Chapter 3 End Roll - part 4

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───Take 4

On what was supposed to be just a half-day of work, a new issue cropped up on the production line. Hiroshi Ninomiya spent the rest of his supposed day off frantically reaching out to departments, troubleshooting left and right until he finally made it home a little past 4 p.m., by which time the sun was already low in the sky.

“Man, I’m exhausted,” he muttered, letting out a weary sigh. Then he noticed two pairs of unfamiliar shoes—clearly men’s—lined up at the entryway. Guests? Yukina didn’t mention anything about guests, he thought. If they were friends of mine, she’d usually shoot me a text… though, come to think of it, my phone died earlier.

“I’m home!” he called out.

His wife, Yukina, appeared at the end of the hallway, hurrying toward him with quick steps.

“Hiro-kun, do you have your phone?”

Really? And here I was expecting a ‘Welcome home.’ He sighed, but replied, “Sorry about that. Forgot to charge it, so it died before noon. Was there something urgent?”

“You’ve got visitors, Dad!” his younger son Shirou chimed in, poking his head through the living room door. Shirou, tanned dark from track practice, was beaming with curiosity. Who the heck could it be? Hiroshi stepped into the living room to find two men sitting on the sofa: a bespectacled, chubby man who looked about his age and another guy in his thirties, all smiles and unusually friendly.

Total strangers, and they looked a little too… friendly. Please don’t let these two be door-to-door salesmen.

“You’re Ninomiya-san, right? Pleased to meet you—I’m Yoshida from Arts Production.” The man with glasses extended a business card.

“And I’m his assistant, Kasuga,” the younger man said, offering his card next.

“Ah, thank you.” Hiroshi accepted both cards and, out of habit, handed over his own business card in return. He worked with plenty of different companies, but he’d never heard of an “Arts Production.” This is getting suspicious.

“I apologize for dropping by unannounced,” Yoshida began, his tone polite. “We happened to meet your son in the park and, feeling it might be fate, took the liberty of asking if we could visit.”

That’s when it hit him: “Arts Production” sounds like some kind of talent agency. Shirou wasn’t exactly model material, but even Hiroshi had to admit his son’s face was charming in an offbeat way, and he was definitely athletic.

“So… are you here to scout my son?”

Before Yoshida and Kasuga could respond, his wife Yukina cut in with a dry, “Of course not.” Yoshida merely smiled and nodded at the comment, diverting attention with a neutral compliment, “Your son has so much energy.” Hiroshi couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed.

“Ninomiya-san, are you familiar with a director named Shunji Tokame?” Yoshida asked suddenly.

Hiroshi blinked, surprised to hear the name. “Oh… yeah. More or less.”

“Well, I’m actually a film director myself, and next year I’ll be working on a joint project with Director Tokame. He’ll be directing, and I’ll be writing the script. The story is going to be based on some of Tokame’s personal experiences. Since we heard he’s from this town, we came out here to do a bit of location scouting, and while we were at the park, Shirou mentioned that his dad is an old friend of Director Tokame’s. So… and I apologize for the imposition… I was hoping you might be able to share some stories from his school days to help me with the script.”

While the explanation made sense, Hiroshi still couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. “I see,” he replied, noncommittally. I mean, come on, you don’t just show up out of nowhere and ask for “stories from Tokame’s past.” The men seemed polite enough, but was it safe to trust them? Tokame was well-known these days, having won an award overseas. Even at the office, people asked Hiroshi for his autograph. What if these guys weren’t filmmakers but, worst-case scenario, tabloid journalists with fake business cards?

“Dropping in unannounced and asking you to share personal stories does sound a bit suspicious, doesn’t it?”

It was the younger assistant, Kasuga, who voiced Hiroshi’s unspoken concerns. Hiroshi glanced down at the business cards on the table. The print confirmed the name: Kasuga.

“If you know Tokame, you might wonder why we don’t just go ask him ourselves,” Kasuga began. “Yoshida and I have known him for a while now, but he’s incredibly tight-lipped when it comes to his own life. Even when he does talk, it’s like drops from a leaky faucet—just a little here and there. It’s been a struggle for Yoshida to piece together a script.”

Hiroshi already knew that about Tokame. He’d always been like that. How does a guy so private even agree to make a film based on his own life? Hiroshi had to admit it made no sense.

“Tokame-san is so… enigmatic,” Yoshida said, picking up the thread. “Sometimes I find myself wondering, was he always like this? When he does share stories, I can never quite grasp his emotions at the time. I’m left trying to imagine what he must have felt.”

A short silence settled over them. Hiroshi could sense that these two really did know Tokame well. They weren’t lying about that.

With a half-laugh, Yoshida added, “Honestly, even though he gave us permission, Tokame-san isn’t exactly thrilled about a movie based on him. He’s more the ‘behind-the-scenes’ type, not the ‘look-at-me’ sort. But I want to do this—to understand what kind of life this internationally acclaimed talent has led. Tokame’s always saying, ‘I’m nothing special,’ but people don’t win awards for ‘nothing special.’”

Suddenly, it clicked for Hiroshi: Yoshida really liked Tokame. Admired him. You don’t talk like that about someone you’re indifferent to. Even if Tokame had lost his family, he still had friends who cared deeply about him. This thought stirred something unexpectedly warm in Hiroshi.

“Tokame-san even called you, Ninomiya-san, to make sure it’d be okay for us to ask you for these stories,” Yoshida explained, leaning forward a bit. “If you could spare us a little time, we’d be so grateful.”

Hiroshi sat there, taking it all in. Tokame had granted his permission for him to share these personal memories with others—a mark of real trust. Hiroshi knew better than anyone how hard Tokame’s past had been; the tragedies that had plagued him in their school days were nothing short of devastating. After Tokame went missing, Hiroshi had even pried some of the story out of their old homeroom teacher and heard all about the cremation ceremony. He’d cried then, unable to stop the tears. Why was I feeling regret? And why did I feel this powerful wish to see Tokame again?

No, his memories weren’t happy ones… or, well, there were a few good times here and there… but Tokame was willing to place his painful past on the altar of entertainment. He might be reluctant, but perhaps he had finally come to terms with his past, ready to transform it into something meaningful. And Hiroshi felt sure that if these people genuinely cared for Tokame, they wouldn’t do anything half-hearted.

“All right.” Hiroshi slapped his knee. “If Tokame’s ready to go all-in, then I’ll tell you everything.”

Yoshida’s face lit up as he leaned forward, bowing his head. “Thank you so much!”

They spent the next two hours discussing Tokame’s school days. Yoshida took notes the entire time, barely looking up. When evening fell, Yukina offered, “Would you two like to stay for dinner?” Despite their polite protests, they ended up staying.

Shirou was thrilled to share dinner with their guests, though his older brother Takashi looked distinctly uncomfortable; he’d always been shy around strangers. Even so, with a gentle nudge from Yukina, Takashi reluctantly joined them at the table.

As they ate, Yoshida nodded, spearing a bite of hamburger steak. “It’s amazing how much history there is in every person’s life,” he said. “Thanks to all these stories, I have such a better grasp on Tokame-san than I did before. The ideas just keep coming.”

His face was a little flushed, whether from excitement or the beer he’d been sipping.

“So, would you say high school Tokame-san was pretty much the same as he is now?” Kasuga asked Hiroshi.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Hm…” Kasuga murmured thoughtfully. “I handle the business side of things, and we’re just starting to figure out the cast for the next film. High school roles are tricky. For box office appeal, it’s best to go with idols or promising new actors, but Tokame-san doesn’t pick actors based on popularity.”

Yukina and Shirou were riveted by the conversation about the entertainment industry. Kasuga’s gaze drifted to Takashi for a moment, as though appraising him.

"Takashi-kun, was it? Are you in high school?" Kasuga asked.

Takashi, who’d been staring down at the table, lifted his face just enough to mutter, “Eighth grade.”

“Really? With your height, you look like you’re in high school—so mature, too!”

“People say that a lot. He’s been growing non-stop since middle school,” Yukina added, seeing her son fidget uncomfortably under the focus on him. Hiroshi felt his memories stir as he observed Takashi’s reaction. It was as if his son’s face blended with someone else’s in his mind. Yes… come to think of it…

“Takashi might have a similar aura to the way Tokame was back in the day.”

The second he said it, Yoshida’s gaze shifted to Takashi. Takashi frowned, looked off to the side, and stood up abruptly. With a brief “Thanks for the meal,” he walked out of the dining room, clearly done with the conversation.

“Sorry he’s not the friendliest kid,” Yukina apologized.

“Oh, not at all. We’re the ones intruding, staying through dinner like this,” Yoshida replied, but his eyes lingered on the door Takashi had left through.

After dinner, they continued chatting for about another hour before Yoshida and Kasuga finally took their leave, just shy of eight o’clock. Sitting on the living room sofa with a box of cookies the guests had brought, Shirou munched contentedly. “Do you think if I asked, they’d put me in the movie?” he asked.

“If you did manage to get a part, could you even act? Remember, this is a world-renowned director. If you’re anything less than convincing, he’d probably shout you off the set.”

At this, Shirou’s face fell, and he quickly amended, “Maybe I’ll just stick to being one of those people walking down the street in the background.” His quick reversal was so funny, Hiroshi couldn’t help but chuckle.

When was the last time he’d seen Tokame…? Oh, that’s right. Three years ago, at Bald Tora’s funeral. Back then, Bald Tora was still active, and the hall had been packed with both current students and alumni. Hiroshi realized just how loved Bald Tora must have been. His widow, who had led the ceremony, had even said tearfully, “So many people came to see him off…”

Outside the hall, Hiroshi had talked briefly with Tokame. The first thing Tokame had done was thank him for letting him know about Bald Tora’s passing. Tokame’s eyes were a bit red, though maybe Hiroshi’s own were redder.

"I know death’s a part of life, but it’s still hard to accept," Tokame had murmured. It was the first time Hiroshi had heard him voice that kind of vulnerability. He remembered feeling oddly relieved to see Tokame able to grieve. Maybe, Hiroshi thought, he has people around him now who’ll accept his sorrow without asking him to bury it.

“Hey, Hiroshi—so it’s true you’re friends with Director Tokame! You know, I’d heard it from you, but it still feels surreal without any photos of him in your albums or anything,” Yukina said, coming over with two cups of coffee. “But it’s actually true. That’s incredible!”

“To me, it’s just strange hearing my friend’s name on TV,” Hiroshi replied with a shrug.

Yukina’s eyes sparkled, and she grabbed Hiroshi’s hand. “So tell me, Hiroshi, even in high school, did he already have that aura? You know, that ‘brilliant artist’ quality?”

“Brilliant artist? I don’t know. It’s not like he was making films in high school. If anything, he was kind of a lone wolf, though he wasn’t exactly a delinquent. He was just… kind.”

“Ahh, I wish I could’ve seen Tokame as a high schooler.” Yukina sighed dreamily over her coffee cup.

“No way. Tokame was already handsome back then, and you’d have fallen for him the second your eyes met his.”

Hiroshi was only half-joking, but Yukina took it seriously and laughed. “Handsome, talented, and now a director celebrated around the world. Really, there are people who seem to ‘have it all,’ aren’t there?”

When he’d been telling Yoshida stories about Tokame, Hiroshi had asked Yukina to excuse them. They’d covered a lot, but there were some things he couldn’t find the words for—things he just couldn’t, or wouldn’t, say.

“… It’s not nearly enough.”

“Huh? Did you say something?” Yukina asked.

Hiroshi shook his head. “Tokame should be so much more famous, live in a huge mansion, go cruising around on a yacht—he deserves every bit of that.”

As he finished, his phone, recharged at last, began to ring. The name on the screen was the very person they’d been talking about. The timing made Hiroshi smile.

“Who’s it from?” Yukina asked.

“A friend.” And with that, Hiroshi headed out of the living room to take the call.

"Hey, long time," Tokame says, voice blunt in a way that’s hard to tell if it’s from drowsiness or irritation.

“Yo, it’s been a while,” Hiroshi replies.

“Is this a good time to talk?” Tokame asks.

“Yeah, fine by me. It’s my day off anyway—well, technically, I had to go into work, but that’s small business life for you.”

No matter how many years pass, they could still talk like they’d last seen each other just yesterday. Distance, time, work… all of that just disappears between real friends.

"Yoshida went to your place, didn’t he? Sorry for dropping that on you without a heads-up. I tried to reach out, but couldn’t get through.”

“My bad. My phone died, so I was out of touch for a bit. But he’s making a film with you as the inspiration, huh? That sounds awesome.”

Tokame falls silent. Then, in a low mutter, he says, "I still can’t imagine what it’ll even turn out like.”

“The Yoshida guy who came over? He really respects you a lot, you know. Not in a weird way, just… like admiration, respect—yeah, I guess those are kind of the same. Anyway, with someone like him making it, it’s bound to be good.”

Tokame says nothing. Hiroshi can’t help but chuckle. He feels like ribbing him, Are you paying for this silence by the minute?

“So, what? Is it that you’re not thrilled about being the inspiration for it?”

"… I don’t know,” Tokame says quietly.

“I mean, I was surprised too when I first heard, but maybe you could look at it like you’re filming someone else’s story, not your own.”

“Someone else’s?”

“No matter how accurately you recreate it, a movie will never fully capture your past. What you went through, that’s something only you can really hold on to.”

Hiroshi wishes he could express what he’s feeling, but the right words just won’t come.

“When it’s done, just put a ‘Screenplay Consultant: Hiroshi Ninomiya’ credit for me at the end,” he jokes.

"Absolutely, I’ll include it.”

Hiroshi can’t help but smile at how seriously Tokame responds to a joke. The guy’s as awkward and clumsy with words as ever.

“If you end up shooting it around here, the whole town will rally around to support you. I even know a guy from high school who’s now a town council member.”

"Thank you.”

Ah, if only they could be talking face-to-face. Not that seeing him would make Tokame any more talkative—he’d still be awkward, still slow-paced in conversation.

“Just make sure to give me a heads-up when you come back this way. I’ll bring some support to the set, keep an eye on things.”

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