At this point, I should briefly introduce my youth mystery scenario, tentatively titled <Summer Error Notes> and officially titled <The Case of the Missing Stars, Moon, and Comet>.
First, the protagonist is an ordinary student.
And any experienced reader would probably feel tired the moment they heard that.
Ordinary.
Writers used the word as though it were some all-purpose ingredient, but it was actually an incredibly vague expression.
What exactly defined someone as ordinary?
At least, I had always questioned that part.
Were you ordinary if your grades were somewhere in the middle?
Or were you ordinary if your household income was average?
Every possible definition was hopelessly vague.
So I began by defining what ordinary meant.
Ordinary.
Ultimately, it was a term deeply connected to the way society viewed a person.
To define ordinary, you had to use other people’s perceptions as your standard. That was why my idea of ordinary was closely tied to social visibility.
How easily did other people notice you?
How easily did you remain in their memories?
Perhaps if you used those criteria and added the modifier moderately, you could call the result ordinary.
No matter what hopes someone carried inside them, no one would ever know unless those hopes were observed.
Like a star that had always been shining in the same place, yet whose existence remained unknown until someone looked up and found it.
“That’s the protagonist’s basic way of thinking.”
“Hey, Touji.”
“Go ahead.”
“That wasn’t in the scenario you gave us. And if it mentions stars, it’s obviously the introduction to the astronomy club disappearance case. Why did you cut it?”
“Because this isn’t a novel.”
Riku had consumed a surprising variety of creative works, but the fact that it was surprising ultimately meant he was not a hardcore consumer.
It was perfectly natural for him not to know something like this.
Honestly, even hardcore readers often did not understand it.
“Movies and novels are completely different. Movies are watched, while novels are read. That means they require different methods of direction.”
“That makes sense.”
Novels and movies were different.
Novels and manga were different, and manga and movies were different too.
I was someone who considered writing the pinnacle of all creation, but the situation changed when you entered the food chain of direction.
Novels were at the bottom.
Manga came above them.
Movies stood above manga.
That was separate from the fact that novels, manga, and movies all had their own strengths.
In other words, techniques available in novels could also be used in manga and movies.
But the reverse was not true.
There were techniques that could only be used in movies.
There were techniques that could only be used in movies and manga.
That was precisely why a novel had to be adapted when it was turned into manga or a movie.
A direct conversion was technically compatible, but it erased the advantages of manga and film.
What did that mean?
“In a novel, metaphorically revealing through an internal monologue that the protagonist secretly has a dream might create greater emotional depth. In a movie, it would just be boring.”
That was what I meant.
Riku scratched his forehead.
“Hmm… I think I get it.”
“So for the movie, the best approach is to let a certificate from an art competition and some dust-covered art supplies pass through the background. And if you want to emphasize them, the protagonist can glance at them for a moment.”
Wasn’t the latter obviously easier to understand, harder to misinterpret, faster, more compressed, and capable of conveying the intention without becoming boring?
That was the difference between a medium you watched and a medium you read.
One medium allowed the creator to show the audience the image directly.
The other had to rely on the graphics card inside the reader’s brain.
The gap was that large.
I continued my explanation.
“So the plot of the movie is that a protagonist like this meets a girl who plays the detective—a girl everyone at school considers strange—and the two of them solve a case, right?”
Yukimura and Kano looked at me.
Feeling everyone’s eyes on me, I finished.
“Now we need to decide who best suits the protagonist. Personally, I think Riku would be the best—”
“Why not Touji?”
“Let’s make it Hiiragi.”
Kano and Yukimura answered at the same time.
…Wait.
Kano spoke.
“Let’s add a scene where he wears casual clothes too. It might get boring if he only wears his uniform. I’ll find the clothes.”
“A movie is not a place for you to indulge your personal interests. Still, it isn’t a bad idea. Go ahead.”
“Yukimura, do you always have to add one extra remark? Would it kill you to say it isn’t a bad idea from the start—”
“Everyone. Hold on.”
I stopped Kano and Yukimura.
The protagonist was the entire work.
It was that important a role.
As the screenwriter and director, I could not allow them to decide something so important in a matter of seconds without giving it any thought.
I spoke calmly.
“The protagonist wants to become a painter more than anything, but reaches high school after running into the limits of his talent. I plan to express that entirely through props and behavior, without a single line of explanation. We should consider the actor’s look as well. Riku is such an energetic person that the contrast would make him the best—”
“Touji fits perfectly.”
“Let’s make it Hiiragi.”
No.
Why?
Why did they keep choosing me?
“What is your reasoning?”
“Hiiragi, I’m merely following the established formula for box-office success.”
“And what exactly is that formula? A good scenario, a good director, and good actors?”
“Right. You know it well. Good actors.”
Why was I a good actor?
I frowned in confusion, and Yukimura elaborated.
“An actor with a good face.”
“Ah.”
Understood.
Yukimura lightly tapped her cheek.
“Hiiragi looks perfectly decent as long as he keeps his mouth shut, doesn’t he? And he won’t make anyone cry that way. That makes him suitable for the protagonist.”
“You make it sound as though I make people cry every time I open my mouth.”
“Touji, you made Yukimura cry? Sounds like you two have been having fun.”
Once the protagonist had been chosen, the rest was easy.
Astronomy Club Members A and B were roles anyone could play.
“Riku will play Astronomy Club Member A, and Kano will play Member B.”
“Touji. I want to be A.”
“Uh… Then Kano can play A.”
With that, every role had been assigned.
Protagonist: Hiiragi Touji
Detective: Yukimura Mai
Astronomy Club Member A: Tachibana Kano
Astronomy Club Member B: Asano Riku
I quickly made some appropriate revisions to the scenario in my head.
The rough draft had not even specified the characters’ genders.
Now that their genders had been decided, I would need to fine-tune their dialogue and actions.
Yukimura skimmed the scenario.
“Hiiragi. We’re starting with the scene where the protagonist wakes up, right?”
“It would be better to start with whatever we can film. We can’t shoot the waking scene right now.”
The movie itself opened with the protagonist waking up, but there was no reason we had to film that part first.
Film was the art of editing.
We could shoot another scene first and edit it into place later. The final result would be the same.
After reading the scenario more carefully, Yukimura nodded.
“True. The waking scene needs props.”
“Which means, Kano, please prepare the props.”
“The certificate and the art supplies, right? We can use mine for the art supplies, but I’ll have to make the certificate myself.”
This was why Yukimura had not objected to bringing Kano in as art director, regardless of her personal feelings.
Having someone skilled with their hands on the team made life much easier when filming a movie.
Kano narrowed her eyes as she continued reading the scenario.
“Touji.”
“Yes?”
“There’s a ridiculous amount of stuff I need to prepare besides those.”
“I’ll help you.”
In any line of work, the people supporting things from behind always suffered more than the ones standing at the front.
There was too much for Kano to handle alone, so the rest of us would naturally have to assist her.
Kano tilted her head.
“Then what are we filming first, Touji?”
“There’s only one scene we can shoot immediately. It doesn’t need any props. It only requires the actors and a location.”
“Which one?”
In response to Kano’s question, I told her the scene number.
Only after checking it did the corner of her mouth rise.
“It’s the scene where he meets the astronomy club.”
***
Location scouting for film shoots was generally done after securing permission from the property owner.
Unless a café or restaurant shown in a movie had been built as a set, it was an actual café or restaurant that existed in the real world.
Owners frequently came to despise film-industry people and swore never to lend out their property again because production crews reduced borrowed locations and props to ruins.
But unlike commercial movie crews that traveled in packs of dozens, we were a small production team.
As long as we were careful, we could use the place without making a mess.
“So this is the school we’ll be attending soon?”
Riku looked around excitedly after entering Tamagawa High School.
He had already visited when the acceptance results were announced, yet he acted as though it were his first time here.
Well, our purpose was different now.
There was nothing strange about him being excited.
The moment the scenario was chosen, I requested permission from Tamagawa High School to use its facilities.
Fortunately, approval came quickly.
The fact that all of us were scheduled to enroll at Tamagawa High School had probably played a major role in the decision.
Yukimura entered the astronomy club room and murmured quietly.
“This is surprising. Schools usually don’t approve things like this so easily.”
“It seems sincerity gets through anywhere.”
What could possibly fail when you asked politely?
In any case.
We carefully prepared the filming setup.
We positioned the camera with an 85mm lens, ideal for emphasizing a person, and arranged the reflector, microphone, and the rest of the equipment around the location.
We even changed into the Tamagawa High School uniforms we had received in advance.
With that, every preparation was complete.
S#6.
Action.
Rattle.
I opened the door and entered the astronomy club room.
A teacher had asked me to deliver a stack of A4 pages to the club, but the instant I opened the door, a peculiar atmosphere washed over my skin.
In the sharp tension of a room where something seemed ready to happen at any moment, a detached girl stared at me as though she did not belong to this world.
Then Astronomy Club Member A, who had been standing beside the aloof girl, approached me.
She smiled as she straightened my tie.
“What brings you to the astronomy club?”
“Kano. Sorry, but please don’t add strange improvisations.”
NG.