Kamakura Prefecture.
Midoriyama Studio.
This was NHK’s dedicated filming base for taiga dramas.
Compared to the noisy, fashionable atmosphere of commercial stations like TBS or Fuji TV, this place felt unusually quiet and solemn — almost suffocating in its pressure.
Huge banners hung in the corridors: “Respect History, Revere Tradition.” Most of the staff were older, dressed in dark gray work uniforms, speaking in very low voices.
Even the biggest stars waiting in the hallways were quietly running lines.
No one dared raise their voice.
This was the “inner world” of the Japanese entertainment industry — a domain only true veterans could enter.
Shin was wearing a full set of heavy tosei gusoku — real Sengoku-era armor made of iron plates and leather, weighing fifteen kilograms.
He had been kneeling in the corner of Studio 3 for an hour.
His knees and lower back were already numb with pain, yet he remained perfectly still, back ramrod straight, like a lifeless statue.
Today was his first major scene since joining the production.
The scene: Inaba Masasada (played by Shin), sent back to Edo Castle by his father, meets his mother — the now all-powerful Kasuga no Tsubone — for the first time.
The role of Kasuga no Tsubone was played by Ohara Reiko, a national treasure-level actress.
Right now, the center of the studio was still shooting the previous scene.
A young newcomer playing a servant was kneeling on the floor, reporting to Kasuga no Tsubone.
“Um… Lady Kasuga, the shogun he…” The newcomer’s voice was trembling, his eyes darting nervously.
He was clearly intimidated by the sheer presence of Ohara Reiko in front of him.
Ohara Reiko sat on a raised platform in magnificent robes, gently turning a string of prayer beads in her hands.
She didn’t speak.
She didn’t even look at the newcomer.
But the oppressive aura she gave off — without anger — pressed down like a mountain.
“Cut!” The director frowned and removed his headset.
“What’s going on?
Can’t you even speak clearly?
We need a samurai of Edo Castle, not a trembling mouse!” “I-I’m sorry!” The newcomer bowed frantically, cold sweat pouring down his forehead.
“Again!” The second take was still shaky.
On the third take, the newcomer forgot his lines completely.
“Get out.” The director waved coldly.
“We’re not shooting this scene anymore.
Move on to the next one.
Inaba Masasada, get ready.” The newcomer almost ran out crying.
The atmosphere in the studio dropped to freezing.
Everyone held their breath, afraid of setting off the director.
Ohara Reiko remained seated on the platform, expressionless, as if none of what had just happened concerned her.
She simply took a small sip of tea.
There was no sympathy in her eyes that had seen too much of the world — only indifference.
“Kitahara-kun, you’re up,” the script supervisor whispered, a trace of worry in her eyes.
Stepping into a scene under this kind of low pressure was hell difficulty for any newcomer.
Shin took a deep breath and stood up.
As the heavy armor let out a metallic creak, his gaze changed.
The liveliness that belonged to a modern person vanished in an instant.
In its place was a kind of dead stillness, as if it had been buried in the dust of history for three hundred years.
He walked into the set with steady steps.
He didn’t look at the camera.
He didn’t look at the director.
He didn’t even look at the “mother” sitting on the platform.
He reached the marked position and dropped to his knees in one smooth, powerful motion — like a mountain collapsing.
Hands on the floor, forehead touching the ground.
“Mother… Masasada… has returned.” His voice was low, yet carried piercing weight.
There was no joy of long-awaited reunion.
Only a heavy, blood-tinged solemnity.
Ohara Reiko set down her teacup.
Her gaze finally landed on the “son” still prostrated before her.
“Raise your head.” Her line was still cold, carrying the scrutiny of someone in power.
Shin slowly lifted his head.
The muscles in his back were taut, trembling slightly with each breath.
Their eyes met in the air.
Ohara Reiko had been ready to deliver her next line — a cold rebuke.
But when she saw Shin’s eyes, she froze for a second.
Those eyes… No fear.
No flattery.
Not even expectation.
Only a bottomless emptiness, and a desperate, deeply suppressed longing for “a mother’s love.” In that instant, Ohara Reiko no longer felt like an actress playing a role.
She truly became Kasuga no Tsubone — the woman who had abandoned her son for power.
A bitter, aching feeling rose in her chest.
“…You’ve gotten thin.” That line wasn’t in the script.
It slipped out of Ohara Reiko’s mouth.
Her tone shifted unconsciously from the planned “coldness” into something far more complex — a sigh of “disappointment mixed with reluctant affection.” Behind the monitor, the director suddenly sat up straight.
She changed the line?
But he didn’t call cut.
Because this change was more moving than the original script.
Shin didn’t panic at the ad-lib.
His Adam’s apple moved.
The corner of his eye twitched slightly, as if he wanted to say something — but in the end he clenched his jaw and held it back.
“I wouldn’t dare complain of hardship, Mother.” The response came seamlessly.
“Good!
Cut!” The director’s voice was filled with uncontainable excitement.
“That’s a take!
Perfect!” The tense atmosphere in the studio instantly relaxed.
Several veteran lighting technicians exchanged glances.
All of them saw the same surprise in each other’s eyes.
This newcomer hadn’t just held his own against Ohara Reiko — he had actually forced a national treasure-level actress to change her line?
Shin remained in his kneeling position until Ohara Reiko stood up.
Only then did he slowly rise.
After kneeling for so long, his body swayed slightly.
“Are you all right?” A crew member hurried over to help.
“I’m fine.
Thank you.” Shin waved him off, his expression returning to calm.
Ohara Reiko was about to leave the set.
As she passed Shin, she stopped.
This senior actress, usually known for being strict, looked him up and down.
Her gaze lingered on his knees — still slightly bent even while standing, maintaining a posture of respect.
“Your kneeling form is good.” She spoke plainly.
“Have you practiced?” “I practiced at home for a week for this role,” Shin answered honestly.
“Mm.” Ohara Reiko nodded and said nothing more.
She turned and headed toward the rest area.
But after a few steps, she said to her assistant, “Go get my waist massager and give it to him.
Kneeling that long in armor like that will break his back.” Everyone nearby heard her.
In an instant, the way the entire crew looked at Shin changed.
In a taiga drama production, earning a word of praise from the lead actress was luck.
But having Ohara Reiko personally offer her own massager?
That was genuine recognition.
Shin watched her retreating figure and bowed deeply.
“Thank you, senpai.”