Chapter 110: A Youthful Heart

After some casual chatting, Izumi Sakai returned to the recording studio to continue her session, while Zhao Ye approached the control console, donned his headphones, and listened repeatedly to the recording he had just made.

“The emotion in the chorus part seems a bit off. I think I’ll have to redo it later,” he muttered to himself.

Since the days of “Summer Colors” up to now with “Singer’s Love Song,” ever since officially becoming a professional singer, the most notable change in Zhao Ye was how much longer it took him to record a song. At first, he simply aimed to avoid any flaws, but now he scrutinized his own performances, willing to scrap takes even if it was just a slight lack of emotional depth.

Of course, this transformation was undoubtedly a positive one. At any time, maintaining respect and reverence for one’s profession is a fundamental virtue.

At four in the morning, after finishing the last round of recordings, Zhao Ye went to Izumi Sakai’s studio. Outside, assistant Imai-san was waiting and greeted him promptly, “Mr. Zhao.”

“Is Ms. Sakai still recording?” Zhao Ye lowered his voice unconsciously.

“Yes, about another hour or so.”

“My recording is finished. I’m about to head back. Could you please let her know?” Zhao Ye asked politely.

“Understood,” Imai-san replied with a playful salute. She was completely used to Zhao Ye stopping by to inform them whenever he left early, so as not to cause Izumi Sakai to wait in vain.

“Oh, and here,” Zhao Ye handed over a can of coffee. “This is for you, Imai-san. Thank you for your hard work.”

...

Two days later, Yukihiko Tsutsumi called and arranged to meet Zhao Ye at a small bar in Ginza.

At nine that evening, after finishing another recording session, Zhao Ye took a taxi to their meeting place. The bar was small, featuring a long counter that could seat about ten people. The black countertop and stools looked quite aged. Tsutsumi ordered whiskey on the rocks, Zhao Ye chose brandy. They chatted about the weather and other small talk before gradually moving to the main topic.

“Zhao-kun, I read the script overnight after bringing it back. Then I read it two more times. It’s truly fascinating,” Tsutsumi said. “Rather than a coming-of-age story, it feels more like a reflection of society. What’s even more incredible is that although it’s a multi-threaded ensemble piece, there’s none of the usual chaos. It almost feels like watching a moving picture right before your eyes. I can hardly believe it came from an inexperienced newcomer.”

Zhao Ye smiled modestly but said nothing.

“However, such an interesting script would be a shame to just have and do nothing with,” Tsutsumi suggested. “If you’re interested, why not submit it to NTV? TV stations are all vying for the film market these days. NTV invests heavily in movies annually. Since you’ve been collaborating frequently with them recently, and this script is excellent, it should be well received.”

“Tsutsumi-san, actually, I’m planning to invest in producing this film myself,” Zhao Ye said.

Tsutsumi’s face showed clear surprise. “Zhao-kun, are you serious? Although it doesn’t look like a big-budget production, and the subject might even win awards if done well, the box office risk is enormous. Especially for a newcomer crossing over from another field, a failed investment isn’t just about losing money—it invites serious doubt for a long time. I strongly advise you to reconsider.”

“For a singer suddenly wanting to cross into filmmaking, it’s already a baffling idea,” Zhao Ye replied. “Finding sponsors would probably be ten times harder than for others. In some countries, such versatile artists might draw attention, but for the inherently conservative Japanese, investing in an outsider is a surefire loss that doesn’t fit their cautious standards.”

“Moreover, even if I submit the script to NTV and they agree to invest, the risk would be lower, but what would remain for me in the film? Filmmaking is still a mystery to me. I want to lift that veil, get close to its core. I want to create a film from my heart with maximum freedom, not just hand over a bare script.”

“Zhao-kun, you really...” Tsutsumi considered for a moment and smiled wryly, “You truly embody the unease you speak of.”

“There’s a saying: ‘Better to bear the unease of a wolf than the false security of a pig.’ Unease breeds vitality, and vitality brings infinite possibilities, doesn’t it?” Zhao Ye joked lightly.

Most would label Zhao Ye a reckless gambler for such words, but ironically, Tsutsumi himself was a restless director. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be seriously discussing the feasibility of this script with Zhao Ye.

After thinking for a moment, Tsutsumi asked as if confirming something: “Zhao-kun, you really intend to invest in the film yourself?”

“Yes,” Zhao Ye replied immediately.

“If that’s the case,” Tsutsumi’s expression turned serious, “may I direct the film?”

Having read the script, Tsutsumi was deeply attracted to it and, at this moment, disregarded their senior-junior relationship, making a candid request.

Zhao Ye didn’t respond with a simple yes or no, nor did he say he’d consider it. Instead, he asked, “Tsutsumi-san, are you willing to just be an executor?”

“What do you mean?” Tsutsumi was puzzled.

“This film, from start to finish, from shooting to post-editing, I already have a complete vision. In fact, the entire moving picture of the script lives in my mind right now. I want to control every aspect of the film. That’s partly why I’m willing to invest myself. So, I need a director who can help me bring the images in my mind to life.”

Zhao Ye took a sip of brandy. “Tsutsumi-san, as a director, you must be proud of your style. It would be disrespectful not to clarify this. So, are you willing to give up your own style and simply execute my vision?”

“Well...” Tsutsumi hesitated.

“Please think it over carefully,” Zhao Ye suggested.

They ordered two more drinks, and Zhao Ye glanced at his watch. It was past eleven at night. “Time’s about up, Tsutsumi-san...”

As they stepped out of the bar, Tsutsumi suddenly proposed, “Zhao-kun, can you tell me about the moving picture in your mind? If the concept sounds feasible to me, I’m willing to be the executor.”

Tsutsumi was a late-blooming director. He only gained recognition after directing the “Kindaichi Case Files” theatrical release. Before that, he mostly worked on low-budget manga adaptations or poorly funded films plagued by committee interference.

Now, having found a favored script and with Zhao Ye ready to invest without concern for funds, Tsutsumi was eager to seize this rare chance. The timing was perfect—if this were a few years later and Zhao Ye imposed such demanding conditions, even the best script might be off the table.

“Since that’s the case, Tsutsumi-san, shall we find another place to continue?” Zhao Ye proposed.

“No need for more drinks. Let’s find a quiet spot and discuss it properly,” Tsutsumi replied.

...

In a karaoke room in Akasaka, Zhao Ye verbally described the images he envisioned for “I Heard Kirishima is Leaving the Club” to Tsutsumi. It was easier to articulate existing images than to imagine them, so his explanation was clearer.

Tsutsumi listened attentively and nodded. “Very interesting. Filmed like this, I think it could be a well-received movie. But the theme isn’t really suitable for all ages, so the box office might not be spectacular. Breaking even with an average pure love or school film would be good.”

“How much do you think the investment would be?” Zhao Ye asked.

Tsutsumi thought a moment. “At least 100 million yen. There won’t be many big scenes, so that cost is low, but lighting, cinematographers, and actors’ salaries are significant expenses. Since it’s set in a school, you’ll need many extras and actual school locations.”

“One hundred million yen...” Zhao Ye roughly calculated in his mind. “Even with the simplest formula of tripling production costs, the box office would need to exceed 300 million yen to break even.”

“Feeling the pressure?”

“There’s pressure every moment.”

“It’s not too late to back out; after all, it’s all still theoretical.”

“Not a chance. What would all my efforts mean if I backed out now?” Zhao Ye smiled. “Life is always fifty-fifty, after all.” Then he steered the conversation back to the film. “Experienced veterans must be hired for technical roles. As for actors, I plan to cast all newcomers.”

“All newcomers?”

Zhao Ye nodded. “Not necessarily completely unknown, but it would be good if one or two roles have some recognition. I intend to hold auditions targeting newcomers from various agencies, so salary demands won’t be too high.”

“Actually, I thought of someone for the role of Maeda-kun,” Tsutsumi said. “Don’t you think Gō-kun could fit? His acting is solid, and although he’s an idol, he doesn’t come off as biased. His age matches Maeda-kun’s well.”

“Even putting aside Gō-kun’s current popularity and status, would Johnny’s allow such a famous artist in a low-budget film?” Zhao Ye smiled subtly. “Tsutsumi-san, having a dazzling idol play a ridiculed loser seems a bit ironic. Just seeing Gō-kun’s face makes me think, ‘How could someone like him ever be unpopular?’”

“Come to think of it, you can’t cast some sleazy-looking guy as the lead either,” Tsutsumi challenged.

“That’s unnecessary. As long as the newcomer has a somewhat plain aura and solid acting skills, that’s enough,” Zhao Ye said. “Regarding real school locations, they don’t have to be near Tokyo. Even the outskirts of the Kanto region would do. It would be ideal to get support from school clubs. Since the story revolves around a club, if any actors have relevant skills, that’s a plus.”

“By the way, although you plan to fully fund this, I still suggest negotiating with NTV,” Tsutsumi advised. “TV stations venturing into film have a natural advantage—they own complete studios and plenty of experienced technicians. Getting their help would be beneficial. You can always rent equipment and staff from film companies, but since you have a working relationship with NTV, it would be easier to discuss details.”

“That’s true. We’ll need assistance anyway, so better to rely on the familiar NTV,” Zhao Ye said, gesturing to himself and then Tsutsumi. “Not just me, but you as well are well acquainted with NTV.”

“Also, if NTV supports us, the promotional campaign before and after release will be well assured. We might even appear in some top variety shows,” Tsutsumi said with a laugh. “Saying all this, I sound like an unrealistic teenager.”

“That’s not bad,” Zhao Ye responded. “Even when you’re older, you should keep a dreaming heart. Although this film has a bit of an ‘anti-coming-of-age’ flavor, its core isn’t about futile rebellion. Approaching it with a touch of youthful idealism is quite fitting.”