pjbooks Chapter 18 Damaged Items
Chapter 18 Damaged Items
NHK Green Mountain Studio, prop warehouse.
This place is like a sleeping arsenal, with dimly lit shelves piled high with "murder weapons" from various eras.
From the cross-shaped spears of the Sengoku period to the katana of the Shinsengumi at the end of the Edo period, the air is filled with the unique smell of rust-preventing oil mixed with old leather.
Kitahara Shin was standing in front of a rack full of samurai swords.
Ten minutes earlier, while preparing for his next scene, he noticed that the guard of the prop knife at his waist was a little loose.
If it were just a regular extra, they'd probably just wrap it up with tape or pretend they didn't see it.
After all, in a wide shot, no one will notice if the handguard of a knife is shaking.
But Kitahara Shin was not one of them.
As a seasoned veteran with decades of experience, such a flaw in his feel for the weapon would severely disrupt his rhythm when drawing his sword.
In a historical drama like Taiga, where attention to detail is paramount, the sound engineer will immediately call "cut" if the blade makes any unusual noise.
Rather than waiting to be criticized halfway through filming, it's better to address the potential problems first.
"Excuse me, Sasaki-san, the tsuba (handguard) of this sword is loose. Could you please replace it or repair it for me?"
Kitahara Shin handed over the prop knife with both hands to the prop master who was repairing armor in the corner.
Sasaki, the prop master, is an eccentric old man who is usually annoyed by the actors' fussiness.
But when he looked up and saw Kitahara Shin—the newcomer who had recently been praised by senior Ohara Reiko—his expression softened slightly.
"Just leave it there, I'll find you a new one." Sasaki muttered, turning and disappearing into the back shelf.
Kitahara Shin stood still and waited.
His gaze inadvertently swept over a corner where a pile of waste was stored.
There were some broken spear shafts, tattered straw sandals, and a cardboard box full of broken wood piled up there.
A piece of white, broken wood caught his attention.
It was a broken practice wooden sword, made of fine white oak.
Although it was broken into two pieces and the surface was covered with dents from countless blows, the handle was still polished to a glossy shine.
hum-
[Found an equipable item (common/damaged)]
【Item Name: Broken Practice Wooden Sword (White)】
[Original owner: The late legendary action choreographer (master of action sequences) from NHK, who used this wooden sword to train countless stars of the Showa era]
[Body Part: Hands/Weapon]
[Status: Damaged (but mentally sound)]
[Basic Attribute: Basic Kendo Movement Standards +15%]
[Special term: Lingering Heart (passive)]
Note: This wooden sword has witnessed countless rigorous sword-wielding practices. Once equipped, your actions of drawing, swinging, and sheathing the sword will automatically be corrected to the most standard "textbook" posture. In particular, the "Zanshin" (the pause and alertness after the action) will have a very ancient aesthetic.
"Motion correction?"
Kitahara was secretly delighted.
Although he has acted in domestic period dramas, those fancy moves are completely different from those of a true swordsman.
The action scenes (battle formations) in Taiga dramas are very meticulous; any slight dragging or sloppiness will be laughed at by experts.
He crouched down, picked up the broken handle, and weighed it in his hand.
That heavy feeling, as if someone was guiding him to exert force in his wrist, instantly spread throughout his body.
"What are you doing? That's garbage."
Sasaki returned with a repaired prop knife and looked at Kitahara Shin's broken piece of wood with some confusion.
"Ah, I think this wood is of good quality, I'd like to take it back... as a paperweight." Kitahara Shin casually made up a reason and stood up with a smile.
"Whatever." Sasaki tossed him the new sword. "The center of gravity of this sword is off; don't break it."
Thank you.
Kitahara Shin put the broken wooden sword into his large sleeve pocket, took the new sword, and placed his fingers on the hilt.
At that moment, he felt as if the knife in his hand had become an extension of his arm.
……
3 PM, Studio 2.
Today we're filming an action scene.
Plot: Late at night, an assassin breaks into the mansion with the intention of killing Kasuga no Tsubone. Inaba Masasada (Kitahara Shin), who has been guarding the door, instantly draws his sword and kills the assassin with a single blow, protecting his mother.
Tatami mats were laid out on the set, and the martial arts instructor (the assassin master) was giving instructions to the stuntman playing the assassin.
"Kitahara-kun, your actions are very simple."
The assassin was a burly middle-aged man. He gestured to Kitahara Shin, explaining, "When the assassin charges, you draw your sword, slash horizontally, and the assassin falls to the ground. The key is the end; you have to sheathe the sword. If you're not skilled, we can cut the camera or have a stunt double do a close-up of your hand."
Sheathing the sword is the most difficult move to pull off in period dramas.
Many young actors can't even aim the sword at the scabbard properly, often having to poke it off-camera for ages, or looking down at it. Such scenes are very distracting and show no skill whatsoever.
"Let me try doing it myself first." Kitahara Shin fastened the straps and took a breath.
"Okay, let's go through the scene once." the director called out.
"Action!"
At a command, the stuntman playing the assassin roared and charged forward with his knife raised.
Kitahara Shin stood still, his body slightly slumped.
[Equipment activated: Basic Kendo movement accuracy +15%]
In that instant, his mind went completely blank.
Without conscious thought, the body reacts faster than the mind.
His right hand swiftly gripped the hilt of the sword, while his left thumb pushed open the tsuba (the guard cut of a carp's mouth).
"Clang!"
A streak of silver light flashed across the dimly lit backdrop.
Fast. Accurate. Ruthless.
The blade stopped precisely five centimeters from the assassin's neck, the sound of the wind it created even causing the assassin to instinctively close his eyes for a moment.
The assassin fell to the ground as a result.
Next comes the most crucial scene.
Kitahara Shin did not immediately sheathe his sword.
He maintained the posture after swinging his knife, his gaze still fixed on the fallen assassin, his eyes as cold as ice.
This is "Zanshin"—the spirit of never letting down one's guard until the enemy is confirmed to be completely dead.
Three seconds later.
Once he confirmed it was safe, he flicked his right wrist, making a clean flourish with the knife to wipe away the "bloodstains" from the blade.
Then, grasp the scabbard opening with your left hand, hold the knife with your right hand, and pull it backward with the back of the blade against the web of your left hand.
He didn't look down at the scabbard even once throughout the entire process.
His gaze remained fixed straight ahead, his eyes sharp as an eagle's.
"Click."
The tip of the blade precisely found the opening of the scabbard.
"Sizzle—"
The blade slid smoothly into its sheath.
"Click".
With a final clang, the hilt struck the scabbard, producing a crisp, melodious locking sound.
The entire process was fluid and graceful, filled with a mechanical, precise beauty, yet also carrying a chilling, murderous aura.
The scene was completely silent.
The director, who was about to yell "Cut the shot!", opened his mouth but forgot to speak.
The stuntman who was about to go up as a stunt double silently put down the knife in his hand.
"Cut! Okay!"
The director slapped his thigh excitedly, "Absolutely stunning! This sheathing technique is textbook perfect!"
The assassin also came over, looking at Kitahara Shin with surprise: "Kitahara-kun, you've practiced Iaido? This blind sheathing technique takes at least three to five years to master."
"I practiced acting a little bit before."
Kitahara Shin gave the same humble answer, without batting an eye.
"This isn't something that can be done 'a little bit'," the assassin patted him on the shoulder approvingly, then turned to the cameraman and shouted, "Did you get that close-up of the hands? If not, get another take! Those hands are too steady; absolutely don't cut them out!"
"Got it! Very clear!" The photographer gave an OK sign.
Kitahara Shin loosened his grip on the sword, his palm slightly sweaty.
The enhancement from the severed wooden sword was indeed powerful; for a brief moment, he felt as if he had truly transformed into that battle-hardened warrior.
He went to the monitor to watch the playback.
In the scene, the young samurai sheathed his sword with a cold gaze and elegant movements.
He perfectly captured the "flavor" that only actors in old-school period dramas possessed.
"Looks like you're going to get that 30,000 yen technical allowance again."
Producer Ishida, who was passing by, made a joking remark.
Kitahara Shin smiled slightly and bowed in thanks.
In this place where skill determines one's livelihood, every skillful move is a stepping stone to advancement.
And he is taking solid steps, one by one.