Chapter 5: The Comeback of the B-Movie Queen
3524words
She buried herself in work to avoid the emotional signals in her life that had suddenly become complex and difficult to understand. Whether it was Ren Kurosawa's abrupt defense at the salon, or Akira Saionji's endless harassment after moving next door, or even Yusuke Tachibana's gentle yet direct confession that night at the café, she categorized them all as "incomprehensible anomalous events" and then covered them with a huge "work" folder.
"As long as I keep filming, troubles won't catch up with me." She told herself this, like an ostrich burying its head in the sand.
The opportunity soon came crashing down in an extremely grand manner.
That day, a collaboration invitation email from Japan's top beverage brand "Kirin Soda" quietly lay in the studio's public inbox. The email was worded officially and formally, inviting "Hibiki Dingdang Studio" to participate in the bidding for a series of campus short dramas for their summer flagship new product.
"Kirin Soda?" Kenta Suzuki leaned over to take a look, nearly spitting out the cola in his mouth, "Is this the same Kirin Soda that hires top idols for advertisements every summer? They're approaching us?"
"This isn't a scam email, is it?" Ai Sato also had a look of disbelief.
Only Hibiki remained unusually calm as she carefully read the attachment in the email, which was a detailed requirements document. The brand wanted to shoot five episodes, each three minutes long, of a series of short dramas to be distributed across all major mainstream platforms. Most crucially, the total budget amount listed at the end of the document was followed by a long string of "zeros."
Hibiki counted the number in her head three times, then took a deep breath, feeling that her money anxiety was about to be cured. This budget was enough for her to upgrade all the equipment in her studio once more, pay the remuneration of all cast and crew members with plenty to spare, and even... take a huge step toward her goal of clearing the 50 million debt.
"We'll take it," Hibiki closed her laptop, her tone so firm that it left no room for doubt.
Getting this project meant that "Hibiki's Bell" would completely shed the label of "amateur troupe" and move toward becoming a professional operation. This was the opportunity she had been dreaming of.
However, when she saw the creative direction given by the brand—"a fresh, sunny, healing, youthful campus love story"—Hibiki couldn't help but frown. Yet another formulaic, saccharine love story, like a soda with too much artificial sweetener—refreshing when you drink it, but leaving only an empty sweetness in your mouth afterward.
"This kind of thing again..." In the corner, Ren Kurosawa merely glanced at the brief document before letting out his signature cold laugh. "Capital's imagination is pathetically barren. It's nothing but handsome boys and beautiful girls in school uniforms, exchanging meaningless flirtatious lines under cherry blossom trees, in libraries, or beside sports fields."
"But this is what clients like," Kenta Suzuki scratched his head. "It's safe, foolproof."
"Art isn't about safety!" Ren Kurosawa's voice suddenly rose, but then, as if remembering something, he reverted to his couldn't-care-less-about-arguing demeanor, flopping back onto the sofa and muttering, "Anyway, what you guys make is garbage, so one more piece won't make a difference."
This provocation unexpectedly ignited that long-suppressed flame of creative rebellion deep within Hibiki's heart.
Why? Why is it that with sufficient budget, they should film this kind of least challenging content? In her mind flashed the comments praising her for "unique creativity" and "imaginative brilliance" after "The Secret History of Bonsai" went viral. What the audience loved was her "differentness." If she also started following the crowd, what difference would there be between her and those assembly-line content producers?
No, she needed to do something different.
A crazy idea, like a mint candy fizzing up countless bubbles in soda water, exploded in her mind. She grabbed her little notebook, her pen tip moving rapidly across the paper, her lips uncontrollably curling upward.
"Everyone," Hibiki looked up, her eyes gleaming with an almost fanatical light, "I've got it. Let's shoot a different kind of school romance story."
She cleared her throat and said in an epic-narrating tone: "The story takes place in an ordinary high school. The male and female leads confess their feelings on the rooftop, and just as they're about to kiss, one of them suddenly turns into... a zombie!"
The warehouse fell into dead silence.
"The female protagonist didn't panic and run away," Hibiki was completely immersed in her own world, getting more and more excited as she spoke, "She discovers that as long as she keeps feeding the zombified male protagonist 'Kirin Soda', he can regain his sanity for short periods. Thus, a passionate 'human-zombie romance' begins, with soda water as the life-extending elixir! They must navigate a sweet romance while avoiding being hunted by other zombies! We'll call it... 'My Zombie Boyfriend Needs Soda to Survive'!"
Kenta Suzuki and Ai Sato's mouths hung open, their expressions as if struck by lightning.
"Zombies... plus romance?" Ai Sato murmured, "And they need soda water to survive?"
"This... this is too B-movie!" Kenta Suzuki exclaimed, "Would the brand even agree to this? This is completely opposite from the 'fresh, sunny, and healing' direction they wanted!"
"How is this not sunny?" Hibiki argued vehemently, "Protecting the only love in apocalyptic ruins, isn't that more touching than hemming and hawing under cherry blossom trees? How is this not healing? Saving your lover with just a sip of soda water, that's simply miraculous! How is this not youthful? What could be more passionate than fighting against the whole world together with your zombie boyfriend?!"
Her twisted reasoning successfully threw the two team members into confusion. Meanwhile, in the corner, Ren Kurosawa, who had been playing dead all along, had the canvas covering his face move ever so slightly.
On the day of the proposal meeting, in Kirin Soda's bright and clean, seriously atmospheric conference room, Hibiki's crazy idea was, unsurprisingly, collectively questioned by everyone from the brand side.
"Zombies? Director Natsume, are you joking?" The brand's marketing director, an elegantly dressed, serious-looking middle-aged woman, frowned as she pushed up her glasses. "Our product positioning is 'summer vitality' and 'pure freshness,' and you want us to associate it with rotting, bloody zombies? This would seriously damage our brand image!"
"That's right, we're supposed to be shooting a romance, not a horror film!" another executive chimed in.
The atmosphere in the conference room instantly dropped to freezing point. Kenta Suzuki and Ai Sato were so nervous their palms were sweating, feeling certain the collaboration was doomed.
At that moment, Hibiki took a deep breath and displayed a confident smile.
"Please rest assured, the zombies I'm referring to aren't the traditional blood-and-gore monsters." She stood up, walked to the projection screen, and began her presentation with an incredibly captivating tone, "The 'zombies' we define are more like the embodiment of 'youth allergic reaction.' They represent all the confusion, anxiety, and impulses of adolescence. And our 'Qilin Soda' is the remedy that cures all of this. It represents clarity, rationality, and the power to find oneself again. Every time the male protagonist loses control and turns into a zombie, the female protagonist awakens him with soda water—this itself is a metaphor about 'love and redemption'!"
As she spoke, she opened a USB drive she had brought with her.
"I know it's difficult to understand abstract concepts. So, we've prepared storyboard drawings of several key scenes from the story in advance."
With her operation, a set of visually striking hand-drawn storyboards was projected onto the giant screen.
The first image shows a rooftop with cherry blossoms flying in the air, where a young man corners a girl against the wall, his gaze intense and passionate. However, blue-gray patterns have begun to appear on his skin. The composition of the scene is filled with uneasy tension.
The second image depicts the young man fully "transformed into a corpse," his pupils becoming cloudy. Yet the hand he extends toward the girl stops midair at the last moment, his fingertips trembling with struggle. The use of light and shadow perfectly captures this internal contradiction.
The third image shows the girl fearlessly opening a can of "Kirin Soda" and bringing the bubbling liquid to the young man's lips. In the sunlight, the soda water reflects a clear radiance, forming a stark contrast with the dark skin on the young man's face. This is a close-up shot filled with hope and redemption.
These storyboard drawings were sharp and precise, each stroke filled with cinematic quality, instantly transforming the seemingly absurd story from Hibiki's mouth into something concrete, tangible, and even... filled with unique artistic charm.
The meeting room fell silent. Everyone was captivated by these powerful images, even the marketing director who had initially been skeptical was watching with unwavering attention.
"Did... you all draw these?" she asked in disbelief.
"Yes," Hibiki answered proudly. She glanced back at Ren Kurosawa, who was sitting in the corner with his head down pretending to play with his phone, though his ears were perked up straight, and felt a surge of gratitude. These storyboards were drawn by Kurosawa, who had stayed up all night helping her create them one by one, even after repeatedly calling her idea "garbage" under his breath.
Finally, faced with these highly persuasive storyboards, the brand team wavered. After a brief internal discussion, the marketing director stood up and extended her hand to Hibiki.
"Director Natsume, your idea is very bold, but... we've decided to take a gamble on it."
With the proposal narrowly approved, everyone at "Hibiki Chime" studio breathed a sigh of relief. What followed was unprecedented, tense, and busy preparation work.
Having such an abundant budget for the first time, Hibiki was like a child who had just received a huge allowance, excitedly leading his team into a professional equipment rental company. They rented cinema-grade cameras, expensive lens sets, professional tracks and cranes. The filming location was also upgraded from an abandoned warehouse to a real, abandoned private high school campus.
Everything seemed so professional, so wonderful, until the first official day of shooting.
When the professional actors, lighting crew, camera crew, art department... a team of nearly fifty people gathered at the shooting location, Hibiki experienced for the first time what it meant to "lose control."
She was accustomed to giving orders in small teams of just three to five people, where everyone juggled multiple roles and communication was basically done by shouting. But now, she faced an industrialized film crew with clear division of labor and rigorous procedures. Through her walkie-talkie, inquiries from various departments kept coming in:
"Director, Camera A is in position, please confirm the track layout plan!"
"Director, the lighting team requests confirmation on the main light source color temperature!"
"Director, the art department asks, how aged should the doodles on the blackboard at the back of the classroom be?"
"Director, when can the extras be in position?"
Hibiki's brain was instantly overwhelmed by these technical terms and complicated matters. She held the walkie-talkie but didn't know which one to respond to first, fumbling and missing things while attending to others. She tried to coordinate using the vague "that's about right" instructions from before, but it only created more confusion. The lighting technician didn't know how much brighter "a bit brighter" meant, and the cinematographer couldn't tell which camera position she meant by "move a bit more to the left."
Throughout the entire morning, filming progress was practically zero. The set was in chaos, with staff beginning to show impatience on their faces, while actors were at a loss. Hibiki stood in front of the monitor, watching the messy scene, as cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She realized for the first time that being a director involved much more than just conceptualizing shots. Management and coordination were complex disciplines she had never encountered before.
Just as she was overwhelmed and on the verge of collapse, a hand suddenly reached over from beside her and took the walkie-talkie from her hand.
It was Ren Kurosawa. He had somehow already positioned himself beside her, wearing that disdainful expression that said "I knew this would happen."
"Attention everyone," his voice transmitted through the walkie-talkie to every corner of the set, clear, calm, and carrying an undeniable authority, "I am now taking over the set. All departments, follow my instructions."
The set instantly fell silent.
"Photography team, Camera A uses 24mm wide-angle lens, low position, track from the doorway towards the window along the preset route, ending on the female lead's face. Camera B uses 50mm fixed focus lens, handheld to follow the male lead. All actions, wait for my command."
"Lighting team, increase the main light power outside the window by two stops, adjust color temperature to 5600K. Inside, use a foam board to add soft light to the female lead's face. I don't want brightness, I want light contrast."
"Art department, carve a heart with the male and female leads' name initials on the desk, use pencil, it needs to look freshly D carved."
"Extras, enter in three minutes, move freely, don't look at the camera!"
Ren Kurosawa's instructions were concise and precise, without any unnecessary words, yet containing all the exact information each department needed to know. Under his coordination, the chaotic scene began operating quickly and orderly like a precision machine with newly tightened screws.
Hibiki stared at him blankly, watching how he stabilized the situation with just a few words, how professionally he communicated with various departments. Holding the walkie-talkie and calmly giving orders, he looked like a general commanding from behind the lines.
"What are you looking at? Why aren't you briefing the actors?" Ren Kurosawa glanced at her from the corner of his eye and said irritably.
"Oh... Oh!" Hibiki snapped out of her daze and hurried off to brief the actors.
Ren Kurosawa watched her running figure, frowned, and added into the walkie-talkie: "Hibiki Natsume, come here. Stand beside me and watch how I do this."
He switched the walkie-talkie to speaker mode and placed it next to the monitor. During the subsequent shooting, while coordinating everything, he explained the reasons behind each of his instructions in a voice only Hibiki could hear.
"...Why use a wide-angle lens? Because we need to establish the environment while using lens distortion to suggest the protagonist's inner turmoil."
"……Why let the extras move freely? Because deliberate positioning looks fake; we need a natural feel of life."
"……Managing a film crew is not about shouting. You need to learn how to use precise language to translate the picture in your mind into technical parameters that each department can execute. The director is the chief engineer of this machine."
Hibiki stood beside him, listening, watching, and learning like an elementary school student. For the first time, she felt the enormous gap that existed between herself and a truly professional director. And Kurosawa was using his most skilled, yet sharp-tongued method to roughly drag her out of the comfort zone of an "amateur troupe," forcing her to face this gap directly.
Her pride was hurt, but more than that, she felt an awakening clarity, like having cold water poured over her head.
Just as the film crew's work was gradually getting on track, an uninvited guest arrived at the scene in an extremely high-profile manner.
A black extended Rolls-Royce drove directly to the center of the abandoned school's playground, followed by two cars carrying high-end cold dishes and coffee. As the door opened, Akira Saionji, wearing a flamboyant white suit and sunglasses, slowly stepped out surrounded by a group of bodyguards in black.
"Hello everyone!" he waved at the dumbfounded film crew, wearing that standard villain-boss smile on his face, "I'm one of the mysterious investors in this film, Saionji. I'm here today specifically to check on the appreciation of our assets, and to bring everyone some afternoon tea."
Hibiki saw him and felt a massive headache coming on. Why was this guy here again? And making such a grand entrance—was he afraid people wouldn't know how rich he was?
Saionji's arrival added a hint of strangeness to the already tense filming set. He didn't act like an outsider at all, bringing a beach chair and sitting next to the monitor, sipping hand-dripped coffee prepared by his assistant while commenting on every aspect of the filming.
However, just when everyone thought he was there to cause trouble, a real problem showed up at their doorstep.
The school's old janitor, a stubborn and seemingly difficult old man, suddenly rushed to the scene, claiming that the crew had damaged his carefully tended flower beds. He demanded they stop filming immediately and compensate him for his emotional distress.
Hibiki hurried forward to negotiate, but the old man refused to listen to any explanation, insisting that the wealthy production crew was bullying a lonely old widower. Both sides reached an impasse, and filming was forced to stop.
Just as Hibiki was at a loss, Saionji, who had been sitting with his legs crossed watching the scene, slowly stood up. He removed his sunglasses, and his usual playful expression was replaced by a steady and sharp aura that belonged to someone in authority.
He walked up to the old man, neither arguing nor discussing compensation, but instead smiled and asked: "Sir, how many years have you been working at this school?"
The old man was taken aback, and instinctively replied: "Al... almost forty years."
"Forty years, that's truly remarkable." Saionji nodded, with sincere tone, "That means you've witnessed this school's entire journey from glory to abandonment. Our filming here is meant to recreate its most beautiful days. Look over there at that corner, we've restored the student lockers from the 1980s. Aren't they just like the ones in your memory?"
He pointed at the scene meticulously arranged by the art team, and unhurriedly described the "sentiment" behind this short play, explaining how they wanted to commemorate this school that had carried countless people's youth through this work.
There was a magical power in his words that made the initially furious old man gradually calm down, his gaze softening.
Finally, Saionji took out a business card from his pocket and handed it to the old man: "Uncle, we will definitely restore your flower bed to its original state. Additionally, we would like to hire you as our historical consultant for the production. No one knows the stories of this school better than you, and we need your help."
The old man looked at the gold-embossed business card, then at Saionji's sincere gaze, and the wrinkles on his face relaxed. He took the card and nodded firmly: "Good! I'll help you!"
A thorny dispute was thus casually resolved by Saionji with just a few words. He didn't use money or leverage power, but instead precisely captured the "sentiment" that the other party cared about most, using empathy techniques from business negotiations to solve the problem without any conflict.
Hibiki stood nearby, witnessing the entire process, and felt tremendously shocked. She saw for the first time Akira Saionji's smooth, experienced, and reliable side as a top CEO. So this comedic president who was good at everything except making money could be so charismatic when he got serious.
One month later, the mini-series titled "Summer Soda and Zombie Boy" was officially launched across all platforms.
It was like a depth charge, creating massive waves in the mini-drama market that had long suffered from aesthetic fatigue.
The quirky premise of "zombies + romance," the cult style of a B-movie, combined with high-quality film-level production, allowed this short drama to quickly stand out and become a phenomenal hit. Viewers would criticize "what kind of bizarre cult thing is this" while simultaneously being unable to stop watching episode after episode, willingly buying into the premise of "saving the world with soda water." Sales of Kirin Soda also saw a historic surge after the short drama went online.
The name of "Xiao Dingdang" studio became completely famous. And the name Hibiki Natsume was, for the first time, mentioned in a mainstream film magazine. In a special article analyzing the annual short drama market, her name and photo appeared alongside terms like "emerging director" and "genius creativity."
In the quiet of night, Hibiki sat alone in the warehouse, looking at the online report for a long time without speaking. She didn't feel the wild joy she had anticipated; instead, her heart was extraordinarily calm.
She closed the webpage and picked up the familiar little notebook beside her, turning to a new page.
At the top of the paper, she slowly wrote down a few words:
"The next story."
