pjbooks Chapter 138 The Best Diva
Chapter 138 The Best Diva
Chapter 138 The Best Diva (Seeking Monthly Tickets)
After filming wrapped on both "Under One Roof" and "The Whole Face," Kitahara Shin did not immediately take a break.
As the undisputed king of TV drama ratings, the agency is receiving a flood of variety show invitations from major TV stations.
Although he no longer needs to rely on variety shows to gain exposure, he still chose to participate in several programs with high national popularity in order to maintain his exposure and pave the way for his future plans.
Fuji Television, backstage at V3 studio.
Having just finished recording a talk show, Kitahara Shin was sitting in the dressing room removing his makeup.
"President, this is a call from President Nagato Daisuke." Ota handed over the mobile phone, his expression somewhat subtle.
Kitahara Shin answered the phone.
"Moshi Moshi, President Nagato?"
"Ah, Kitahara-kun, I'm sorry to bother you so late."
Nagato Daikichi's voice sounded somewhat anxious, completely lacking his usual composed and in control: "Um—I wanted to ask, has Izumi contacted you these past few days?"
Kitahara Shin paused for a moment while holding the makeup remover pad.
"No. What's wrong?"
"Here's the thing—she hasn't come to the company to record for the past few days, and she's not answering her phone. Although she's not completely out of contact—she occasionally returns a page—she just refuses to come to the company."
Nagato Daiyuki sighed, his tone full of helplessness: "This child is usually very obedient, but this time it seems he's been acting up towards me."
"Are you being difficult?"
Kitahara Shin smiled and wiped the makeup off his eyebrows in front of the mirror. "Given Izumi's personality, for her to skip work, it seems this is quite a big deal. What happened?"
"—I can't really explain it clearly. Maybe it's because we had some disagreements about the song selection for the new album. You know, this girl doesn't usually talk much, but I didn't expect her to react so strongly this time."
Nagato Daiko felt somewhat ashamed.
As a boss and a top producer in the industry, it's quite embarrassing that he couldn't handle one of his female singers and had to call others for help.
"Then I'll leave it to you, Kitahara-kun. If it's you, she should be willing to speak up."
"Alright."
Kitahara Shin tossed the makeup remover pad into the trash can, stood up, and straightened his collar. "I just finished work. I'll go check on her."
After hanging up the phone, Kitahara Shin walked out of the lounge.
In the corridor, several rookie idols who were preparing to record a late-night program saw him and immediately stood nervously against the wall, bowing and loudly greeting him: "Hello, Kitahara-senpai! Thank you for your hard work!"
This is the rule in the Japanese entertainment industry.
The hierarchy is strict; no matter how famous you are, you still have to bow your head to your seniors.
-
For these newcomers, Kitahara Shin was already someone they had to look up to.
Kitahara Shin nodded casually in return.
He didn't dislike these rules, but he was too lazy to put on airs of seniority. In this industry, seniority is meaningless; only the work matters.
He didn't linger at the TV station. After leaving the follow-up tasks to Ota, he drove his black sedan into the Tokyo night.
A luxury apartment building in Machida City.
This place is a bit far from the center of Tokyo, but it has a quiet environment and is very safe.
Izumi Sakai lived here.
Although ZARD's record sales have been good in the past two years, and she is no longer the model who needed to work several jobs, she still maintains that minimalist style in her life.
They don't own a mansion, a nanny, or even a car.
-
Kitahara Shin parked his car downstairs and glanced at the window on the third floor where the light was still on.
He didn't make a phone call; he went straight upstairs and rang the doorbell.
"Ding-dong."
After a while, the sound of slippers stepping on the floor came from inside, followed by the sound of the peephole being opened.
"Click".
The lock turned, and the security door opened a crack.
A clean-cut face appeared. When she saw the person standing outside the door, her previously somewhat dim eyes widened instantly.
"——Kitahara-kun?"
Izumi was clearly surprised by Kitahara Shin's sudden appearance. She was wearing a loose white T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans, her hair was casually tied in a ponytail, she wore black-rimmed glasses, and she was holding a freshly washed mug.
She was dressed exactly like a stay-at-home girl.
"Sorry to bother you so late."
Kitahara Shin held up the cake box in his hand—a strawberry cake he'd bought at the convenience store he'd just passed by: "President Nagato said you were missing, so I came to check on you. —May I come in?"
Quanshui's face flushed instantly. She glanced instinctively at her unremarkable attire, then hurriedly opened the door: "Y-Of course! Please come in!"
The room wasn't big, but it was very clean.
Unlike Akina Nakamori's room, which is filled with all sorts of cute dolls and decorations, Izumi's home is so simple that it even looks a bit like a showroom.
Aside from the bookshelves being filled with various thick books and CDs, there are almost no other decorations.
"Please have some tea."
Izumi walked over with a teacup and placed it on the tea table in front of Kitahara Shin. Her movements were gentle, even somewhat careful—
carefully.
Kitahara Shin glanced at the teacup, in which a few tea leaves floated, and steam rose from the bottom.
"Thanks."
He picked up his teacup, took a sip, and then looked at Quanshui, who was sitting on the opposite sofa, head down, playing with his fingers.
"I heard from President Nagato that you recently went on strike?"
Kitahara Shin put down his teacup, his tone relaxed, showing no sign of accusation.
Quanshui's shoulder twitched.
"I'm so sorry—"
She lowered her head even further, her voice barely audible, "I'm sorry to have troubled you—"
'
"I'm not here to hear your apology."
Kitahara Shin smiled, leaning forward to look at her exposed, pale neck. "Besides, we don't need these formalities. —Tell me, what happened? Did that old man Nagato bully you?"
Hearing this comment, which was teasing but clearly biased towards him, Quanshui's tense body relaxed slightly.
She looked up, her eyes slightly misty.
"that----"
She hesitated for a moment, then mustered her courage and pointed to the seat next to Kitahara Shin: "May I—move over a little?"
Kitahara Shin paused for a moment, then patted the sofa cushion next to him: "Of course."
Izumi stood up and moved to sit down next to Kitahara Shin.
The two were standing very close.
I was so close I could smell the faint scent of cotton fabric that had just been sun-dried on her.
Kitahara Shin turned his head to look at the bare face so close to his.
She lacked the aloofness of her stage persona, possessing only the pure and gentle charm of a girl next door. A hint of spiritedness lingered in her eyes, yet her current state of distress made her all the more endearing.
He couldn't resist and reached out to gently stroke her cheek.
The touch from my fingertips is delicate and warm.
The spring water's breathing became disordered.
She didn't flinch; instead, like a little animal that had found a place to rely on, she nuzzled her face against Kitahara Shin's palm.
The atmosphere became somewhat awkward.
The two stared at each other for a while, and it seemed as if some invisible current was crackling in the air.
Kitahara Shin lowered his head and kissed him.
It was a very gentle kiss.
It wasn't very aggressive; it was more of a reassuring approach.
Izumi's body stiffened for a moment, but quickly softened. She closed her eyes, her eyelashes trembling slightly, and her hands gripped Kitahara Shin's shirt hem somewhat helplessly.
After a long while, the two finally separated.
Izumi's face was as red as a ripe apple. She buried her head in Kitahara Shin's arms. Although her voice was still a little muffled, there was no weak sobbing in her tone. Instead, it revealed a stubbornness like someone who was stubbornly fixated on something: "————I can't sing those songs."
"Um?"
Kitahara Shin gently patted her back, not rushing to conclusions, "Why?"
The spring water lifted its head from his embrace.
Those eyes, which were usually somewhat evasive, were now staring straight at Kitahara Shin. There was no grievance in his eyes, only an almost obsessive stubbornness: "Recently, the company and the producer felt that our previous rock style had reached a bottleneck, and they wanted me to try to switch to singing sweet songs like 'I want to be with you forever' —"
At this point, she frowned, as if recalling some unpleasant experience: "I tried to write those kinds of lyrics. But—when the pen touched the paper, I felt like I was lying."
"lie?"
"Um."
Izumi reached under the coffee table and pulled out a somewhat old notebook, flipped through a few pages, and handed it to Kitahara Shin.
The paper was covered with dense writing, which was then crossed out and even torn.
"I don't hate love songs, but I hate that fake sweetness. I can't sing that kind of feigned happiness to please everyone. The moment I open my mouth, I feel like a puppet just reciting lines."
Pointing to the crossed-out marks, her voice was calm yet powerful: "ZARD shouldn't be like this. What I want to sing is the truth of running on even when you're hurt, the strength to find light in the darkness. If even I don't believe in the emotions in the lyrics, how can the audience believe in them? And, to so easily abandon our original style, isn't that a betrayal of my fans?"
Kitahara Shin looked at the powerful, penetrating strokes of the pen, his eyes flickering slightly.
This isn't her being coquettish or throwing a tantrum.
This is "the bottom line for creators".
Izumi took a deep breath and continued, "I don't dare to argue with President Nagato face to face, and I can't win an argument with those professional producers. But I can't compromise. If I back down this time, ZARD will become just another generic, mass-produced label."
"So I won't go to the recording studio. I don't want to argue with words; I'll express my thoughts with silence."
After speaking, she looked at Kitahara Shin, her eyes filled with a hint of unease, but more so with a sense of composure that "I have prepared for the worst": "I know this way of passive resistance is childish, but I don't want to deceive myself, nor do I want to deceive the audience."
Kitahara Shin looked at the girl in front of him.
She was wearing the simplest T-shirt, with no makeup, and looked so delicate that a gust of wind could blow her over.
But when it comes to music, she's tougher than anyone else.
This is the real ZARD.
This is the kind of woman who can support an era with her singing in the future.
Kitahara Shin closed the notebook and casually tossed it back onto the coffee table.
Then, he reached out and, instead of patting her head like he would a child, he took her hand—the handshake gesture between comrades.
"Why terminate the contract?"
Kitahara Shin looked into her eyes, a smile of appreciation curving his lips: "Well done."
"————?" Quanshui was stunned, and her mental preparation collapsed instantly.
"If you don't want to sing, then don't sing. If you think it's a lie, then don't write it."
Kitahara Shin's voice was steady, carrying an undeniable power: "Nagato is a businessman; he values data. But you are an artist; you value the soul."
Without this uncompromising spirit, you wouldn't be ZARD.
He grabbed her fingers, his tone becoming domineering: "You don't need to cater to any 'energetic girl' type. You just stand there, in your jeans, singing the rock you want. If the market doesn't accept it, that's the market's problem, not yours."
"If they pressure you, let them come to me. I'll tell Nagato that only you can decide what ZARD's songs are."
The spring water stared blankly at him.
She had anticipated that Kitahara Shin would be angry, and she had also anticipated that he would gently advise her to "be patient."
I never imagined that he would stand by my side and "go crazy" with me.
The impact of being completely understood and recognized as an artist is more intense than any sweet words.
She bit her lip, and her eyes finally reddened.
It wasn't because of weakness, but because that taut string had finally found a frequency that could resonate.
"----real?"
"When have I ever lied to you?"
The spring looked at him, then suddenly took a deep breath, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from its shoulders.
She gave a bright, tearful smile.
"Thanks."
She gripped Kitahara Shin's hand tightly, her eyes sparkling: "Then I—I'll finish writing that unfinished rock song tomorrow. I'll use that song to prove to them that I can get first place even without wearing a pink dress."
Kitahara Shin couldn't help but laugh at her high-spirited appearance.
"This is my songstress."
He reached out and pinched her cheek. "But before you write the song, shouldn't you take care of my problem first?"
"What's the problem?" Quanshui asked blankly.
"I've come all this way to be your spiritual mentor," Kitahara Shin said, pointing to the now-cold teacup, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Aren't you going to pay me a consultation fee?"
Spring Water's face instantly turned bright red.
But this time, she didn't flinch.
She looked at Kitahara Shin, her eyes sparkling, and then, with a bit of clumsiness but determination, leaned forward slightly and kissed his lips again.
After yet another time.
"Besides this, do you have any other ideas? Tell me about them."
Kitahara Shin smiled and looked at her, then asked.
Quanshui sniffed, looked up, and her eyes sparkled: "I'd like to ask for a long leave."
"A long holiday?"
"Yes. I want to get my driver's license."
Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.
"A driver's license?" Kitahara Shin asked, somewhat surprised. "Why do you suddenly want to learn to drive?"
"because----"
Quanshui scratched her hair a little shyly, "I feel great freedom driving around. And—once I learn how to drive, I want to take you to places I like, to see the sea, to watch the sunset."
She always asked him to pick her up and drop her off, and always asked him to protect her.
She also wished that, even just once, she could hold the steering wheel and take this man to the ends of the earth.
Kitahara Shin looked into her eyes, which were full of longing.
The softest spot in my heart felt like it had been violently struck by something.
This silly girl.
Even though she was being difficult and trying to avoid work, he was still part of her plans.
"OK."
Kitahara Shin pinched her cheek, his tone indulgent: "Then go learn. I'll go with you to register at driving school tomorrow."
"Really? Do you have time?"
"I do have time to help you register. But you'll have to do the hard work of learning to drive yourself."
"Um!"
Quanshui nodded vigorously, her face beaming with the brightest smile she had seen in weeks.
Late at night.
The clock on the wall pointed to eleven o'clock.
Kitahara Shin glanced at the time and was about to get up and take his leave.
"that----"
My wrist was suddenly grabbed.
Izumi didn't let go. She sat on the sofa, looking up at Kitahara Shin, who had already stood up, her face flushed red, but her eyes were unusually firm.
"It's so late already—"
Her voice was barely audible, yet clearly audible in the quiet room: "Tonight—don't leave."
Kitahara Shin paused for a moment.
He looked down at the girl who was usually shy even when holding hands, but now she had mustered all her courage to ask him to stay.
We're not children anymore.
What this sentence means, both of them are very clear.
"----good."
Kitahara Shin grasped her hand in return and sat down again.
The lights went out.
The moonlight streamed in through the gaps in the curtains, illuminating the intertwined shadows.
It was a gentle night.
There wasn't much madness, just two souls finding warmth in each other.
The next morning.
Sunlight streamed through the curtains and onto the bed.
When Quanshui opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the man lying next to her.
He was still asleep, breathing evenly. His face, which usually carried a hint of seriousness and calculation, looked unusually peaceful at that moment.
The spring water remained still.
She simply looked at him quietly, a smile involuntarily creeping onto her lips.
Last night felt like a dream, but the aches and pains in her body and the warmth around her told her it was real.
The unease and anxiety that had been hanging over my heart seemed to completely dissipate this morning.
-
She leaned in gently and stole a kiss on his cheek.
Then I carefully got out of bed, took the clothes, and headed to the washing machine.
As the spring water watched the swirling bubbles, its gaze became more resolute than ever before.
She wants to learn to drive.
She wants to continue writing songs.
She wants to stick to doing the rock music she wants to do.
It wasn't just to prove something to those producers, but also so that one day I could truly be qualified to stand beside that man.
It is not a protected appendage.
Instead, it is ZARD.
As the best songstress who can stand shoulder to shoulder with him.
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