Chapter 3: The Eccentric Request from the Financial Backer
2330words
Only Ren Kurosawa remained unimpressed, dismissing their viral hit as "a perfect, precise strike at the audience's aesthetic rock bottom," before returning to his tattered sofa to slurp the premium cup noodles Hibiki had splurged on with their earnings.
Their brief peace shattered with a call from their financier. Akira Saionji's voice buzzed with excitement—like a gamer who'd just dropped cash on premium skins and couldn't wait to flex.
"Director Natsume, nicely done." His praise carried all the sincerity of a car salesman. "Your 'Digital Crack' has created quite the buzz in my circle. Most entertaining. Now, let's launch phase two of our 'debt collection entertainment project.'"
Hibiki snapped to attention, whipping out a notebook to record the new KPI. "I'm all ears, Mr. Saionji! Shall we produce 'The Domineering CEO's Pregnant Little Darling' or perhaps 'The Ice-Cold Executive's Substitute Bride'?"
Silence hung on the line for several beats, followed by Saionji's poorly concealed chuckle—a laugh dripping with condescension that practically screamed "how adorably naive."
"No, no, no," he drawled. "Those assembly-line products have served their purpose. This time, I want to raise the bar—add some... artistic challenge."
"Artistic?" Hibiki's heart plummeted with dread.
"Precisely." Saionji's voice turned solemn, as if announcing a Nobel Prize winner. "I want you to create a biographical short film about an art piece in my office."
"An art piece? A masterwork painting or antique sculpture?" Hibiki's mind raced, already sketching potential shooting plans.
"Neither." Saionji's voice carried unmistakable glee as he dropped his bombshell. "It's my bonsai."
"...A bonsai?" Hibiki wondered if her sleep deprivation had finally caused auditory hallucinations.
"Yes, a Japanese white pine bonsai I acquired for a small fortune from a master gardener. Exquisitely tasteful." Pride saturated his voice. "I want you to capture its 'love and hate, passion and grudges'—to express the 'loneliness and nobility' it experiences as a precious living artwork in my executive suite."
Hibiki's brain blue-screened. She clutched the phone, jaw hanging, speechless. A biographical film about a potted tree? With love, hate, passion, and grudges? Embodying solitude and nobility? What kind of fever dream was this? What possible romantic entanglements could a pine tree have? Was it nursing a forbidden cross-species crush on the cleaning lady who watered it?
"Speechless, Director Natsume? No flash of inspiration?" Saionji clearly relished her stunned silence. "I'll double your budget—two hundred thousand. One week deadline. And remember, emphasize its 'aristocratic quality'—that sense of being above worldly concerns."
With that, he hung up, leaving Hibiki alone with her bewilderment.
When Hibiki shared the new assignment with her team, a funeral silence descended over the warehouse. Ai Sato dropped her ketchup-mixing brush, and the mechanical arm Kenta had just cobbled together from a keyboard clattered to the floor.
"A biographical film... about a potted plant?" Kenta asked, utterly baffled. "How the hell do we shoot that? Set up a time-lapse camera for a week straight?"
"With love, hate, and emotional drama..." Ai muttered. "Should I put makeup on a cactus to play its romantic rival?"
In the corner, Ren Kurosawa—who'd been feigning sleep—suddenly bolted upright. For the first time, his perpetually bored expression transformed into something that could only be described as "incandescent rage." He stormed over, snatched the assignment paper from Hibiki's hand, and after a single glance, began trembling with fury.
"This is capitalism's most ignorant violation of art!" He crumpled the paper and hurled it to the floor, voice cracking with rage. "This is an outrage! A blatant insult to every visual artist! Who does he think he is? With his pathetic money, he thinks he can trample artistic integrity? Anthropomorphizing a damn houseplant, projecting banal emotions onto it—what shallow, arrogant, moronic garbage!"
He paced the warehouse like a caged lion, unleashing a torrent of creative profanity at Saionji and his unfortunate pine tree.
Hibiki glanced from the raging Ren to her shell-shocked companions and sighed deeply. She knew exactly how absurd this request was. But that fifty-million-yen debt hung over her like a guillotine blade. Hell, if Saionji demanded a film about a brick's emotional journey, she'd have to grit her teeth and deliver.
"I'll do it," Hibiki said quietly.
Ren froze mid-stride and stared at her in disbelief. "Are you insane? You're actually caving to this ridiculous demand? Where's your spine? Where's your respect for art?"
"Backbone won't pay my debts, and neither will artistic integrity," Hibiki raised her head, meeting Ren's furious gaze with eyes that reflected a weariness and pragmatism beyond her years. "Kurosawa, I know it's absurd. But I need that two hundred thousand. No matter how ridiculous, I have to do this."
Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried unshakable resolve. Ren stared at her, his lips parting slightly before closing again in silence. In her eyes, he recognized the desperate survival instinct of someone with their back against the wall. That look made his mockery and disdain seem hollow and impotent. He collapsed back onto the sofa, pulling canvas over his head, refusing to witness the farce any longer.
Yet even while outwardly yielding, Hibiki's mind raced. If she couldn't fight the rules, she'd bend them to breaking point. She stared at a stubborn weed pushing through a crack in the concrete floor, and a wild idea struck like lightning through her mental storm.
"I've got it!" She slapped her thigh and leapt up, startling her companions.
"If the client wants personification, let's give him personification on steroids!" Light rekindled in her eyes. "We won't directly film the plant—we'll shoot an office mystery thriller!"
"A mystery thriller?" Ai and Kenta exchanged confused glances.
"Exactly!" Hibiki grew more animated as she spoke, her concept crystallizing. "The bonsai is our 'protagonist,' but not as an actor—as a 'silent witness'! The entire story unfolds through its perspective. Sitting in the CEO's office, it observes the power struggles, the love affairs, the corporate conspiracies... It knows everything but says nothing. Isn't that the perfect embodiment of 'loneliness and nobility'? Seeing all, silently judging, eternally apart. How's that for high-end?"
This brilliantly twisted concept left Ai and Kenta momentarily stunned before they erupted in cheers.
"Hibiki, you're a genius! That's brilliant!"
"A thriller is perfect! I can finally use all my gore effects!"
Only Ren, still hidden under canvas, let out a disdainful snort—though everyone noticed the anger had noticeably diminished.
Filming began with unprecedented enthusiasm. Saionji generously offered his luxurious penthouse office—with its panoramic Tokyo skyline view—as their shooting location.
However, his generosity came with strings attached. Saionji treated the entire production as his personal playground, "supervising" the process and micromanaging every detail with ruthless precision.
"Cut! Wait!" Saionji interrupted an office confrontation scene mid-take. "Director Natsume, I'm not feeling the protagonist's emotions strongly enough."
Hibiki approached the bonsai, barely concealing her exasperation. "Mr. Saionji, it's literally a pine tree. What emotions should it be conveying?"
"Loneliness! Nobility!" Saionji insisted with absolute conviction. "Look at it—dull and dusty. How does that convey its exceptionalism? In post-production, we need a soft, shimmering halo effect around it! Preferably rainbow-colored!"
"A rainbow halo?" Ren, adjusting nearby lighting, developed a visibly throbbing forehead vein as the reflector in his hand creaked under his white-knuckled grip. "What is this, Journey to the West? A halo would utterly destroy the shot's realism and kill the suspense! It's visual blasphemy!"
"I'm funding this, I make the calls." Saionji elegantly raised his coffee cup, his tone leaving no room for debate. "I'm the client. If I want a rainbow halo, you'll add one. Otherwise, I might just forget to water our star for a week."
Ren was so furious he nearly hurled the reflector at Saionji's head. Hibiki quickly inserted herself between them, plastering on a diplomatic smile. "Gentlemen, please! Let's discuss this calmly! Mr. Saionji's idea is wonderfully creative, and the halo concept is truly inspired! Mr. Kurosawa's professional concerns are equally valid—we must consider the overall mood. How about this: we'll shoot both versions and compare in post-production. Sound fair?"
Hibiki had rapidly mastered the art of diplomatic fence-sitting over the past few days.
"And this shot!" Saionji jabbed at the monitor again. "When the secretary waters the bonsai—it should be more... sensual. Water droplets sliding down her fingers, dripping onto the pine needles, then an extreme close-up of a single droplet. It needs eroticism, emphasizing the... masculine virility of the bonsai."
"IT'S A DAMN PINE TREE!! IT DOESN'T HAVE A GENDER!!!" Ren's roar nearly shattered the office windows. "You're objectifying women! And plants! Is there anything in your mind besides these perverted fantasies?"
"Money," Saionji answered icily. "And how to use it to make self-important artists do exactly what I want."
"You—"
"Gentlemen, please!" Hibiki dashed over like a crisis negotiator, patting Ren's back soothingly while flashing an apologetic smile at Saionji. "This is just creative dialogue! Artistic differences! We can work through this! Ren, have some water—no, here's your iced Americano! Mr. Saionji, your Blue Mountain coffee—careful, it's hot!"
The entire shoot painfully cycled through "client demands—artist rage—director desperate mediation." Hibiki felt less like a filmmaker and more like moderating a heated debate on "Money vs. Art: The Ultimate Showdown."
The mental strain and budget constraints left Hibiki completely drained. After wrap that day, she dragged herself like a war refugee into Yusuke Tachibana's café.
This sanctuary amid the urban chaos was her only respite. The warm lighting, rich coffee aroma, and Yusuke's gentle smile worked magic on her frayed nerves.
"You look especially worn out today." Yusuke didn't pry, simply serving her a freshly mixed iced coffee with citrus and mint. The refreshing scent instantly soothed her jangled nerves.
"You have no idea..." Hibiki collapsed onto the counter like a deflated balloon, listlessly recounting the day's surreal production drama.
Yusuke listened attentively, occasionally sliding her a freshly baked cookie, his eyes warm with concern. He rarely offered advice, providing instead the steady, reliable presence she desperately needed.
As Hibiki continued venting, she suddenly remembered a critical problem: "Oh no! I'm screwed! Tomorrow I need specialized macro lenses for the pine needle close-ups, but the rental costs are way beyond our budget..."
She anxiously raked her fingers through her hair, feeling reality's weight crushing her again.
Yusuke observed her anxiety, said nothing, just smiled and gently ruffled her hair. "One problem at a time. There's always a solution. Drink your coffee first—things always look better afterward."
The next day, when Hibiki dragged herself to the equipment rental shop, mentally rehearsing her desperate bargaining tactics, she was shocked to learn someone had already paid for a full day's rental of the exact macro lenses she needed.
"What?" Hibiki stared at the bright red "PAID" stamp on the rental contract, completely baffled. "Who paid for this?"
"A Mr. Tachibana," the clerk replied. "Said it was a surprise for 'Hibiki Chime Studio.'"
Tachibana... Yusuke? Hibiki was stunned. She immediately pulled out her phone to call him, but an urgent call came through—Saionji and Ren were locked in another heated debate about whether "the bonsai's gaze should convey melancholy or disdain." She had no choice but to shelve her questions, hoist the heavy equipment case, and rush back to the frontlines.
Through Hibiki's diplomatic wizardry and Ren's grudging professional input, "The Secret History of Bonsai" was somehow, miraculously completed.
When the finished film hit the internet, audience reaction exploded even more violently than before.
This office thriller from a potted plant's perspective struck a perfect chord with urban professionals. By day, they played corporate drones; by night, they flooded comment sections with memes, theories about character inspirations, and deep analyses of the "cinematography" choices made by the bonsai's "perspective."
"This isn't just a plant—it's ALL OF US who see everything in the office but can't say a damn word!"
"Just bought a pothos plant after watching! Pretty sure it's about to whisper next quarter's earnings report to me!"
"This production team is FIRE! PLEASE drop season two ASAP! Need to know if that gorgeous director and the hot subordinate hooked up!"
"The Secret History of Bonsai" didn't just go viral—it sparked a legitimate office plant craze among white-collar workers. Potted plant sales tripled within a week, and the phenomenon even made mainstream news headlines.
In his executive suite, Akira Saionji reviewed the media analytics report with undisguised satisfaction. He'd not only entertained himself but accidentally generated massive positive publicity for his company.
When Hibiki placed another cash-filled envelope before him, Akira Saionji, for once, didn't mock her.
"Well done, Director Natsume," he pushed her envelope back, then extracted a thicker one from his drawer and placed both before her. "Your project payment and... a bonus."
Hibiki stared at the two bulging envelopes, momentarily stunned into silence.
"Take it," Saionji leaned back, resuming his characteristic languid pose. "My 'debt collection game' grows more fascinating by the day. I'm genuinely curious what surprise you'll deliver next."
Exiting through the Saionji Group's imposing golden gates, Hibiki stood on the nighttime street clutching her windfall. She immediately opened her banking app and deposited the entire amount.
Staring at her debt balance, she saw—for the first time—a meaningful reduction in that crushing number. Though 50 million still loomed like a distant galaxy, those changing digits shone like a beacon, illuminating a path through what had seemed endless darkness.
She exhaled deeply and gazed up at the neon-painted night sky. Though more exhausted than ever, she felt something new—a solid, tangible sense of accomplishment.
"Hey, Natsume."
A familiar voice called from behind. Hibiki turned to find Yusuke Tachibana, still in his café apron, holding a freshly purchased taiyaki. He smiled warmly as he offered it to her.
"Figured you hadn't eaten dinner yet," he said. "Thought you might need a midnight snack."
