MMB Chapter 73 The Empty Alley
Chapter 73 The Empty Alley
In a secluded bar in Roppongi, jazz music flowed through the dim air.
There were no outsiders, only Honami Suzuki and Yami Arimori (who plays Satomi Sekiguchi), who had just finished all their promotional work.
Two empty glasses of red wine sat before them, their cheeks flushed with a slight intoxication.
"To be honest," Arimori swirled his glass, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the liquid clinging to the glass, "even now, just thinking about the way Kanji looked at me in that scene in Ehime still makes my heart race. It was such a strange feeling. Even though it was acting, I always felt like he saw right through all my anxieties."
"I understand."
Honami Suzuki rested her chin on one hand, while unconsciously drawing circles on the table with the other. "Kitahara-san... is a monster. When you act with him, you don't need to 'act' at all. Just look into his eyes, and the emotions are naturally drawn out."
"Especially the rain scene in the second episode."
Honami Suzuki paused, her eyes softening slightly. "Back then, the crew used a water truck to create artificial rain. It was freezing cold, and I stood there waiting for a long time, shivering from the cold. When Kitahara rushed over, the script said he was supposed to angrily ask me why I wasn't leaving."
But he didn't.
"When he looked at me, the self-blame and heartache in his eyes were colder than the rain. The moment he threw away his umbrella and took off his coat to cover my head... I really cried. Not because I felt wronged, but because I felt... if there was a man in real life who would stand in the rain for me, I would probably wait like a fool."
"Ouch--"
Arimori chuckled mischievously, leaning closer with a hint of gossip in his voice, "Listen to that tone. Confess honestly, were you really smitten back then?"
Honami Suzuki was stunned for a moment, then her cheeks turned even redder, as if someone had exposed her secret.
"No way..." she retorted stubbornly, but her eyes drifted elsewhere. "That's because you were too immersed in the role. As for you, on the day of the wrap party, I saw you staring at his hands as he cooked, your eyes were practically popping into the pot."
"Because he's really handsome!"
Yuzuri Arimori simply stopped pretending, slumped onto the table and sighed, "He can act, he can cook, and most importantly, he has that kind of aloofness that makes him reliable in crucial moments... Who could resist a man like that? If I didn't know he seemed to be carrying something on his mind, I might actually have pursued him."
The two looked at each other and burst out laughing at the same time.
Her laughter carried a hint of shyness as a woman, and also a touch of pride as an actress.
……
Meanwhile, the world outside the bar is experiencing an unprecedented "silence".
Nine o'clock in the evening.
Ginza, Shinjuku, Shibuya. These usually bustling neighborhoods, noisy until the early hours of the morning, were now eerily quiet, like ghost towns. Taxi drivers parked their cars on the side of the road, convenience store clerks stared at the small TVs on the checkout counters, and even office workers who were working overtime put down their pens.
The atmosphere in Fuji Television's data monitoring room was extremely tense.
Da Duoliang stared intently at the red curve on the monitor. The curve soared, surpassing 20%, surpassing 25%, and finally, at the moment the finale aired, it crashed into the 30% mark.
[Average peak viewership rating: 32.4%]
"Record broken..."
The data analyst's voice trembled, "Mr. Dodo, that's 32.4%! That's even higher than the Taiga drama Kitahara-kun starred in!"
No, they're not the same.
Duo Liang took a deep breath, took out a cigarette from his pocket, but did not light it. He simply held it to his nose and inhaled the smell of tobacco to calm himself down.
His eyes gleamed with an almost fanatical light. "Don't compare this to a Taiga drama."
"The 30% of Taiga dramas are due to 'inertia,' which is the habit of elderly people all over Japan turning on the TV as background noise after dinner. Even if a different actor were to star in it, as long as it's NHK and it's a Sengoku period drama, the ratings won't be low. That's a victory for the platform and a benefit of the subject matter."
Akira pointed at the figure on the screen saying goodbye to Rika, his voice rising several octaves:
"But this is for young people who want to go out and have fun even in the pouring rain! To get these most restless and playful urban men and women in this bubble era to obediently go home and watch TV on a Monday night is simply a miracle!"
"Moreover," a senior GG department manager interjected, his tone full of awe, "viewers of Taiga dramas can't afford cars or Tiffany's, but the 32.4% who watch 'Tokyo Love Story' are all major consumers with real money in their hands. For sponsors, the value of that 32.4% is equivalent to 50% of that of Taiga dramas!"
More importantly, in the Taiga drama, Kitahara Shin is just an eye-catching supporting character, one of many veteran actors.
But he shouldered that 32.4%.
It was with his not-so-tall, yet incredibly imposing figure that he single-handedly transformed this drama from an ordinary romance into a social phenomenon of the Heisei era.
"A monster..."
Looking at the monitor, Da Liang said, "Tonight, he's temporarily achieved godlike status."
……
On the screen, the story came to an end.
Three years later, the streets of Tokyo were teeming with people.
Kanji, who is already married to Rimi, unexpectedly runs into Rika in a crowd.
Kitahara Shin stood on the sidewalk, wearing his signature trench coat.
He looked at Rika, who was still smiling brightly but no longer belonged to him, and his eyes no longer held the confusion and panic of a country boy.
Those were eyes that had been tempered by the passage of time.
It contains both nostalgia for the past and a calm acceptance of the present. There is no heart-wrenching regret, only a kind of bittersweet sense of relief unique to adults.
"Goodbye, Kanji." Rika waved with a smile.
"goodbye."
Kitahara Shin nodded.
He turned around and walked in the opposite direction.
After taking a few steps, he stopped, his shoulders twitching slightly.
All the viewers were on the edge of their seats, hoping he could make a comeback like he did in the first episode, even if only once.
But he didn't.
He simply tightened his grip on the cake he had bought for his wife, then took another step and disappeared into the vast crowd.
That figure, with its restraint and forbearance, was full of power.
It's as if it's telling everyone: the bubble has burst, the dream has ended, we've lost a lot, and we have many regrets. But life goes on, and we still have to carry our cakes home to face that imperfect, but real, tomorrow.
"Waaah..."
In a cheap rental room in Jiangdong Ward, the middle-aged company president, who had just received a bankruptcy liquidation notice, looked at that figure from behind, covered his face, and burst into tears.
He wasn't crying because of Kanji and Rika's missed opportunity.
He was crying for that passionate and wonderful 80s that he could never go back to.
Kitahara Shin's turn was, on behalf of all Japanese adults, the most dignified, yet most cruel, farewell to that golden age.
……
A week later.
Fuji Television had to set aside a conference room specifically to store letters sent to the "Tokyo Love Story" production team.
The mailman brings in several large sacks of mail every day.
The recipient field on these letters rarely lists "Kitahara Shin" or "Suzuki Honami".
The vast majority of them were addressed to "Kanji Nagao".
The staff opened one of the letters, and inside there was no fervent declaration of love from a fan, only a thin sheet of paper with a line of neat penmanship on it:
[Wanji-kun, thank you. Seeing you not look back at the very end, I finally made up my mind to shut down my heavily indebted company. It hurts, but I will be like you, carrying a cake home and living a good life.]
Another letter contained a crumpled 1,000 yen note:
This is all the money I have left. Please, Wanji-kun, be happy. Seeing you smile on TV makes me feel like I can hold on a little longer.
Kitahara Shin stood in front of the mountain of letters and picked one up at random.
The moment your fingertips touch the letter, you can almost feel the trembling of the writer's pen.
In this bitterly cold February, the character he played no longer belonged to him.
It turned into a ball of fire.
Though weak and clumsy, it truly warmed countless frozen hands in this collapsing era.
"Kitahara-san".
Da Tian stood at the door, looking at the room full of letters, his voice trembling slightly, "You might... really become an amazing actor."
Kitahara Shin remained silent.
He simply folded the letter carefully along its original creases and put it into the pocket of his suit jacket.
The thin piece of paper pressed against my chest through my shirt; it was very light, yet it made my ribs ache.
"Ota-san."
Kitahara Shin broke the silence, his voice somewhat low.
"Here!" Da Tian subconsciously straightened his back, as if he were facing not his own artist, but a great figure who had just stepped down from his pedestal.
"Find some sturdy boxes and put all these letters back. Don't lose a single one."
After saying that, he picked up his coat hanging on the back of the chair, casually draped it over his shoulder, pushed open the door, and walked out.
"Clatter".
The lights in the lounge were off.
In the dimly lit corridor, only the sound of leather shoes on the marble floor could be heard, steady and clear, echoing one after another in the dead of night that had just created a ratings phenomenon but had quickly returned to calm.