Chapter 28: Gin, Drop Some Loot

“Xiao Ai, what do you think of the script I wrote?” Masakazu handed the script he had spent the entire night writing to Xiao Ai.

Xiao Ai glanced at it and found it utterly nonsensical.

The story’s structure was deeply flawed, and the characters’ dialogue was completely incoherent. The writing was like a crude carving knife—devoid of any literary grace.

“Hm, wonderful. The script has excellent storytelling, with a plot full of twists and turns. It’s quite a fine screenplay,” Xiao Ai said softly.

Go ahead and shoot a film with this lousy script—it’s bound to flop.

Xiao Ai had found a new way to get back at Masakazu.

Driving Masakazu to bankruptcy and despair would also be a rather satisfying revenge.

“I plan to cast Yoko Okino as the lead actress.”

“Very good,” Xiao Ai nodded.

An idol who had never acted in a movie before as the lead—of course the film would bomb.

“And I’m having the director from that horror movie we watched last time helm this new film,” Masakazu added.

“Excellent. He’s a very skilled director,” Xiao Ai replied.

But this director was just some random pick; the chances of him making a good movie were practically zero.

Having Xiao Ai’s approval greatly boosted Masakazu’s confidence.

Still, the script needed refinement. Masakazu had his company bring in several screenwriters to polish it.

The script was titled "Midnight Ring."

It was now 1996, and Masakazu recalled that this film was adapted from Koji Suzuki’s novel of the same name, published in 1997—so no plagiarism issues yet.

As for whether he had already begun imagining the plot—he would have to discuss that with the company’s legal department.

Once the script was finalized, Masakazu went to Gin’s place to meet the director he had hired.

Hideo Nakata shook Masakazu’s hand, but upon learning the boss’s name, his calves trembled uncontrollably.

This was bad—he was dealing with a truly ruthless man.

Masakazu had a fearsome reputation; everyone knew he was cold-blooded and merciless, capable of killing without remorse. The police and Kogoro Mouri vouched for him, making it impossible to find any evidence of his crimes.

To save his own life, Nakata dared not utter a word. Whatever Masakazu said, he just nodded.

Masakazu wasn’t an art connoisseur and had no desire to chat extensively with the director.

He simply instructed him to be efficient during filming and to release the movie as soon as possible, then sent him off.

Pouring a glass of apple juice, Masakazu turned to Gin and asked, “Does the organization still have funds?”

“Hm?”

Shaking the glass, Masakazu said, “Without our own theater chain, we’ll be bullied. I’m planning to buy some cinemas. Does the organization want to invest?”

He had been expanding blindly lately and was feeling financial pressure.

His biological father no longer gave him gold coins, and Sumitomo Bank wouldn’t lend him much more. The only option was to seek support from the organization.

After all, he was one of the organization’s most loyal code members.

It was reasonable to ask the organization for help in times of need.

Gin frowned, impatiently replying, “Business matters aren’t my concern.”

He found Masakazu bothersome.

He just wanted Masakazu to launder some money—not to have the organization find a director or invest in a cinema chain.

What did Masakazu take the organization for?

Masakazu spoke gently, “Come on, isn’t this all contributing to the organization? Once we have our own theaters, it’ll be easier to operate.

“Think it over. The organization has a lot of dirty money that needs a stable channel for laundering.

“Besides, cinemas are profitable and can generate funds for the organization. With more funds, you won’t have to waste effort threatening others.”

Now was an era of law and order.

Threatening people, kidnapping, and robbing banks should be minimized.

Gin frowned, pondering for a moment.

“Will anyone sell cinemas to you?” he asked.

“Of course,” Masakazu said.

Because of the economic slump, attendance had plummeted this year, hitting one of the lowest records since the Japan Motion Picture Producers Association was established.

Cinemas were struggling as well.

But that wasn’t the main point.

The key was that Masakazu had divine assistance.

He had come to believe in the power of gods. If necessary, he could get Conan to visit those families—what couldn’t be sold after someone’s death?

“This is the last time,” Gin said.

“Alright,” Masakazu smiled.

Gin was so much better—unlike some biological father who didn’t support his son’s entrepreneurial ventures at all.

Once the organization was gone, Masakazu would make Gin his head of security.

To show his gratitude for Gin’s generosity, Masakazu drained the apple juice in his glass but only earned a disdainful look from Gin.

Before 2000, Japan’s official box office statistics were based on a distribution system.

That is, the revenue that film companies (distributors) actually received from theaters, not the total ticket sales paid by audiences.

This system underestimated Japan’s overall film market.

But it also had many advantages.

For example, a lack of transparency.

Distributors could selectively disclose or adjust data, which was why Masakazu was eager to quickly establish distribution channels.

Building distribution channels was no simple feat, especially without family support.

But he had Conan.

“Gin, I’m off to work for the organization’s cause,” Masakazu said, standing up and stretching his waist.

Gin looked at him without any reaction.

Masakazu curled his lips, grabbed a carton of milk from the bar counter, and left.

Having drained Gin’s gold coins, he wouldn’t have to see his sour face for a while.

Masakazu was much more proactive with this venture.

He had entrusted the construction industry to Akemi Miyano, but he was still personally managing the entertainment business, as he hadn’t found a competent secretary yet.

He took Xiao Ai, who was about to start school, to meet Yoko Okino.

“Your movie’s leading lady is settled,” he told her.

Yoko Okino sat quietly in a chair, hands folded over her knees, listening carefully.

Masakazu said, “The movie is called ‘Midnight Ring,’ directed by the renowned Hideo Nakata. I wrote the script myself. It’s a very decent horror film.”

Yoko listened nervously.

She feared Masakazu’s horror film would be one that relied on nudity and cheap thrills to rake in box office revenue.

She glanced at the child beside Masakazu.

Bringing a child to discuss this matter—it probably wasn’t some lowbrow film, right?

Seeing her unease, Masakazu reassured her, “By the way, your pay is 100 million yen.”

“What!?” Yoko was shocked.

Even Japan’s most valuable actresses couldn’t command such a fee. How could an idol who had never acted in any movie receive so much?

Was he trying to bluff her?

Even if Masakazu had ulterior motives, he wouldn’t pay that much, right?

“Rest assured, the company will never mistreat its own employees.”