Chapter 27: Making Movies Should Be Done at Gunpoint

Masaki covered his eyes and randomly selected a horror movie. The film was titled "Ghost Actress," a name Masaki had never heard of before.

Ai clutched her popcorn, showing absolutely no interest in such horror films. Is there anything in a movie as terrifying as the Organization? I already live in the home of an Organization member every single day; what else could I possibly be afraid of?

"Ah!"

Ai suddenly let out a sharp cry. It wasn't because she was startled by the movie, but because at some point, a hand had appeared on her arm. She turned her neck stiffly to see Masaki trembling as he watched the screen, his left hand gripping the armrest for dear life while his right hand unconsciously seized her arm.

Ai: ?

You’re an Organization member, and yet you’re this terrified by a horror movie? She couldn't comprehend it.

Masaki had moved from merely holding her arm to hugging it tightly. Ai desperately wanted him to let go, but he seemed completely mesmerized, his eyes never leaving the screen as he clung to her arm. When a particularly frightening scene unfolded, Masaki suddenly tightened his grip, hoisting Ai right out of her seat.

Ai was dazed. By the time she realized what was happening, she was being held in Masaki’s arms like a rag doll.

"So scary," Masaki murmured to himself.

"Let go of me," Ai whispered to him.

Masaki seemed entirely immersed in the film and didn't hear her. Moreover, because Ai’s hands were pinned by his embrace, she couldn't even strike him. If it weren't for the fact that they were in a public movie theater, Ai would have screamed right into his ear. Forget it, she thought; it’s not like we haven't slept in the same bed before. It’s just an hour or so of a movie.

After the film ended, Masaki calmly released her from his embrace. Ai stared at him intently, as if waiting for an explanation. You guy, you definitely did that on purpose, didn't you?

"That was terrifying. I’m never watching a horror movie again," Masaki said with a smile.

"Heh."

Seeing Masaki’s rogue-like attitude, Ai chose to endure it. Living under someone else's roof while plotting revenge requires one to appear as harmless as possible. Sooner or later, I will settle the score with Masaki. Consequently, Ai sat there sulking with her popcorn, her lips slightly pursed, muttering to herself. Masaki guessed she was whispering her little grievances to the popcorn.

***

Masaki led Ai out of the theater. "That movie was great; even I was scared," he remarked.

Ai pouted. Whether you were truly scared or just faking it, only you know. Is bullying a child really that much fun?

Masaki was the most sincere person alive—he certainly wouldn't lie to a child—so he smiled and said, "I’ve decided to have the director of this movie direct the first film for our company."

Ai lowered her head. This guy is so impulsive. He just randomly watched a movie in a theater and decided to hire its director to make a film for him. Is this how the scions of wealthy conglomerates live their lives?

...

"Big Brother, are there any missions today?" Vodka asked curiously, chewing on a piece of bread. Big Brother had clearly said they were off today, and he had been planning to buy Yoko-san's latest album. He hadn't even managed to get it yet before being summoned by Big Brother. It was a limited edition release; they were notoriously hard to get.

Gin extinguished his cigarette and said, "Do a favor for Cointreau."

"Do a favor for Cointreau?" Vodka was puzzled. What kind of favor could that conglomerate scion possibly need from them? Does the Sumitomo family not have its own underworld connections? Vodka was resistant; Yoko-san's album was rare, and if he didn't go today, he wouldn't be able to buy it.

"That guy wants to make a movie, and he wants us to help him find a director," Gin said.

"Make a movie?" Vodka muttered under his breath. Is this guy trying to use filmmaking as a front to pick up starlets? Truly the behavior of a wealthy playboy; it’s disgusting.

Vodka asked, "How are we supposed to find a director for him?" Even if they were willing to help Cointreau, they were all tough guys who only knew how to handle weapons; how could they possibly know anyone in the arts?

...

Hideo Nakata had been feeling on top of the world lately. After seven years as an assistant director, he had finally completed his debut feature, "Ghost Actress." The response to the film had been quite good, earning him a fair amount of praise. Furthermore, word had reached him from the United States that they wanted to remake his film. This had left Nakata feeling a bit lightheaded, and he was already contemplating what his next movie should be.

"Knock, knock, knock~"

"Who is it?"

Nakata opened the door to his apartment, and two men dressed in black burst in, slamming the door shut behind them. The stouter man in black immediately stuffed a cloth into his mouth.

"Mmph! Mmph!"

Nakata began to struggle. He had a bright future ahead of him; he was about to hit the big time, and he didn't want to die.

"Shut up!"

When the blond man pressed a pistol against his head, Nakata fell silent.

Gin glanced at Vodka. Vodka grinned at Nakata and said, quite politely, "We’d like to invite you to direct a movie."

"Mmph?"

Direct a movie? Is this how you ask someone to direct a movie?

"I’m going to take the cloth out of your mouth. I hope you won't scream, otherwise our guns might go off accidentally," Vodka warned.

"Mmph!" Nakata nodded vigorously. Once Vodka removed the cloth, Nakata took several deep breaths, eyeing the two men in black. He swallowed hard. Who forces people to direct movies by holding a gun to their heads? And why me? I’m just a nobody who just finished his first film; why don't you go coerce a famous director like Director Sakamaki?

"May I ask, what kind of movie do you want me to direct?" Nakata asked tremulously.

"I don't know. We'll tell you once the script is written," Gin replied. Having heard that Cointreau intended to write the script himself, Gin leaned back in his chair, convinced the result would be nothing more than a pile of garbage. How it turned out would depend entirely on this director's ability.

Nakata felt even more apprehensive. Could they be making him direct those kinds of sleazy, underground films? He was trembling. Are the people who make those kinds of movies really this capable—going straight to kidnapping directors at gunpoint?

"Come with us; we'll take you to sign the contract," Vodka said, grabbing Nakata by the collar and dragging him out.

"Yes."

Nakata followed Vodka, terrified. A contract? Is all this formality really necessary?