In most film crews, the assistant director is the unluckiest soul. They hold the title of "director" but aren't responsible for actual shooting—only for handling all the miscellaneous tasks related to filming. When these tasks are done well, it's expected and garners no praise, but if they're botched, prepare to be thoroughly roasted.
It's a thankless job. Sometimes, they might earn the title of "executive director," allowing them to take the reins occasionally when the main director is stretched thin—a small reward for their endless toil. But without that title? They're essentially glorified errand-runners, fetching tea, wiping messes, and doing whatever grunt work falls through the cracks.
Yoshizaki Shingo was Murakami's unfortunate assistant director. After spending an entire day preparing for the outdoor shoot, he'd risen early to stand by the roadside, waiting to hand over his hard-earned fruits of labor to Fujii Arima, the director.
But his work wasn't done yet. Once this location shoot wrapped up, he'd need to rush back to the studio to oversee preparations for the next short drama—arranging sets, props, rehearsals, blocking, and more. Time was precious; delays during filming were costly.
Through the morning mist, Yoshizaki finally spotted the convoy arriving. He quickly sought out Fujii Arima to confirm the site conditions, reporting that he'd double-checked everything at dawn—it matched yesterday's setup with no changes. Filming could proceed as planned. He then handed over Nishijima Jun, another assistant director who'd been shadowing him, ensuring the director had someone to consult in his absence.
Fujii Arima, meticulous as ever, grilled Yoshizaki on the details. Chihara Rinto hovered nearby, eavesdropping. Even with his transmigration advantage, some lessons still had to be learned firsthand.
According to the script, Yoshizaki had rented a small section of a park for two hours, including a tree-covered hillock and a stone bridge. During this time, the area would be cordoned off for exclusive use by the crew. Scenes included "Miho" running and tumbling down the hill, playing hopscotch on the bridge, and tossing sandbags while sitting on a rock.
He'd also arranged for electricity, fire safety measures, crowd control, and hired a park attendant to prevent any unforeseen complications. Additionally, he'd rented a taxi and borrowed a house with a yard—the home of Nishijima Jun's parents, who lived nearby. In support of their son's career, they hadn't charged a fee, though Yoshizaki had gifted them tokens of gratitude. Proper thanks from the producer or director during filming would still be appreciated.
The scene of "Miho" walking to school would be filmed on the road in front of the house, with permission from the local neighborhood council. Nearby children would make cameo appearances as students, all compensated with gifts and allowances.
The taxi driver had one line of dialogue, but bringing an extra actor along for such a minor role was inconvenient. Ultimately, Nishijima Jun was tasked with stepping in.
The list of preparations was exhaustive—seemingly simple tasks, but Yoshizaki had spent an entire day wrangling them into place.
Once the handover with the director was complete, Yoshizaki helped set up tracks, lighting, and camera positions, coordinating with the crew to ensure everything was ready for optimal natural lighting. By the time filming began, he was already racing back to the studio for his next shift.
Meanwhile, Michiko was gearing up, bleary-eyed and exhausted. She'd worked all day yesterday and been dragged out of bed early this morning. It was grueling—even adults found it tough, let alone an eleven-year-old child. While others sipped hot coffee to stay alert, she made do with warm water, forcing a smile despite her fatigue.
As dawn broke, the winter morning light remained dim and hazy—an ideal time to begin filming. Michiko started running anxiously up the hillock, following the director's instructions to fall, roll, and collide with tree branches. If it didn't look convincing the first time, she did it again—and again. Each take left her battered and bruised.
Fujii Arima, now unrecognizable from the kind words he'd offered yesterday, berated her harshly. Her falls looked fake, unnatural. "Be professional!" he barked, urging her to commit fully. He was in a rush; once the light changed, achieving the desired effect would become nearly impossible.
After half an hour of relentless effort, the outdoor scenes were finally complete. The sun had climbed higher, and the crew began packing up to move to the next location—filming hopscotch and sandbag-tossing. Michiko, clad in a white dress, shivered as her pale face turned ghostly from the cold. She hurried toward the van to warm up, but the makeup artist intercepted her. Rolling around in the woods had left her forehead red and swollen from branch scratches. The makeup team worked swiftly to conceal the marks, ensuring they wouldn't interfere with subsequent shots.
Chihara Rinto pretended not to notice, remaining seated behind the director. He scribbled notes for his script while observing the process.
Such hardships were inevitable. Stories circulated of directors kicking reluctant actors into rivers for pivotal scenes, then hauling them out to reshoot moments later—with expressions of resolve, no less. Complaining? Forget it. Anyone unwilling to endure such conditions could step aside; there were plenty eager to take their place.
Actors might shine on screen, but behind the scenes, they endured immense suffering—especially before making a name for themselves. Production teams often treated them as disposable tools. While other countries might show slightly more leniency, Japan was notorious. A single accusation of "unprofessionalism" or "poor attitude" could end a young actor's career overnight.
Michiko proved resilient. After her touch-ups, she acted as though nothing had happened, draping herself in a coat and charming the crew with her sweetness. During breaks, she distributed candies to everyone, her smile radiant and endearing.
Filming resumed. Fujii Arima drove the crew mercilessly, oblivious to their exhaustion. After completing the bridge scenes, they moved on to capture Michiko sitting on a rock, tossing sandbags—a key moment in the drama. Fujii lavished considerable attention on this sequence, even offering Michiko faint praise for her efforts.
Next came the domestic scenes: going to school, stealing money, caring for her "lover." Several supporting actors, confined in a van since morning, were finally released. Michiko once again showcased her remarkable talent. Caring for her "lover," she displayed none of the awkwardness typical of a child. Instead, her tenderness and attentiveness conveyed the bittersweet essence of adult love—a poignant highlight that elevated the production's artistic quality.
Truthfully, this segment could seamlessly fit into an arthouse film. Chihara Rinto felt her performance far surpassed that of the original child star. Where the latter merely played "Miho," Michiko embodied both "Miho" and "Grandma," a stark contrast.
By mid-morning, the outdoor shoot concluded. Fujii Arima formally handed the raw footage to Murakami Iori. Post-production now lay in the hands of editors and technicians. He gathered his crew, ignoring that lunchtime had long passed, and returned to the studio. Yoshizaki was promptly dispatched to prep for the next shoot, leaving the crew to eat boxed lunches only after his departure.
Michiko didn't return with them. Her scenes were complete, and she needed to attend school in the afternoon—a mere formality. Her education wasn't aimed at prestigious universities; instead, she idled through classes before rushing off to hone her acting skills.
…
Chihara Rinto lingered in the studio until four in the afternoon, witnessing Fujii Arima's infamous temper for the first time. Dissatisfied with the male lead's exaggerated performance as a serial killer, Fujii unleashed a torrent of insults after repeated failed takes. Michiko's earlier brilliance had raised his expectations, making the current actor's shortcomings glaringly obvious.
The atmosphere grew tense as the crew tiptoed around, avoiding any misstep that might draw attention. Unfazed, Chihara packed up his things, preparing to head back to the production bureau to "place" his so-called disciple. However, just outside the studio, he encountered Konoe Hitomi. Today's shoot didn't require young extras, leaving her with no role to play.
Upon seeing him, Hitomi bowed deeply. "Chihara-sensei, thank you so much."
Chihara nodded knowingly, smiling. "Murakami-san has already contacted you?"
Indeed, Murakami Iori's efficiency was impressive. Her actions spoke louder than words.
Hitomi carried a faint fishy smell, suggesting she'd spent part of the day working at the fish stall. Still, her voice brimmed with excitement. "Yes, Murakami-san said you went out of your way to secure me a job and a learning opportunity. I waited here specifically to thank you. Once I receive my first paycheck, I'll buy you a gift and visit properly."
"No rush," Chihara reassured her, patting her shoulder. "Focus on yourself now. Work hard toward your goals!"
The path you've chosen is undoubtedly an epic challenge. I hope you succeed, but this is as far as I can help you.
"I will succeed, Chihara-sensei! You'll see!" Hitomi declared confidently, bowing again before heading toward the radio station. Her new job awaited—crawling through pipelines to clean communication towers. Far from engineering, her task involved battling rats and cockroaches to keep the infrastructure functional.
As Chihara walked toward the production bureau annex, he reflected on the absurdity of the world. Those with talent and opportunity chose idleness, aspiring to be shut-ins, while those without either struggled tirelessly, undeterred by setbacks.
Humans truly were fascinating creatures.
Note: Updates here will be occasional, as the book is first serialized on my blog. If you'd like to read more or support the project, feel free to join the Discord and ask for the blog link: https://discord.gg/xgjKg7G