sinovels Chapter 71 The City That No Longer Laughs
Chapter 71 The City That No Longer Laughs
The queue for the Daikokuya pawn shop at the east exit of Shinjuku Station stretched onto the sidewalk.
The cold wind, mixed with the freezing rain of early spring, lashed against those once-expensive cashmere coats.
"Is that all they can offer, 80,000?"
At the counter, a young woman in a business suit screamed, her voice cracking with anxiety.
She clutched a Hermès Birkin bag tightly in her hand, a gift from her boyfriend, a section chief at a securities firm, three months ago for Christmas.
"Miss, this is already the highest price."
The shop assistant, wearing white gloves, pointed to the mountain of shelves behind him.
The place was densely packed with Chanel and Louis Vuitton watches, as well as dozens of Rolex gold watches that had suddenly flooded the market this month.
"Nobody's buying this right now. If you don't sell it, there are more than a dozen people waiting behind you."
The woman bit her lip, tears welling up in her eyes.
My boyfriend was just laid off last week, and the apartment loan has turned into a monster this month.
"Sell……"
She let go, watching as the bag that once represented her status and affection was thrown into the storage basket, in exchange for a few thin Fukuzawa Yukichi bills.
Outside the door, taxi driver Sato extinguished his cigarette.
His car remained parked on the side of the road for a full hour, the red "vacant" sign standing out starkly in the rain and fog.
At this time last year, whenever he stepped on the brake at an intersection in Roppongi, three or four people would immediately rush up waving 10,000 yen bills, and they would even fight over who would get on the bus.
Back then, he wouldn't even bother rolling down the car window unless he was paid double the fare.
Now, passersby wrap themselves up in their trench coats, heads down, hurrying past, preferring to squeeze onto the subway, which is packed like sardines, rather than giving his taxi a second glance.
"Damn it..."
Sato cursed and started the car, but dared not press the accelerator hard, for fear of wasting a drop of expensive gasoline.
The streets of Tokyo were still lit, but the dizzying frenzy that had been floating in the air like champagne bubbles had been completely washed away by the freezing rain.
……
Fuji Television, Conference Room 6.
The atmosphere here is even colder than the weather outside.
"The sponsors are calling again."
The production manager hung up the phone, slamming the receiver down on the landline, his face ashen. "That famous beverage company said they're cutting next quarter's budget in half. And the Nissan dealership that was supposed to sponsor the crew's vehicles just backed out, saying all the cars in their garage are mortgaged to the bank."
Da Liang sat in the main seat, his face gloomy.
"Tokyo Love Story" is still airing and its ratings remain strong, but as the producers, they are keenly aware of the creaking sound coming from the financial chain.
The luxurious eel rice that was a staple of every meal has been replaced with a convenience store-quality fried meat patty bento box; the premium coffee that was always served in unlimited quantities during breaks in filming has been replaced with large tubs of instant tea.
In a corner, lighting assistant Kobayashi was whispering to her colleague.
"Hey, did you hear? All the outsourced workers for that variety show next door have been laid off."
"Really? What about the apartment I just took out a loan for...?"
Panic spread like wildfire, leaving the entire crew on edge. Everyone was distracted while working, fearing they would be the next one called into the office for a talk.
"Move the lights five degrees to the left."
A steady voice pierced through the noisy whispers.
Kitahara Shin stands in the center of the set.
He was wearing his signature white shirt, holding a script, and looking as calm as if he were taking a walk in his own backyard.
He was unaffected by the anxious atmosphere around him, and didn't even frown.
"Kobayashi-san," he said gently, looking at the trembling lighting assistant, "steady your hand. As long as this show is still airing, everyone's livelihood is secure."
Kobayashi paused for a moment, meeting Kitahara Shin's eyes, which seemed capable of calming the storm.
That calm and composed demeanor was more effective than any words of comfort in this precarious moment.
"Yes! I'm sorry!"
Xiaolin quickly wiped the cold sweat from his palms and gripped the lamp stand tightly again.
"Ten-minute break, then lunch."
At the director's command, the staff lined up to collect their significantly reduced lunchboxes.
Complaints were constant.
"It's another fried meat patty, as hard as a rock."
"It's good enough to have something to eat. I heard that the TV station next door has even canceled lunchboxes."
Kitahara Shin took a copy and sat down on a bench in the rest area.
He opened the lid, picked up the now-cold meat pie, and without changing his expression, put it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
Honami Suzuki sat opposite him, looking at the simple meal in her hand, finding it hard to swallow.
"ball……"
She poked at her rice with her chopsticks. "Do you think we'll lose our jobs? Everyone's saying the TV station is laying off staff."
"Won't."
Kitahara Shin answered very decisively.
He put down his chopsticks, picked up the bottled water next to him, and took a sip. "People need to watch TV more often than ever."
Why?
"Because reality is too bitter."
Kitahara Shin turned to look out the window.
At the construction site in Odaiba, several huge tower cranes have stopped turning, standing silently under the gray sky like a group of dead steel behemoths.
Those once grand pronouncements about making Tokyo the center of the world have now been reduced to cold, black letters on a work stoppage notice.
"When people can't afford Hermès bags, can't afford taxis, and don't even dare to go drinking in Ginza,"
Kitahara Shin's voice was soft, yet it carried a power that seemed to pierce through the ages: "All they could do was hide at home, turn on the TV, and seek a little comfort in that box. Even if it was fake, even if it was only forty-five minutes."
Honami Suzuki looked at him.
The man in front of her was clearly younger than her, but when he said these words, he exuded a kind of wisdom that came from having experienced many hardships.
He did not panic like others, nor did he show the anxiety and anger of those in higher positions.
He is like a reef, letting the tide of foam recede to reveal his hardest underlying nature.
So, just do your best.
Kitahara Shin picked up the bento box again, saying, "For today's audience, our smiles on camera might be the only sweetness they get in their day."
Honami Suzuki took a deep breath.
Looking at Kitahara Shin's calm profile, the panic in her heart miraculously subsided.
"Um!"
She took a big bite of the meat pie. Although it was still hard to eat, it didn't seem so difficult to swallow anymore.
Not far away, producer Ota Ryo stood behind the monitor, watching Kitahara Shin eating quietly, and thoughtfully stroked his chin.
In this chaotic film crew, this young male lead unexpectedly became the most stable anchor.
Outside the window, the rain was getting heavier.
This once arrogant city, which seemed to be laughing all the time, finally learned to be silent on this early spring afternoon.
On this silent ruin, a new order is quietly taking shape.