April 1989.
Cherry blossom season—the season of blooming, and of falling.
…
NHK Midoriyama Studio, Studio 1.
Today’s set was unusually austere.
A white cloth had been spread across the tatami, while several artificial cherry trees stood in the courtyard backdrop, their petals being scattered by hidden wind machines.
They were filming Episode 16 of Kasuga no Tsubone.
And for Shin Kitahara’s character, Masasada Inaba, this would be his final scene.
Seppuku.
…
In the makeup room, Shin studied his reflection in the mirror.
He wore a pure-white shinishozoku—the traditional white death garments used for ritual suicide.
His hair hung loose and disheveled around his shoulders.
The makeup artist had deliberately drained every trace of color from his face, even brushing a thin layer of concealer over his lips until he looked almost bloodless.
“Kitahara-kun, are you ready?”
The script supervisor knocked softly on the door.
Even her voice was quieter than usual.
“I’m ready.”
Shin rose.
He didn’t bring his script.
This scene contained only two spoken lines.
…
Inside the studio, the atmosphere was solemn enough to resemble a real funeral.
Reiko Ohara was already seated beside the director’s monitor.
For this scene, she would serve as the witness.
Historically, Kasuga no Tsubone may not actually have witnessed her son’s death with her own eyes.
But for dramatic impact, the director had arranged a final farewell between mother and son, separated only by a closed shoji door.
“All departments, ready.”
The director’s voice came through the loudspeaker.
Shin stepped onto the set and knelt in the center of the white cloth.
Before him rested a short dagger—a kaiken—its blade wrapped in white paper.
He closed his eyes and drew a slow, deep breath.
[Equipment Activated: Annotated Notes of a Disgraced Historian]
[Equipment Activated: The Songstress’s Abandoned Silver Zippo]
[Equipment Activated: Broken White-Oak Practice Sword]
All three pieces of equipment activated at once.
In an instant, an immense tide of sorrow washed through him.
But it wasn’t fear of death.
It was relief.
He was Masasada Inaba.
A child abandoned by his mother.
A pawn exploited by his family.
A man who had spent his entire life as a tool, forever watching other people’s expressions and obeying their commands.
And now…
That tool was finally about to break.
At last, he would no longer have to kneel and wait for someone else’s orders.
“Action!”
The camera slowly pushed forward.
Onscreen, Shin reached out and picked up the short blade.
His movement was slow.
Terrifyingly steady.
Not even the slightest tremor disturbed his hand.
He held the dagger as casually as though he were lifting a cup of sake.
Then he raised his head and looked toward the tightly closed shoji door.
Beyond it stood the shadow of his mother—the woman whose influence reached into the highest levels of power.
“Mother…”
Shin finally spoke.
His voice was hoarse, yet carried an almost painfully calm resignation.
“Masasada will now go and apologize to Father.”
Because he already knew.
Throughout his entire life, he had never once received a gentle word from that woman when he truly needed one.
Shin loosened the front of his robe, revealing his lean chest.
The muscle memory granted by the broken bokken settled through his body.
He reversed his grip on the dagger and positioned its tip against his abdomen.
Every movement was exact.
Controlled.
Almost ceremonial.
Like the beginning of some cruel, ancient ritual.
The blade went in.
Then came the most important part of the entire scene.
The eyes.
In Masasada’s final moments, Shin didn’t portray agony.
He didn’t portray resentment.
Drawing on the sense of story carried by the Zippo and the emotional resonance of the historian’s notebook, he allowed something far more complicated to surface.
His tightly drawn brows slowly relaxed.
And in those eyes that had always seemed dead and empty…
A faint smile appeared.
Relief.
The expression of a man who had finally been released from a burden he had carried for far too long.
Like an exhausted office worker who had spent three days and three nights drowning in overtime, only to finally step out of the company building on Friday evening and realize he was free.
At last…
Free.
The words weren’t in the script.
Shin didn’t make a sound.
His lips merely formed them.
But that silent movement struck harder than any scream could have.
His body tipped forward.
Then collapsed.
Like a piece of dead wood finally returning to the earth.
…
“Cut!”
The director’s voice sounded unusually dry.
But the set didn’t immediately burst back into activity.
No one moved.
The crew seemed trapped between the crushing oppression of what they had just witnessed and the strange sense of liberation that had followed it.
“Masasada…”
A choked voice suddenly came from beside the monitor.
Everyone turned.
To their shock, Reiko Ohara still hadn’t come out of character.
Before the script supervisor could stop her, she stumbled onto the set and dropped to her knees beside Shin’s “corpse.”
She stared at the son who had possessed empty, lifeless eyes only moments earlier, yet had died with the faintest smile on his lips.
Then the tears came.
Reiko Ohara had survived decades in the entertainment industry and earned a reputation as a formidable, iron-willed woman.
Yet now, tears poured down her face like a broken string of pearls.
“You foolish child…”
Her voice broke.
“How could you smile like that?”
Her trembling hand reached toward Shin’s face, only to stop just before touching him.
“Your mother drove you to this…”
Her shoulders shook.
“Your own mother drove you to your death…”
She began to sob.
This was no longer acting.
It was the genuine reaction of a veteran actress whose emotional defenses had been completely shattered by her scene partner’s performance.
The relief Shin had portrayed was far more devastating to the “mother” than hatred could ever have been.
If Masasada had died cursing her, she could have borne it.
But he had smiled.
As though death itself were kinder than remaining her son.
Inside, he sighed.
After a moment, he slowly opened his eyes and sat up with an awkward expression.
“Ohara-senpai…
um, the director already called cut.”
Reiko Ohara froze.
She stared at the suddenly resurrected “corpse.”
Then, through her tears, she burst out laughing.
Smack!
She slapped him hard on the shoulder.
“You rotten brat!
Acting that ruthlessly—were you trying to squeeze every last tear out of me?!”
She was scolding him.
But even a fool could hear the affection and admiration beneath her words.
Then someone began to clap.
Another person joined in.
Within seconds, the entire studio erupted in applause.
Thunderous applause rolled across the set.
…
Two weeks later.
Episode 16 of Kasuga no Tsubone aired.
Its ratings reached an astonishing 32.4 percent—the highest the drama had achieved since its premiere.
And the minute containing Masasada Inaba’s seppuku became the highest-rated moment of the entire episode.
…
The following morning, Shin went to a vegetable shop in Nakano’s shopping district to buy daikon, just as he usually did.
“Ma’am, two daikon, please.”
He was dressed casually, with his plain non-prescription glasses resting on his nose.
The shopkeeper was rearranging vegetables when she looked up.
The moment she saw Shin’s face, she froze.
Thud.
The daikon in her hand dropped straight to the floor.
“Oh my!
Isn’t that Lord Inaba?!”
Her excited shout was loud enough to bring the owner of the neighboring fish shop running over.
“My goodness, you’re alive?!
I cried my eyes out watching television last night!
Why were you so foolish?
And that mother of yours—how could she be so cruel?!”
“Uh…
ma’am, that was acting.”
Shin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“I know it was acting!
That’s why I’m saying you were so good!”
The woman grabbed his hand.
To Shin’s amazement, her eyes were already turning red again.
“You’re such a healthy-looking young man, but you acted like someone with such a miserable fate!
Here, here—don’t pay for the daikon.
Take them!
And take this apple too.
You need to build your strength back up!”
“Lord Inaba!” the neighboring fishmonger called.
“I’ve got fresh saury!
I’ll wrap up two for you!”
A few minutes later, Shin stood in the middle of the bustling shopping street with an armful of free vegetables, fruit, and fish.
Housewives buying groceries and middle-aged salarymen passing by kept looking at him with warm, sympathetic expressions.
In a trendy idol drama, a handsome actor might earn the screams of teenage girls.
But in a Taiga drama, you only truly entered the nation’s heart when you could make the housewives holding the television remote cry for you.
Shin was still a supporting actor.
But from this day forward…
He was a supporting actor the entire country knew.