N-M Chapter 86 The Eyes of the Observer
Chapter 86 The Eyes of the Observer
Chapter 86 The Eyes of the Observer
The lobby clock at the Hotel Okura points to 3 p.m.
It's peak season for check-ins.
Kitahara Shin stood beside the revolving door, his hands folded in front of him, maintaining a standard concierge posture.
His gaze seemed to be fixed on the void, but in reality, it was like a sophisticated radar, scanning every guest who came in and out.
Half a month is enough time for him to absorb all the moisture.
He learned to judge a customer's profession by the wear and tear on their heels, to estimate their net worth by the brand of their watch, and even to tell from a customer's subconscious act of clutching their pocket when they enter the room whether they are worried about their wallet or checking a gift for their lover.
More importantly, he sensed the growing anxiety in the air.
The nouveau riche who used to throw their car keys to the valet and yell "Keep the change!" before even entering the house are gone.
Instead, the middle class meticulously checks every minibar purchase on their bills upon checkout, their eyes gleaming with concern, as if afraid their credit cards won't be processed.
The chill of the economic downturn has seeped from the stock exchange's big screen into the pores of the five-star hotel.
"Sato-kun."
A soft call interrupted his observation.
The female supervisor, Takashima, walked over with the shift schedule.
This "Iron Lady," who usually had a cold face towards everyone, looked at Kitahara Shin with a gentle gaze at this moment.
"The schedule for next week is out, and I've moved you to the VIP reception team."
Takashima lowered his voice, his tone clearly conveying a sense of encouragement, "Although you've only been here for half a month, Manager Kuroda has a very high opinion of you. If you're willing, I can help you apply for early promotion, with a salary at the highest level for regular employees."
Several interns around cast envious and jealous glances at him.
At the Okura Hotel, getting promoted to a permanent position in half a month was simply a pipe dream.
Kitahara Shin bowed politely.
"Thank you for your appreciation, Mr. Takashima, but I would like to hone my skills in my current position for a while longer."
He declined very politely, leaving no room for ambiguity.
A hint of disappointment flashed in Takashima's eyes, but it was quickly masked by his professionalism.
"Alright, as long as you have your own ideas, but—" She hesitated, then simply patted his shoulder, "Tell me anytime if you have any difficulties."
Kitahara Shin watched her departing figure and sighed inwardly.
It's about time to go.
During the break between shifts, Kitahara Shin was assigned to the linen room to organize spare supplies.
This is the quietest corner of the hotel, piled high with sheets and towels that smell of lavender.
While rummaging through an old cabinet in the corner for spare shoe polish, he touched something hard.
It was an old bristle brush, half of which was worn down, and the handle was polished to a shine.
Special item discovered: The Old Housekeeper's All-Purpose Bristle Brush (White, Common)
[Item Description: This brush belongs to a cleaning lady who has worked at a hotel for forty years. She hasn't served any important figures, nor has she seen much of the world, but every piece of clothing and every pair of shoes she handles shines with new brilliance. The brush handle embodies the most basic dedication of a laborer—"Cleanliness is dignity."]
[Special Effects: The Hands of a Lifestyle Enthusiast]
[Effect Description: After wearing or using the product, the host's efficiency and effectiveness in handling daily household chores (such as cleaning, tidying, and clothing care) will be increased by 100%. Even an inexpensive shirt can look like a high-end custom-made garment after you take care of it; even a messy apartment can be made neat and tidy in ten minutes.]
"nice one."
Kitahara Shin held the brush, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
Although this thing can't help him act or make money, it's a magical tool for improving the quality of life for a single man living alone.
He quietly stored the brush in his system space, then prepared to buy a new one later to replace it.
As soon as I returned to my post, the revolving door in the lobby turned, bringing in a gust of hot afternoon air.
A man wearing a dark gray trench coat and an old fedora walked in.
He wore a hat pulled low, black-rimmed sunglasses, and a long-handled umbrella.
But the moment he stepped inside, the air pressure at the doorway seemed to drop several degrees.
The man walked straight to the center of the lobby lounge area—the sofa with the best view, usually reserved for important VIPs.
He sat down, placed the mud-splattered umbrella directly against the armrest of the expensive imported velvet sofa, crossed his legs, took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, put it in his mouth without lighting it, and just fiddled with the lighter in his hand, clicking it repeatedly.
Seeing this, a young waiter quickly stepped forward to remind him, "Sir, I'm very sorry, smoking is strictly prohibited in the lobby area—"
"roll."
The man didn't even look up. His voice wasn't loud, but it was like a block of ice hitting the ground: "Call Kuroda out. Ask him when the rules at the Okura Hotel became so many? When I lived here ten years ago, you weren't even here yet."
The waiter was stunned by this inexplicably powerful aura and was at a loss for what to do.
The surrounding customers cast disapproving glances, but seeing the man's arrogant attitude, no one dared to say a word.
This is the kind of guest that high-end hotels dread encountering: a seasoned veteran, bad-tempered, and seemingly someone who genuinely knows upper management.
The lobby manager was hesitating whether to ask security for help when Kitahara Shin straightened his cuffs and strode over.
Instead of rushing forward to argue like a hothead, he first gave the bewildered waiter a look, signaling him to step back.
As they drew closer, beneath the slightly worn scent of the trench coat, Kitahara Shin caught a familiar aroma—a mixture of turpentine and cheap tobacco.
Kitahara Shin's eyes flickered slightly behind his glasses.
It's Itami Jūsan.
The director played himself, portraying a "difficult, outdated, old-fashioned gentleman."
Good afternoon, sir.
Kitahara Shin walked to the coffee table, but instead of directly mentioning the smoking ban, he naturally took a crystal ashtray from the cart and gently placed it on the table.
This action surprised everyone around.
Juzo Itami pushed up his sunglasses, looked up, and scrutinized the young man in front of him through the lenses.
"What? That kid said he can't smoke, so you brought me an ashtray. Are you trying to curry favor with me?"
His tone was full of sarcasm.
You've misunderstood.
Kitahara Shin bowed slightly, his smile impeccable—a "mask-like" smile he had practiced countless times in front of the mirror.
His lips were turned up fifteen degrees, but the smile didn't reach his eyes, revealing a professional detachment and restraint.
"I see you have a cigarette but aren't lighting it; you must be waiting for an important friend, or perhaps you need the smell of tobacco to think things through."
As he spoke, he calmly picked up the umbrella that was leaning against the velvet sofa, wiped the mud off the tip of the umbrella with a clean white handkerchief, and then placed it on the special umbrella stand.
"Furthermore, Manager Kuroda is currently receiving foreign guests. But he often mentions to us that old-fashioned gentlemen are the most understanding of the difficulties faced by staff. The lobby is crowded and noisy, and the air circulation is poor. If you really want to appreciate this cigarette—"
Kitahara Shin lowered his voice, his tone becoming as if addressing a long-time customer: "The cigar bar by the side door is very quiet at this time, and we just received a batch of aged whiskies that you might like. That's a place befitting your status."
These words were perfectly watertight.
Most importantly, Kitahara Shin showed no sign of humility or timidity, nor any impatience throughout the entire process.
He was like a wall of cotton, gently deflecting every punch thrown by his opponent.
Itami Juzo stared at him for a long time.
Kitahara Shin maintained his bowed posture, not even changing the curve of his lips.
Perfect etiquette, perfect rhetoric, and those unfathomable eyes hidden behind his glasses.
"cut."
Juzo Itami suddenly pursed his lips, reached out and ripped off the fake mustache from his face, and then took off his ridiculous sunglasses.
"Boring."
The director's wrinkled face was revealed, but his eyes held undisguised surprise. "You little rascal, you recognized me a long time ago, didn't you?"
"Oh? It's Director Itami?"
Kitahara Shin feigned surprise at the opportune moment, then quickly composed himself and returned to his professional demeanor. "Your disguise—it's truly professional. I almost called the police."
"Don't play dumb with me."
Juzo Itami rolled his eyes, but patted Shin Kitahara's shoulder heavily. "Alright, exam's over. That old fogey Kuroda was watching in the monitoring room just now, and his evaluation of you was impeccable. You passed."
He glanced around. "This is none of your business. Go and resign. The set is all set up; you can start working on set tomorrow."
"it is good."
Kitahara Shin smiled, and this time, his smile finally had warmth.
That night.
In the staff locker room, Kitahara Shin changed back into his casual clothes and handed the neatly folded uniform and name tag back to Takashima.
"Are you really leaving?"
Looking at the uniform in his hand, Takashima's tone was full of regret. "Manager Kuroda was just saying that you are the most talented newcomer he has seen in recent years, and that if you were willing to stay—"
"I'm sorry, Takashima-san."
Kitahara Shin interrupted her, "Actually, I'm here to experience life."
"Experience life?" Takashima was taken aback.
Kitahara Shin reached out and took off the black-rimmed non-prescription glasses he had been wearing for half a month.
Her previously obscured features were now fully revealed, and those eyes that had captivated countless viewers on television screens were now looking at her with a smile.
Takashima's pupils dilated instantly.
She covered her mouth, gasped, and her voice trembled: "You—you are—Nagao Kan?!"
The intern, Sato, who carried her luggage every day, endured her scolding without retaliating, and even brought her lunch, is actually Kitahara Shin, the most popular male celebrity in Japan right now?!
The immense shock left this iron lady's mind blank, and her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would jump out of her throat.
"Thank you for taking care of me during this time."
Kitahara Shin extended his hand and said solemnly, "The customer service skills you taught me, and the principles you taught me about the service industry, are invaluable to me. Thank you."
Takashima stared blankly at the hand for several seconds before reacting, hurriedly wiping the sweat from his palms and grasping it.
"No—you're welcome! Um—I—I'll go to the cinema to support you!"
Her face turned as red as a little girl chasing after a celebrity.
"Then I'll leave it to you."
Kitahara Shinsuke loosened his grip, picked up his backpack, and turned to walk towards the door.
The door closed.
Takashima stood there, clutching the name tag that read "Sato" tightly in his hand. The expression on his face slowly changed from shock to a complex mix of disappointment and excitement.
Although she lost a good subordinate, it seems she gained the most bizarre secret and the most unique experience of her life.