His fifteen square meter apartment was now no different from a makeshift production office. The light from the computer monitors reflected off the tangled cables on the wooden floor. The crowdfunding money had been smoothly disbursed, and the filming equipment was fully rented. Logistically, everything was ready to shoot.
However, a perfect project always risks being destroyed by a rotten core. And that rotten core was currently sitting squarely on the coffee table.
It was a thick stack of stapled A4 papers, titled: Original Script.
Chizuru sat on the mattress, holding a warm cup of tea with both hands. Her light brown eyes stared expectantly at the man sitting opposite her. According to the plan, this short film would need a few supporting actors. She wanted to ask him to take on a small role as a friend of the male lead while also helping her run lines before shooting day.
He sat with his legs crossed, his face bearing its usual foul expression. He picked up the script and flipped through a few pages. His eyebrows knitted tighter and tighter, forming a deep crease in the middle of his forehead.
"Is this what you plan to use for filming, Ichinose?" He spoke, his cold pitch carrying unconcealed disgust. "Who wrote this garbage? A freshman with delusions of grandeur, or a heartbroken middle aged man with megalomania?"
"It is a script a friend from my drama club helped write," Chizuru answered awkwardly. "I think it is quite touching. Just try reading the scene on page fifteen, the part where they argue in the rain."
He clicked his tongue and turned to page fifteen. His dark eyes scanned the long, cheesy lines describing psychological states. He cleared his throat.
And then, a true disaster unfolded.
The man capable of manipulating thousands of viewers with sharp words, the one with a slick mouth who had just skinned a narcissistic woman in public, was now reading lines with a flat, dry, and soulless voice exactly like an automated text reader.
"Why did you leave? My heart shatters into a thousand pieces. Is the sky raining today, or are these my tears falling for you."
He read every single word without stumbling, but the flatness of his tone made the romantic dialogue as hilariously dry as a personal income tax report. There was no anger, no sorrow. Not a single gram of emotion was conveyed.
Chizuru sat opposite him. At first, she widened her eyes in surprise, but just five seconds later, she had to cover her mouth with both hands. Her shoulders shook violently. She was trying with all her might not to laugh out loud at the disastrous acting skills of this man who always considered himself perfect.
Seeing Chizuru's shoulders shaking, he immediately stopped reading. His face darkened, but then relaxed, and he chuckled along with a tragically comic grimace.
"What are you laughing at? Forcing a dry guy like me to immerse myself in this unrealistic trash is like asking a fish to climb a tree!"
For the first time, Chizuru saw this person laugh so genuinely, even if the reason was incredibly annoying and silly. Above all, in a pitifully brief moment, his usually foul face looked strangely attractive when he smiled at her.
"Enough joking around." He dropped the smile, displaying a serious expression with unbelievable speed. "My abilities are observation, analysis, and improvisation. I speak on the fly, using words based on the other person's actual reactions to steer the conversation. Forcing me to memorize every comma and period to act out the sappy mold of a linguistically impaired writer? I am not a parrot. My scripted acting ability is an absolute zero, so do not even think about making me memorize this bullshit."
Chizuru finally could not hold back and giggled. She had never seen him admit his own weakness so bluntly and hilariously.
"Alright, alright, I get that you are not suited for memorization." Chizuru wiped a tear of laughter from the corner of her eye. "But if this script is that bad, what do we do? Shooting starts the day after tomorrow."
His face hardened. The banter vanished. His optimization mindset kicked in. He looked at the stack of papers on the table and coldly delivered his verdict.
"This script is pure shit and ass. The dialogue drags on. The male lead is an introvert who stands there crying in his head for three pages just to say 'I like you'. The writer definitely has a vendetta against conciseness. A solid project needs practical minds, not dreamers."
He pulled out his phone. "You want to make a movie for a patient to watch, right? Then we have to make it sound as human as possible. We need to call in reinforcements to clear out this garbage."
...
Later that afternoon, the small apartment welcomed three more guests.
Kibe and Kuribayashi walked in with bewildered faces following Kazuya's cry for help, carrying a few cans of beer and bags of snacks. Following behind them, timidly hiding by the door, was Sakurasawa Sumi. Chizuru had specially invited her with his permission.
He initially had zero expectations upon realizing Sumi was the girl he had helped the other day. But having good intentions was better than nothing, so he did not say anything more.
He sat sternly at the head of the low table, holding a red pen. He looked no different from a presiding judge about to read a verdict. The script was divided into multiple copies and handed out to everyone.
"I just need you guys help me a simple task." He tapped the back of his pen on the table. "Read this crap and point out every detail that makes you feel nauseous, illogical, or unlike a normal human being. Begin."
"To make a movie?" Kibe's eyes bulged, looking at him as if he had just announced a trip to the moon. "Since when do you know how to make movies?"
"I don't." He replied casually. "That is why I need your help."
The group did not ask any further questions and dove into reading. Just ten minutes later, sighs and tongue clicking began to echo in the room.
"This part where the male lead stalks the female lead going shopping." Kibe grimaced, throwing the paper down. "What kind of man pathetic enough trails a girl all day, constantly telling himself 'She is so beautiful' or 'I do not deserve her'? It is frustrating to read! Normal men have self respect. If rejected, they go drink beer. Who has the free time to pull this perverted stalking crap?"
He nodded in approval, drawing a red line that completely crossed out two pages of the script.
"Yep. The person who wrote this is definitely a pathetic simp who puts women on a pedestal like religious artifacts and acts like a dangerously creepy stalker. Cut this self pitying part out. Turn it into a direct encounter with a straightforward, fair dialogue."
"And this 'supposedly' funny part." Kuribayashi scratched his head, pointing at page twenty. "A supporting character slipping on a banana peel and falling face first into the female's boobs? That trope has been outdated since the nineties. Putting it here looks ridiculous and insults the viewers' intelligence."
"Too much fanservice. Cut it too." He coldly slashed another bright red diagonal line.
Chizuru sat to the side. Watching her friend's passionate script get mercilessly butchered by three men stung a bit, but she could not deny that their words were completely reasonable. Under a realistic lens, this script was riddled with the plot holes of blatant cliches and filler.
While the atmosphere was blazing with slaughter, a small arm tentatively raised from the corner of the table.
It was Sumi. She wore a thin sweater, her face slightly bowed, but her eyes held profound contemplation.
Seeing Sumi raise her hand, the sharp and noisy atmosphere of the three men instantly settled down. Kibe and Kuri shut their mouths. He turned to look at her. The killing intent on his face evaporated completely. He put down the red pen and nodded gently.
"What is it, Sumi? Go ahead and speak." He spoke with the gentleness and patience of a teacher.
Sumi took a small breath, recalling the "look into the mirror" lesson he had taught her. She looked straight at the script, her voice small but articulate.
"At the end...when the male lead confesses, the female lead turns away and just says 'I do not know'. I feel like her actions in this scene are too cold and lack emotional depth. Women are not emotionless ice statues. If she truly had feelings, even if confused, she would show some sort of reflex, like clenching her hands or a wavering gaze before turning away."
Sumi's delicate observation silenced the entire room. It was not a crude critique, but an incredibly human perspective that deeply understood female psychology.
As Sumi voiced her opinion, he nodded, but a small voice whispered in his head. "She is right. Why did I not think of that?"
He disliked that feeling. The feeling of not always being right. But he did not hate it either.
He looked at Sumi, his eyes gleaming with absolute satisfaction. He picked up the red pen, but instead of crossing it out, he circled that section of the script.
"That is exactly what I need." He praised. His deep, warm tone caused Sumi's cheeks to flush slightly, as this was the first time in her life someone had seriously listened to and commended her opinion. "Inner turmoil cannot be expressed through a soulless 'I don't know'. We will revise this part according to Sumi's idea. Focus on body language instead of redundant dialogue."
Chizuru watched the scene before her. The grumpy man who always criticized everything could lower his voice so gently and cherish the opinion of such a timid girl.
He truly used his attitude to categorize people. Ruthless to liars, fair to his brothers, and absolutely tolerant of genuine souls without hidden agendas.
...
Late night. Kibe, Kuri, and Sumi had left.
On the table, the initially thick script was now reduced to less than a third. It had been crossed out in red and mercilessly trimmed down, becoming an incredibly concise, realistic outline brimming with human emotion.
He picked up the thin papers and tossed them back to Chizuru.
"Here is the completed script." He said lightly, stretching as he stood up. "No long winded dialogue, no cheesy descriptions. Just the core situations."
Chizuru flipped through the few pages in panic. "But with so little dialogue, what am I supposed to say during filming? How can I act without a detailed script?"
He stepped in front of her with his hands in his pockets. His eyes were razor sharp, carrying the challenge of a director forcing his actress to push past her limits.
"From now on, throw away your parrot like habits." He commanded. "You have grasped the character's emotional framework, right? Stand up. Face me."
Chizuru stood up, bewildered.
"I already told you, I cannot read scripts, but improvisation is different." He smirked, a cunning smile appearing. "I will throw random scenarios at you based on this outline. You are not allowed to overthink. You must use your own reflexes, use the true emotions of Ichinose Chizuru to respond to me, not the industrial posture of Mizuhara."
"But..."
Before Chizuru could protest, his expression suddenly changed. His eyes darkened as he forced a step forward, dropping an incredibly toxic reprimand exactly as if playing a villain.
"Do you think a few of your pathetic tears can change the fact that you are a failure? You have no talent besides that pretty shell. Useless."
Insulted out of nowhere, Chizuru's pride instantly exploded. Forgetting they were rehearsing, she glared at him and argued back with a growl.
"What the hell do you know about my efforts! What right do you have to judge me?"
"There." He smiled faintly. The killing intent evaporated immediately. He tapped his hand on the table. "That is the emotion. Genuine, unforced anger. Remember that feeling of your chest pounding and the frustration you just felt."
Chizuru froze. He had just used his venomous mouth to provoke her, forcing her to argue back using her true self.
And just like that, for the next two hours, the apartment turned into an emotional arena. He continuously used sharp words and high pressure situations to psychologically attack Chizuru. Sometimes he played an ungrateful traitor, other times a heartless relative. Every limit of Chizuru's endurance was broken by him. They argued fiercely. There were times when Chizuru genuinely shed tears of frustration at his cruelty. But it was precisely from those unscripted tears that she found the most natural way to act, completely shattering the shadow of a rental girlfriend.
When the clock struck two in the morning, the rehearsal ended.
Exhausted, Chizuru slumped onto the wooden floor, gasping for breath. Her throat was bone dry, but her eyes burned brightly with the fire of satisfaction. For the first time in her life, she felt what it meant to truly live with a character rather than just acting.
She looked up at the man in front of her. He was casually cleaning up the empty coffee cans and snack wrappers on the table, not showing a single hint of fatigue.
Chizuru realized something. Even though his mouth was always full of criticism and sarcasm, always acting toxic and irritable, he used that exact extreme method to create the safest space. He pulled his friends in to fix the script, he cherished Sumi's input, and he played the role of an evil deity to squeeze two hundred percent of her talent out of her. He always took action instead of using empty words to make promises.
"Thank you, Kazuya."
Chizuru said softly. The sound was very quiet, blending into the noise of the ceiling fan. This was the first time she called his name so sincerely, without distant honorifics or irritation.
His cleaning motions faltered slightly.
The hand holding the empty coffee can tightened slightly. A warm, soft, and incredibly unfamiliar feeling just brushed past the chest of the man who was always covered in sharp thorns. It was pure recognition. Free of self interest, free of lies. It lightly touched the scabbed over scar he had always hidden for so long.
He turned his face away and let out a cold snort, maintaining his usual grumpy facade.
"Do not misunderstand. I just do not want the audience to suffer brain death from a third rate movie written by an amateur and acted out by an industrial machine. Now that we are done, go back to your room. Remember to save your voice. We start shooting tomorrow."
After saying that, he grabbed the trash bag and stepped out onto the balcony, leaving Chizuru smiling in relief inside the room.
Standing beneath Tokyo's windy night sky, he took a deep breath. A cold plume of vapor puffed into the air. He looked down at his own hand. The corner of his lips unconsciously drew a smile of both satire and sarcasm as he muttered just loud enough to hear.
"Do not be swayed. You are just doing your duty, Kazuya. There are no personal feelings here."
But even so, whenever he thought of Chizuru, that recent thank you still echoed in his head, along with the sensation of his chest aching just a little bit.