N-M Chapter 126 The End of Hell
Chapter 126 The End of Hell
Chapter 126 The End of Hell
The last line on the shooting schedule was finally circled in red.
Toei Kyoto Studio, Studio 9.
The film set, which is usually filled with noisy shouts, moving sounds, and the sound of electric drills, was unusually quiet at this moment.
Hundreds of staff members surrounded the set.
Besides the lighting, photography, and props crew, even the stuntmen from the neighboring crew who were filming a period drama came over dressed in ronin costumes when they heard it was Kitahara Shin's final scene.
They are all waiting.
Waiting for the final act of that "bloody confession".
In the dressing room.
Old Mountain took a spray bottle and sprayed water on Kitahara Shin's hair, creating a wet look as if it were soaked in cold sweat and blood.
His movements were slow and meticulous, not like he was applying makeup, but more like he was adjusting the armor of a warrior about to go into battle.
"This is the last one."
Old Mountain put down the spray bottle, looked at the young man in the mirror with bruises all over his face and blood at the corner of his mouth, and said in a low voice, "Kitahara-san, this past month—you've had a tough time."
A month ago, he didn't even bother to look at this pretty boy from Tokyo properly, and when it came to makeup, he did it perfunctorily.
But now, this "Kitahara-san" is called out with complete conviction.
For the past month, everyone in Toei Kyoto has watched how this young man went crazy.
From the first day of fighting with the stuntmen for real, to jumping into an icy river without flinching, to negotiating with the director until 3 a.m. over a single glance.
With his almost self-destructive dedication, he subdued these arrogant old hands one by one.
"Thank you for your help, Mr. Yamashita."
Kitahara Shin looked at himself in the mirror.
That was a face on the verge of collapse.
The bloodshot eyes are real (from staying up all night), and the chapped corners of the mouth are real (from not drinking water all day).
He has been adjusting his state of mind since yesterday in preparation for this scene.
He didn't speak, didn't eat, locked himself in a dark hotel room, and forced himself into the same desperate situation as Sanada Kyoji, where everyone turned against him.
"Go."
Old Mountain patted him on the shoulder, "Don't keep Iwashita-san waiting too long. She's a strict senior, but if you have the ability, she'll appreciate your talent more than anyone else."
Kitahara Shin nodded and stood up.
He walked out of the dressing room.
The corridor leading to the film set was packed with people.
Seeing him approach, the usually boisterous stagehands and stuntmen instinctively took a step back to make way for him.
No one spoke, no one greeted anyone.
They looked at him with solemn eyes, as if they were seeing off a hero going to his death.
Kitahara Shin, without looking to the side, dragged his heavy "injured leg" step by step toward the paper sliding door at the end, painted with a picture of pine trees and cranes.
Behind the door lies hell.
This is also the end for Sanada Kyoji.
He stopped in front of the door.
I took a deep breath; the murky air was filled with the sweet, metallic smell of dust and blood.
As you focus your mind, the system panel unfolds on your retina.
Since this is the last match, there's nothing left to hold back.
[Equipment: Black leather gloves for debt collectors (green)]
[Equipment: Underdog's Tie Clip (Green)]
At last.
His consciousness touched the purple dot that had been sitting deep inside his inventory.
【Equipment: Silver Zippo (purple) abandoned by the songstress】.
This item, which he received from Akina Nakamori and which symbolizes "endurance and protection," now emits a warm current that rests against his heart.
It tempered the pure violence of the previous two pieces of equipment, adding a layer of tragic sentimentality to the underlying madness.
The full set of buffs has been stacked.
Kitahara Shin slowly opened his eyes.
In that instant, the rationality that belonged to "Kitahara Shin" receded into the background, and in its place came Sanada Kyoji, who had struggled in the quagmire his whole life.
"All departments, prepare!"
Director Yasuo Furuhata's voice rang out in the deathly silent studio, trembling slightly.
"Action!"
The instant the command was given.
Kitahara Shin raised his leg and, with all his might, kicked the paper door that represented class and power.
Wood chips flew everywhere.
The gates of hell have been opened.
"Bang!"
The paper sliding door, painted with an exquisite pine and crane design, was violently kicked apart by a blood-stained leather shoe.
Wood chips flew everywhere.
A figure covered in blood stumbled in.
This is the "Big Sister's Living Room" set up in the film studio.
A few minutes ago, there was only the tranquil scent of incense here, but now, with the man's intrusion, a strong, nauseating stench of blood instantly filled every inch of the space.
Kitahara Shin stood at the door.
Or rather, it was a corpse that was still barely breathing standing there.
The gray suit he was wearing was so worn that its original color was no longer visible. Strips of fabric, slashed open by a sharp blade, hung from his body, revealing skin covered in meticulously drawn cuts and bruises. His left eyelid was swollen high, reduced to a mere slit, while his right eye was wide open, its eyeball filled with horrifying red blood vessels.
He was breathing heavily.
With each breath, a hissing sound came from his throat, like a broken bellows, and the blood and foam that came out sprayed onto his chin.
The surroundings were deathly silent.
Outside the studio, the lighting technicians, production assistants, and extras who had been watching the spectacle with their arms crossed, and who had already received their lunch boxes but hadn't left, all held their breath.
No one spoke, and no one even dared to breathe loudly.
They looked at the man standing in the ruins, and the despair and ferocity emanating from his very bones sent chills down the spines of these seasoned veterans who were used to seeing bloodshed.
This isn't acting at all.
This is a mad dog that's been cornered at the edge of a cliff, its intestines spilling out, yet it still tries to bite.
Kitahara Shin ignored the stares of those around him.
The moment he burst through that door, his consciousness sank to its deepest depths.
Sanada Kyoji did not kill for the sake of killing.
He did it to prove that he was alive.
He dragged his "broken" left leg, leaving a glaring bloodstain on the expensive tatami mat, and walked step by step into the depths of the room.
There was a person sitting there.
Shima Iwashita.
This empress of the Showa era yakuza films is currently dressed in an elegant Kyoto Yuzen kimono, sitting upright in front of a mirror combing her hair.
She didn't even turn her head in the face of the loud noise and the strong smell of blood behind her.
She simply looked at herself in the mirror, slowly and methodically combing her long, black hair with the boxwood comb in her hand.
That kind of disregard.
It was an indifferent feeling, as if the person standing behind you wasn't a murderer with a gun, but rather a mass of air.
This completely ignited the last fuse in Sanada Kyoji's mind.
"ah!!!"
Kitahara Shin let out a hoarse roar.
He lunged forward, pressing the gun against the meticulously combed back of Iwashita Shima's head.
"Look at me!"
He roared, his voice trembling with tears, "Boss—look at me!"
Iwashita Shima finally stopped what she was doing.
She slowly turned around.
On that well-preserved face, there was no fear, no panic. Those eyes were like bottomless ancient wells, calmly reflecting the ugly, twisted, blood-covered appearance of the man before them.
"You've dirtied my tatami mat."
She spoke.
The voice was soft, and the tone was so calm it sounded like someone scolding a naughty child who had splattered mud on his clothes.
Kitahara Shin's pupils contracted violently.
The intense pain of being slighted was transformed into boundless rage by the equipment.
"I'm not just going to dirty your tatami mats—"
Kitahara Shin's finger was on the trigger, his knuckles pale from the excessive force. "I'm going to smash this entire organization, and all your high and mighty rules, to pieces!"
"Splash!"
A series of hurried footsteps came from outside the door.
Dozens of stuntmen wielding knives (playing henchmen chasing after someone) rushed to the door.
"Crazy! Put the gun down!"
"Boss! Don't do anything rash!"
They shouted, but dared not step into the room. The dark muzzle of a gun was pressed firmly against the woman's temple.
The atmosphere was extremely tense.
It was as if a single needle falling to the ground would trigger an explosion.
Iwashita Shima slightly raised her chin, her gaze passing over the black gun barrel and looking directly into Kitahara Shin's eyes.
"Smash it?"
A slight twitch appeared at the corner of her lips, revealing a faint hint of sarcasm. "You?"
"Sanada, look at yourself now. Do you even look human?"
"You killed the elder brother who brought you in, betrayed the brothers who drank blood wine with you. You think you're climbing up the social ladder? No, you're just jumping into a cesspool."
"In the world of yakuza, there are no righteous people; they are worse than dogs."
Every word was like a knife, precisely piercing the most rotten and painful spot in Sanada Kyoji's heart.
Kitahara Shin's body began to tremble.
That wasn't fear; it was the shame and anger of being exposed, the excruciating pain of having one's self-esteem repeatedly trampled underfoot.
"Benevolence and righteousness —"
He laughed, a dry, grating laugh, blood and foam dripping from the corner of his mouth. "Big Sister, you come from a prestigious family, of course you can talk about benevolence and righteousness."
"But what about me?"
He took a sudden step forward, pressing the muzzle of the gun firmly against her skin, almost embedding it into her flesh.
"I was scavenging for food in Osaka's garbage dumps when I was five! On rainy days, I slept under bridges and fought with stray dogs for space! I had three ribs broken just for half a moldy loaf of bread!"
"Where was benevolence and righteousness then?"
"I don't want to be a dog—I just want to stand! I want to stand taller than anyone else! I want all those who used to spit on me to kneel down and beg me!"
Kitahara Shin's tears mixed with blood flowed down his face, washing away the grime and leaving winding streaks.
"Am I wrong? Huh? I want to live like a human being, am I wrong?!"
His roar echoed through the studio.
The extras who should have been shouting and yelling were now stunned. They stared at the man screaming in despair, and many of them instinctively tightened their grip on the hilts of their knives.
These lines are so hurtful.
Isn't this the most accurate portrayal of these low-level thugs?
however.
Iwashita Shima remained unmoved.
She looked at Kitahara Shin, her eyes still cold: "To live like a human being, you don't have to climb over other people's corpses to get there."
"Go ahead and do it."
She slowly closed her eyes, her long neck delicate and fragile. "To die at the hands of someone like you is my fate. But remember this, Sanada Kyoji."
"You'll never amount to anything."
That one sentence sealed his fate.
Kitahara Shin looked at that face with its eyes closed, a face that seemed ready to die.
His finger trembled on the trigger.
Just deduct it.
With just one gunshot, the woman who had been looking down at him from above would die.
He can then prove himself right.
but.
"Oh----"
Kitahara Shin suddenly let out a soft chuckle.
The laughter no longer contained the madness of before, but instead carried a strange sense of relief.
"Moral principles, huh?"
He muttered to himself.
The hand wearing a black leather glove slowly, inch by inch, moved away from Iwashita Shima's temple.
The henchmen around him were about to rush forward.
But then he saw the dark muzzle of the gun arc through the air before finally pressing hard against Kitahara Shin's forehead.
The dull thud of metal striking bone.
Iwashita Shima suddenly opened her eyes.
She witnessed a scene she would never forget for the rest of her life.
The mad dog who had just threatened to kill was now looking at her.
Blood was still flowing from his face, but the man-eating green light in his eyes had vanished. In its place was a gentleness mixed with evil and innocence.
"You're right, boss."
Kitahara Shin's voice was very soft, as soft as a lover's whisper in the ear.
"I don't have that kind of thing. I crawled out of a garbage dump, I don't know what benevolence and righteousness are."
"But I have one rule."
His lips parted, revealing a set of teeth stained with blood, a smile so radiant it was heartbreaking: "That is—I will never hurt women and children."
Done.
Surrounded by dozens of people.
Under the gaze of dozens of eyes.
Kitahara Shin threw away his left hand for support, and his injured leg slammed heavily to the ground.
"Thump."
He knelt down on one knee.
He knelt before the woman he had just been pointing a gun at.
He lowered his head, like a devout believer, and slowly approached the snow-white kimono hem of Iwashita Shimana's dress that lay on the ground.
That movement was very slow.
It's so slow it's agonizing, so slow it's suffocating.
then.
He gently kissed her with his lips, which were stained with blood, dirt, and saliva.
The bright red bloodstains instantly stained the pure white silk.
It's like a red plum blossom bursting open in the snow.
Extreme filth and extreme holiness collided at this moment.
It was a kind of chilling sexual tension, and even more so, a visually stunning aesthetic of tragedy taken to its extreme.
Iwashita Shima was completely stunned.
Her face, which had always maintained a mask of indifference, finally crumbled.
She looked at the man kneeling on the ground, giving her the last bit of tenderness in his life.
She looked at the bloody kiss imprinted on the hem of her skirt.
Her pupils trembled, her eyes quickly reddened, and a layer of tears welled up uncontrollably.
He is not a stray dog.
He is a person.
A fool who loved the wrong way, went down the wrong path, but held onto his last shred of principles until his death.
Goodbye, boss.
Kitahara Shin raised his head and looked into her tearful eyes.
He was smiling happily.
I am really happy.
It was as if all the hardships and wanderings of this life had been compensated for in this moment.
then.
Without any hesitation.
"Bang!"
A gunshot rang out.
Kitahara Shin's body jolted, and his smile froze on his face.
He fell backward.
It crashed heavily into the shattered wood and pool of blood.
The spotlights on the ceiling were a bit too bright.
It's so warm.
Just like that day under the bridge, when I first basked in the sun.
"Cut!"
Director Yasuo Furuhata's voice sounded somewhat harsh.
He forgot to bring the megaphone and shouted it out directly with his throat.
There was no applause.
A full five seconds passed.
Apart from the hum of the machines, the entire Studio 9 was deathly quiet.
Everyone was still immersed in what had just happened and couldn't shake it off.
That blood-red kiss.
That gunshot rang out without hesitation.
That's amazing.
"call----"
Nobunaga Kitahara, who was lying on the ground, let out a long sigh.
With a thought, he removed all his equipment.
The forced sedation disappeared, and a wave of exhaustion washed over him. He was truly exhausted; the fall had been solid, and the back of his head was still ringing.
Just then.
A thunderous round of applause suddenly erupted.
"Clap clap clap clap clap—!!!"
The applause was like a tidal wave, lasting for a long time.
The veteran stagehands, the stuntmen with knives, and even the most picky lighting technician were all clapping enthusiastically.
That is the highest respect for an actor.
A hand was stretched out in front of him.
Kitahara Shin opened his eyes.
What I saw was Iwashita Shima's face, which, although her makeup was a little messy, was still beautiful and charming.
This senior figure in the entertainment industry didn't wait for his assistant to come over; instead, he personally bent down.
"Are you alright?"
Her voice still had a nasal tone, clearly indicating that she hadn't completely recovered from her earlier emotions.
Kitahara Shin sat up with her help, wiping the blood off his face somewhat embarrassed: "I'm sorry, Iwashita-san, I've gotten your kimono dirty."
Iwashita Shima shook his head.
She looked at the young junior in front of her with admiration in her eyes, and even a hint of pride as a senior.
She leaned closer and, amidst the thunderous applause, whispered in his ear, "No need to apologize."
"Kitahara-kun, in this drama—you are absolutely the main character."
Kitahara Shin paused for a moment.
Then, under the empress's gaze, he revealed a clean, refreshing smile that belonged only to Kitahara Shin.
"Thanks."
The mourning hall was set up in a side hall of the temple.
There was no weeping or wailing, only the monotonous chanting of monks, mixed with the pattering rain outside the window.
Shima Iwashita, dressed in mourning clothes (black tomesode), knelt before the portrait of Kyoji Sanada.
The man in the portrait was laughing arrogantly; it was a photo taken when he first came to power, and his eyes revealed a wild arrogance that showed no regard for the world.
Now, all that's left of him is a handful of ashes, contained in this white porcelain jar.
"Big Sister".
A commotion arose at the doorway.
The solemn atmosphere was broken by a sharp, vulgar female voice.
"Let me in! That bastard promised to give me money!"
Several guards wanted to stop her, but dared not make a move, because the woman was heavily pregnant and had a fierce look on her face. Her heavily made-up face seemed out of place in the tranquil temple.
Iwashita Shima frowned but didn't turn around: "Let her in."
The woman shook off her henchman's hand and stormed into the mourning hall, panting. She glanced at the portrait of Sanada Kyoji in the center, paused for a moment, then spat out a disgusted look: "I'm not looking for him! I'm looking for your team leader! That old geezer!"
As she cursed, she pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her cheap bag and slapped it on the tatami mat: "This is the IOU he wrote to me! He said he'd give me the money this week so I could give birth to the baby! Now that he's dead, your group has to settle this debt!"
The entire audience erupted in uproar.
Those underlings who were initially cursing Sanada Kyoji for his betrayal and killing their leader were now exchanging bewildered glances, their expressions quite interesting.
Team leader?
That team leader who always talks about "benevolence and righteousness" and lectures his underlings about loyalty and following the rules—is he having an affair? And is he even about to have a child?
Iwashita Shima remained kneeling there.
Her back stiffened for a moment.
Slowly, she reached out her well-maintained hand and picked up the note from the ground.
The handwriting was messy, but it was definitely the handwriting of that dead husband.
"————Resettlement fee———— Keep it a secret————"
Oh.
It turned out to be the case.
Iwashita Shima raised her head and looked at Sanada Kyoji's portrait again.
The man in the photo is still smiling, smiling like a fool.
She suddenly remembered what Kyoji had said before he died that day—"I have no sense of justice, but I will never hurt a woman."
She always thought that Kuangci acted out of ambition.
But now it seems—
Perhaps it's because Kyoji already knew about this? Or was he trying to avenge her, the "big sister"?
Or perhaps————
Looking at the portrait, Iwashita Shima slowly curled her lips into an extremely bitter smile.
No.
Maybe Kuangci doesn't know anything at all.
That mad dog simply wanted to climb up the ladder, simply wanted that position. And the so-called truth of "eliminating the unfaithful husband for the boss" was nothing more than the cruelest joke fate played on him.
A misunderstanding that remained unresolved until his death.
"Let's burn some incense for him."
Iwashita Shima tore the IOU to shreds and threw it into the brazier in front of him.
The flames devoured the paper, and with it, the absurd secret.
"Alright, all departments, get ready! Let's film the final scene!"
-
As the clapperboard fell, time rewound to three months earlier.
The camera zooms out.
It was a late autumn night.
The moonlight, like water, spilled into the old Japanese garden of the Toei Studios.
Kyoji Sanada (Shin Kitahara) is just a new recruit.
He wore an ill-fitting, cheap suit and followed behind the imposing team leader (Hiroki Matsukata) through a long corridor.
Suddenly, he stopped.
At the end of the corridor, through that half-open paper window.
He saw the woman.
The eldest sister was sitting alone by the window, holding a cup of sake, staring blankly at the withered red leaves in the courtyard.
There was no entourage, no haughty demeanor.
At this moment, she was just a woman neglected by her husband, alone in this house filled with violence and bloodshed, enduring loneliness.
That figure looked so lonely.
The loneliness caused this stray dog, who had always been a wanderer, to feel a sudden pang in its heart.
Kitahara Shin stood in the shadows of the corridor, looking at Iwashita Shima in the distance.
His eyes changed.
It wasn't the kind of desire a man has when looking at a woman, nor was it the kind of awe a younger brother has when looking at his older sister-in-law.
It's an instinct—the urge to rush forward and shield something beautiful yet fragile from all storms—when you see it.
Just then.
"Hey, crazy!"
The team leader, who was walking ahead, stopped, turned around, and said impatiently, "What are you standing there for? Let's go."
O
The voice was harsh and cold, instantly shattering the tranquility of the night.
Kitahara Shin suddenly snapped back to reality.
He glanced one last time at the figure in the window, then lowered his head, burying the glimmer of light that had just welled up in his eyes deep into the shadows.
"Yes, team leader."
He responded and quickly followed.
The camera slowly zooms out and freezes on that scene.
Ahead of them was the group leader, exuding a bandit-like aura and striding towards power.
Behind them is Kyoji, head bowed, heading towards hell.
The woman inside the window remained gazing at the red leaves outside, completely unaware of what was happening.
The tragedy had already been written that very night.
Filming wrapped!
With the director's shout, in the dead of night in Kyoto, the life of Sanada Kyoji came to a complete end.
>