wanted to watch it again.
In the fourth episode, there's a scene where Shunsaku Aoshima runs to Shinji Muroi with evidence, wanting headquarters to approve a cross-district search request. Muroi takes the documents, looks at them for a long time, and then, in an extremely official and calm tone, tells him that three steps in the procedure haven't been completed, making approval impossible.
Qingdao Junzuo stood there with an indescribable expression on his face—neither anger nor grievance, but the kind of powerlessness one feels when you hit a wall but can't do anything about it.
Ijuin Toru stared at the camera for a while.
He studied at the film academy for so many years, watched countless auteur films that pursued a sense of form, and also watched countless meticulously designed commercial blockbusters.
But he rarely saw such things.
It doesn't show off its skills or try to be sentimental; it simply presents that sense of powerlessness honestly, letting you experience it for yourself.
He recalled a line that Kitahara Shin had said on a variety show—
"One day, they will suddenly realize that the unfortunate Shunsaku Aoshima on the screen looks a lot like someone they know."
Ijuin Toru sat in his dormitory, staring at the paused screen, and remained silent for a long time.
He has never been one to admit that he is moved by anything.
But he also clicked on episode five.
No one can say for sure exactly when that turning point began.
But starting one noon, some new faces began to appear in front of the television in Kenichi Oshima's bento shop.
It wasn't a familiar face brought by a regular customer, but a complete stranger—someone passing by the door saw the words "Airing at noon on 'The Great Investigation Line'" posted on the glass, pushed the door open, ordered a bento box, and sat down by the window.
Sometimes they would chat with regular customers for a few minutes, and sometimes they would just watch quietly by themselves, then clean up their plates, say thank you, and leave.
Kenichi Oshima didn't know where these people had heard about this place, nor did he bother to ask.
He simply tuned the TV to Fuji Channel every noon and left the door open.
Such a simple thing, at a moment he was unaware of, had already begun to produce something.