Chapter 51: The Movie Begins
The backstage area had been converted into a makeshift press zone. The white media backdrop was printed with the official theatrical poster for Ghost Syndrome, alongside the prominent logos of the major corporate sponsors. A battery of professional camera rigs and powerful spotlights had already been calibrated, and staff members were making their final adjustments, fine-tuning the placement of the microphones.
With the red carpet segment wrapped up, the primary cast members were directed by staff into this formal interview space. Unlike the brief, rapid-fire Q&A sessions outside on the carpet, this was the designated venue for in-depth, professional press coverage.
Director Gotanda stood dead center in the interview zone, facing the wall of media reporters. His heavily stubbled face carried a profoundly serious expression. "I am Taishi Gotanda, the director of Ghost Syndrome. Thank you all for attending tonight's premiere. If anyone is curious about the production process of this film, please feel free to ask. I will answer to the best of my ability."
A reporter immediately shot a hand into the air to field a question. "Director Gotanda, first off, I'd like to ask why you specifically chose a subject as heavy and suffocating as school bullying for this creative piece?"
*Great question,* Gotanda grumbled in his head. *It's not like I actually wrote the script. I'm just the director. Do you people even know what a director actually does?*
Then again, he *was* the one who had handpicked this particular screenplay out of the pile, so saying he deliberately chose the theme wasn't entirely incorrect either.
As for the deeper, underlying motivation...
*To sweep the major awards ceremonies, obviously.* Gotanda was completely transparent with himself on that front. He had set his sights squarely on next year's Japan Academy Film Prize, and how exactly was a director supposed to secure a nomination without offering a cynical, biting critique of societal realities? If an art house film didn't explicitly delve into human darkness, could it even be classified as an art house film?
He adopted a solemn expression. "In truth, this particular subject matter has been weighing on my heart for a very long time. In modern society, the issue of school bullying continues to persist, yet it is all too often ignored, swept under the rug, or completely trivialized. My hope is that through the raw power of cinema, we can force the audience to confront this reality head-on."
Another journalist immediately pressed for more details. "During the pre-production and active shooting phases, what were the biggest hurdles you encountered?"
"The absolute greatest challenge lay in striking a delicate balance between absolute realism and artistic expression." Gotanda massaged his temples. "We needed to authentically portray the sheer cruelty of school bullying, without plunging the audience into total, unredeemable despair. Beyond that, guiding young child actors to accurately channel such heavy, complex emotional states required an immense amount of patience."
The reporters' gaze swiftly shifted toward Teppei Nishikawa. "Mr. Nishikawa, this marks your very first time stepping into the shoes of a theatrical male lead. How exactly did you break down and interpret the character of Naoto Anna?"
Suddenly put on the spot, Teppei jumped slightly in surprise. He frantically ran through his memory of the script before offering a thoroughly honest response. "Naoto Anna is an incredibly convoluted character. He functions as a perpetrator of violence, yet he simultaneously carries an immense amount of internal torment. But that being said, none of his internal pain justifies or excuses the horrific things he did."
"Teppei!" Gotanda hissed, aggressively tugging on his sleeve.
*The kid has a big mouth,* the director thought. The movie hadn't even screened yet, and he was already dropping major plot spoilers to the press.
Teppei snapped his mouth shut instantly, executing a well-practiced, apologetic bow.
"During the performance process, did you walk away with any particular personal insights?" the reporter pressed further, trying to capitalize on his momentum.
Teppei offered a somewhat bashful smile. "Sharing scenes with Ai was a massive challenge. Her raw appearance would sometimes break my concentration and pull me straight out of character, though that's entirely a shortcoming on my part. After wrapping up this film, I feel like my overall focus as an actor has drastically improved."
The media then turned their attention to Ai and Shiranui Frill. However, as veteran idols, both girls handled the pressure with absolute ease. Ai simply maintained her flawless, picture-perfect commercial smile, while Frill elegantly spun out a flawless stream of generic PR talking points, deflecting every probe with practiced grace.
Realizing that Ai had no intention of dropping her guard, the journalists swerved to target Hikaru Hoshino.
"Mr. Hikari, you composed the primary theme song for this film, titled Hakujitsu (White Day). Judging strictly by the name, it sounds like a track brimming with hope. Does that aesthetic truly mesh with the dark, suffocating theme of the movie?"
Hikaru instantly channeled his inner riddle-master. "Well, once the credits roll and you've listened to the track in its absolute entirety alongside the visual narrative, I believe you'll have your answer."
"As a commercial pop artist, this marks your very first venture into the role of a theatrical music director. Do you truly believe you possess the depth required to shoulder such a monumental responsibility?"
Hikaru merely arched an eyebrow, a confident smirk playing at the edge of his lips. "I've never been someone who enjoys rotting away inside a comfort zone. Human growth demands that we actively break boundaries and seek out challenges. Furthermore, I have absolute faith that the blood, sweat, and tears I poured into this score will speak for themselves once the audience hears it."
The interview dragged on for roughly twenty minutes. Once the press block wrapped up, the cast and crew were systematically guided by staff members into the main screening auditorium.
The interior of the theater was dimly lit, dominated by a massive silver screen that spanned the entirety of the front wall. Rows of plush red seats stretched across the room, with guests already filtering into the space. Hikaru, Ai, and Aqua quickly navigated to their reserved seating–situated dead center in the optimal viewing sweet spot of the theater. Surrounding them were industry insiders, production staff, and specially invited VIP guests.
As the final batch of attendees took their seats, the house lights faded into total darkness, and the silver screen flared to life.
The production company's title card flashed onto the screen first, followed by a succession of major sponsors and corporate partners. Once the parade of corporate logos finally concluded, the film officially commenced.
During the initial audition phase, the introductory scene had depicted Naoto Anna crossing paths with Aie Kitajima on his casual walk home from work. However, when active filming began, Gotanda felt that specific setup was far too generic and offered way too little narrative weight. Consequently, he had completely re-engineered the opening shot of the film.
The silver screen opened on a panoramic, sweeping night view of Tokyo–a sprawling metropolis defined by a chaotic sea of flashing neon lights and bumper-to-bumper traffic. The camera elegantly tracked the surging flow of the evening commuters, ultimately narrowing its focus onto a crowded subway station exit. Naoto Anna, portrayed by Teppei Nishikawa, squeezed his way out of the packed train car, his face masks of pure exhaustion as he shuffled toward the street level.
"What a joke... those ancient relics upstairs know absolutely nothing except how to dump their workloads onto their subordinates and dodge accountability. Then when things blow up, I'm the one who has to take the fall!" Naoto muttered to himself, his voice dripping with bitter resentment as he marched forward. "If you don't have the competence to do the job, then hurry up and resign already!"
This was an tight, handheld tracking shot that clung close to Teppei's profile, capturing his aggressive, disgruntled muttering with crystalline clarity.
He cleared the station exit, ducking into a web of narrow, shadowy alleyways before arriving at his cramped apartment. Pulling out his keys, he unlocked the door with a practiced, robotic motion.
The living space was so incredibly small it felt actively suffocating. A mere dozen square meters had been ruthlessly partitioned into a living area, bedroom, and kitchenette. The instant the front door opened, it led directly onto a cheap tatami layout, the yellowish straw mats so heavily worn down that the original texture was entirely lost. A miniature, folding table sat dead center in the room, its surface marred by years of scratches and grease stains.
A cluster of cardboard boxes was piled into the corner, packed with assorted junk that had never been unpacked. The room's solitary window was tiny, draped in a cheap, beige fabric curtain that allowed only a dim, depressing stream of twilight to filter through. The kitchenette was crudely separated from the main room by a half-height plastic partition, a space so restrictively narrow that a single adult could barely turn around inside it.
This was the heart of prosperous Tokyo. Some individuals lived in sweeping suburban estates, others occupied luxury high-rise penthouses, but there was a vast underbelly of people who could only exist inside drawer-like pigeonholes, constantly pushed and pulled around by society.
"Hey! Shizuna, you in here?" Naoto called out, slamming the door shut behind him.
Ueda Shizuna, played by Shiranui Frill, stepped out from behind the kitchen partition, a cooking spatula still clutched in her hand. "What's wrong, Naoto? You look like you're in a terrible mood."
"I want to eat! Is there anything good?!" Naoto slumped hard onto the floor beside the small folding table, looking thoroughly agitated.
Shizuna offered a gentle, reassuring smile, systematically bringing out tonight's dinner dish by dish.
Tonkatsu, miso soup, white rice, and a handful of small side dishes.
"We eat this exact same stuff every single day, and work is a living hell. Seriously, if I had known it would be like this, I never would have moved to Tokyo in the first place!" Naoto snapped up his chopsticks, grumbling aggressively as he began to shove food into his mouth.
Shizuna set her own utensils down, her gaze locking onto her boyfriend's eyes with a deeply complex expression. "Should we just pack up and move back to our hometown then? Do you... do you truly want to go back?"
Naoto's entire body locked up on the spot, a flash of primitive terror crossing his eyes. "It's been so long since then, going back shouldn't be a big deal, right? At the end of the day, what happened back then wasn't even our fault!"
Right at that exact subtextual beat, the tonkatsu sitting on the table began to shift in a deeply unsettling, supernatural manner. Under their horrified, wide-eyed stares, the fried cutlet slowly floated into midair, disappearing bite by bite as if an invisible entity were hungrily devouring it.
The couple went perfectly rigid, their chopsticks slipping from their fingers and clattering onto the table.
"Did you... did you just see that, Shizuna?" Naoto's voice trembled violently.
"I saw it! No wonder the rent was so dirt cheap... this place is actively haunted!" Shizuna whimpered, her face turning entirely pale.
"Run! Let's get out of here first!" Naoto bolted upright, reaching out to grab Shizuna's hand to flee, but his arm was abruptly caught midair by an invisible, vice-like grip.
"Please... don't leave me all alone..." a hollow, ethereal voice echoed from behind his back.
Inch by inch, Naoto stiffly craned his neck around. Standing behind him wasn't a horrific, blood-soaked wraith, but an incredibly beautiful teenage girl.
As a light, whimsical piece of background music swelled through the theater speakers, Ai Kitajima–portrayed by Ai–was revealed standing inside the cramped apartment. Dressed in a pristine, pure white sundress, she looked completely innocent and breathtakingly beautiful–a stark, jarring contrast to the dilapidated, grimy surroundings, appearing as though she belonged to an entirely different realm of existence.
Naoto's eyes went completely wide, his voice jumping an entire octave. "Ai Kitajima?!"
Shizuna let out a blood-curdling shriek. "That means it's *still* a ghost?!"
The two shared a single look of sheer panic before scrambling over one another, desperately clawing their way toward the exit.
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