AOI and Masato walked toward a rather messy office.
"Well, AOI, this is your office," said Masato, scratching his head. "I couldn't get it cleaned up, sorry. But the important part—your desk—is spotless."
AOI glanced at the desk, nodded briefly.
"I won't stay long, Uncle. I just want to finish the movie as soon as possible. Maybe I'll come back later."
Masato sighed. "Alright then. We'd better get the staff together and get permission to use Azabu High. It shouldn't be too hard, after all, we've got the director himself helping us."
While Masato made phone calls, AOI sat down and began revising the script—his memory sharper now, but his physical condition weakened after using it too much. Arthur was careful. When the revisions were finally done, AOI looked up; Masato was quietly eating.
"Sorry, Uncle. I think I took a bit long."
Masato only nodded and pointed at a covered plate.
When AOI lifted the lid, he found a steak, still warm. He smiled faintly, handed Masato the corrected script, and began to eat.
Masato finished his meal, opened the script, and flipped through the pages.
"This is perfect, AOI. But… it might be controversial."
AOI slammed his hand on the table.
"That's what we need—to make the company known."
Masato smirked. "Fair enough. Let me make some calls to get everything ready."
Two hours later, everything was set for filming at Azabu High School.
Ryo looked around, fascinated by all the cameras and equipment. Then he turned toward a man sitting quietly, reading a script.
"You must be AOI. It's an honor to meet you. Masato told me a lot about you—he said this is your film."
AOI nodded and bowed slightly. Ryo noticed that AOI never once removed his sunglasses.
AOI looked at the open space, the curious students gathering around.
"Alright," he said, calmly, "we'll need extras. Anyone interested, just do what you normally do—act natural. But if you look at the camera, you'll be replaced immediately."
Ryo understood and went off to inform the teachers so students could volunteer.
AOI watched as Takashi and Mika approached.
Both bowed deeply.
"It's an honor to meet you," Takashi said.
"I'm Mika," added the girl beside him.
AOI nearly laughed at how serious they looked. He nodded once and pointed toward the dressing room.
"Get your makeup done."
The two exchanged confused glances but followed his instruction.
When they returned, looking refreshed, AOI nodded.
"Alright, everyone, prepare for the first take."
Ryo brought in the extras.
Using an old filmmaker's trick, Arthur hadn't paid them—he told them appearing in a movie was payment enough.
With that thought, AOI gave the signal to start.
---
The wind barely covered the sound of students walking by.
Takashi sat on a bench, staring at the ground. His uniform looked worn, his tie loose—he didn't quite fit in.
In front of him, Mika held a paper bag of bread. She hesitated, watching him closely.
AOI, behind the camera, observed silently. Occasionally, he spoke softly:
"Takashi, don't look at the camera. Let the silence speak for you."
Takashi nodded.
Mika took a breath and began her line.
"You… why didn't you tell the truth?"
Takashi looked up slightly, not replying.
Mika continued.
"You're not different from us. Why hide it?"
Silence. Only the wind in the trees.
AOI raised his hand, signaling the sound operator to stay quiet.
Finally, Takashi spoke.
"Because sometimes, when you tell people who you are… they stop seeing you the same way."
Mika lowered the bag, stepping closer.
"Then let me see you as you are," she said softly. "I don't care where you were born."
Takashi's eyes moved just a little. No music, only the wind and the soft crinkle of paper.
AOI watched through the viewfinder, silent for several seconds.
When Mika dropped her gaze, he whispered:
"Cut… perfect."
Mika exhaled, relieved. Takashi stood still, processing what had just happened.
AOI approached with a calm smile.
"It wasn't just a scene," he said. "It was a real moment. Remember that for the next one."
---
Location: An empty classroom, late afternoon. The sunlight spilled through the windows, painting the room in gold.
The sound of footsteps echoed between the empty desks.
Takashi entered first, holding his script. Mika followed, more serious than usual.
The camera was set up on a tripod, focused on the back corner of the classroom where two seats were lit by the fading sun.
AOI adjusted the lighting angle, speaking calmly:
"This time, I don't want you to act," he said quietly. "Just talk."
Takashi frowned. "You mean… improvise, AOI-san?"
"Yes," AOI replied with a faint smile. "Pretend there's no camera. Just the two of you after a long day."
Mika nodded. They sat facing each other.
After a pause, Mika began:
"You said you wanted to leave the country… did you mean it?"
Takashi looked down.
"I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I don't belong here. But I don't know where else I'd go."
Mika smiled faintly, gazing out the window.
"That sounds like something someone running away would say."
Takashi blinked.
"And you? You've never wanted to escape?"
Mika looked straight at him.
"No. If I leave, everything I dreamed of here disappears. I want to stay until I change something."
The classroom fell silent. Only the ticking clock and distant chatter filled the air.
AOI watched, unmoving. There was something in their eyes that wasn't written in the script—something real.
Takashi sighed.
"You talk like everything makes sense. I just see the same gray sky every day."
Mika rested her chin on her folded arms.
"Then look at it with me," she said gently. "Maybe it won't be so gray."
AOI raised his hand.
"Cut," he whispered. "Don't change a thing. That scene stays."
Takashi exhaled deeply.
"AOI-san… I didn't think this movie would feel like this."
AOI smiled faintly.
"The truest stories don't need to shout to be heard."
Mika watched him curiously.
"AOI-san… where does all this inspiration come from?"
AOI hesitated, then looked down.
"From someone who lost too much," he said softly. "But still believes it's worth creating."
Both fell silent.
"Rest," AOI said finally. "Tomorrow we shoot the river scene."
When they left, AOI remained, staring at the sunset over the tatami floor.
He gripped the script gently and murmured:
"Maybe this time… I'll tell it right."
---
The wind moved the surface of the river in slow ripples.
The sky, a clear blue, reflected like a broken mirror.
AOI stood behind the camera, headphones on, focused.
Takashi stood by the rocks; Mika sat near the edge, dipping her feet into the cold water.
"Alright," AOI said quietly. "Don't think about the camera. Think about the river—it was here before you."
They both nodded.
"Scene three, take one," said Hiroshi, clapping the slate.
Mika turned slightly.
"Did you know the river sounds different every day?" she asked softly.
Takashi smiled faintly. "I hadn't noticed."
"That's because you don't listen."
"And you do?"
"I listen when I'm alone."
The camera followed the water's flow. AOI gestured for the operator not to cut.
"People say if you throw a stone and it skips three times, you can make a wish."
Takashi threw one. It bounced once, twice—then sank.
"Guess I only get half a wish," he murmured.
AOI lowered the camera.
"Perfect," he whispered.
Not because it was flawless, but because it was real.
Masato came up behind him, smiling.
"You've got a good eye, AOI."
"It's not the eye," AOI replied. "It's the moment."
"And how do you know when that moment comes?"
"When people forget they're acting," AOI said softly. "That's when the movie begins."
---
Later that night, in ATOM's nearly empty building, AOI sat in the editing room.
The projector hummed; film reels looped like silver veins.
He watched the same scene again and again—the river, Mika's brief smile.
Masato yawned behind him.
"You've replayed that scene fifteen times."
"Seventeen," AOI corrected. "I still haven't found the exact frame."
"What are you looking for?"
AOI paused the film.
"Right before Mika smiles. That moment—barely a second—there's truth there. A smile not for the camera, but for herself."
Masato laughed softly.
"Your father used to say you had dangerous patience."
"Patience is what makes a scene breathe," AOI replied. "Cut too soon, and you kill the emotion."
Masato opened the window; the cool night air drifted in. The neon lights of Tokyo reflected on the glass.
"Do you think people will understand what you're trying to show?"
"I don't want them to understand," AOI said. "I want them to feel."
Masato smiled. "You sound like a poet."
"Or a man who hasn't slept," AOI chuckled.
He adjusted the tape, added a gentle piano track he'd composed himself.
"Fits perfectly," Masato murmured.
"It's not silence," AOI said, "but it sounds like it."
The projector slowed to a stop. The room went dark.
"Uncle," AOI said quietly. "If this movie ever reaches theaters… I want people to leave thinking about their own river."
Masato smiled with quiet pride.
"Then you're not just making films, AOI. You're reminding people they can still feel."
AOI placed the reels in a wooden box labeled GO — Version 1.
He turned off the lights. Their footsteps echoed through the empty halls.
Outside, Tokyo was still alive.
And AOI, hands in his pockets, thought that maybe—just maybe—this was the movie he had always wanted to make.