Tokyo: The Manga Begins with the Funeral of Frilian

The second call was made to art director Yamazaki.

Yamazaki was inside the printing plant, and the roar of the printing presses could be heard from the other end of the phone.

Fujita had finished recounting the relevant information, and Yamazaki then fell into a long silence.

"Fujita. I operate the printing press from eight o'clock every morning to eight o'clock at night, and my hands are already rusty."

"I still have your pencil. You said you'd return it to me when I wanted to make a comeback. I haven't returned it yet."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

The deafening roar of the printing press gradually subsided.

"That pencil is HB. The hardness is just right for drawing forests. I've been drawing forests for three years, and I've never drawn a single leaf that I'm satisfied with. Is there a forest in your new animation?"

"Yes. Every forest that Frillie has walked through is waiting for her."

Yamazaki did not answer.

But Fujita heard the sound of a pencil being placed on the table and then picked up again.

"I'll be there next week. I'll bring my own pencil."

The third call was to the photography team leader, Nonaka.

At that time, Nonaka was shooting a product catalog at GG Corporation.

When I received this call.

He is applying lighting to a newly released microwave oven.

Fujita was speaking when Nonaka interrupted him.

  

"Wait a minute. Let me turn off the microwave."

A clicking sound came from the current.

Then, the sounds in the wild suddenly became extremely faint.

"Director Fujita. I've been filming microwave ovens for a year. Last month, I filmed a white one with thirty-six lights inside, each of which needed to be individually lit. I spent eight hours adjusting the lights by myself. After I finished, I asked myself, what am I even doing?"

"In the end credits of 'Winter Stardust,' your name is Supervisor of Photography. Not Microwave Cinematographer."

The person on the other end of the phone paused for a moment.

"Fujita, I don't want the three months' wages you owe me. But you have to promise me one thing."

"What is it?"

"Let me photograph Frillie's eyes. When I saw the cover in the convenience store, I was thinking about what color light I should use if those eyes were to move in the shot."

The fourth call was to Xiaolin, the color designer.

The hours from 6 p.m. to 12 a.m. are the part-time hours for working at the convenience store.

It was exactly 10 p.m., and Kobayashi was standing behind the cashier.

When you dial that number, you can still hear the background music playing inside the convenience store.

Fujita had not yet finished speaking.

Kobayashi's response came quickly.

"Mr. Fujita, I'm pregnant. I'm four months along."

Fujita was stunned.

"Congratulations."

"So I'm hesitating. If I take this job, I'll have to sit in front of the computer adjusting colors all the time, and I'm afraid—"

Suddenly, a different person answered the phone.

It was Xiaolin's husband who grabbed the receiver.

"Mr. Fujita, this is Sato. Kobayashi draws landscapes every night after she gets home, and she doesn't want to go to sleep until midnight. I tried to persuade her to stop, but she said she was afraid she'd become rusty and wouldn't be able to help when Mr. Fujita makes his comeback. She has to go to that animation project of yours. I'll do the housework."

Fujita gripped the receiver tightly.

"Mr. Sato, Kobayashi isn't here to help me."

"She came to complete a project she had been waiting four years for."

After making four phone calls.

Fujita placed the receiver back on top of the telephone.

His eyes were red, but he wasn't crying.

Shiori Shirakawa came out of the kitchen.

He was holding a bowl of warm miso soup.

Then she placed the bowl of miso soup in front of him.

"You have to drink soup after you finish the call. That's a studio rule."

Fujita lowered his head to look at the soup in the bowl.

Finely chopped scallions float on top of the soup.

The tofu was cut into even small cubes.

It swayed gently under the warm yellow light.

"Who made this rule?"

"I set it. The schedule is posted on the refrigerator door; you can check it yourself."

Fujita picked up the bowl and took a sip.

hot.

But it didn't shrink back.

Then he put down the bowl and turned to Yuma Kamiya.

"I've assembled the production team. But the music, that eight-note clarinet melody I just mentioned, requires someone who can write that kind of melody. It's not just ordinary background music; it needs to be the kind that the audience remembers after hearing it once, and wants to cry after hearing it twice."

Yuma Kamiya stood up.

He walked towards where the telephone was.

"I'm going to contact someone."

"Who?"

"A person who lives in Karuizawa and hasn't left his house in three years."

He reached out and picked up the receiver.

Then he pressed the phone number corresponding to the address he had memorized.

The phone rang for a long time.

Only then did someone answer the phone.

Yuma Kamiya spoke first.

"Mr. Joe Hisaishi. I am Yuma Kamiya, the original author of 'The Burial of Frilian'. My anime needs a soundtrack."

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

Immediately afterwards, a hoarse voice slowly drifted over.

How did you find this number?

"Someone told me you're waiting for someone to come to you."

"I'm not waiting for anyone."

"Then who was that piece of music you played every day at your villa in Karuizawa for?"

The person on the other end of the phone suddenly paused in breathing.

How did you know I was playing a piece?

"I don't know. I just feel that someone who has written so many classic melodies can't really stop. His hands may not be making music, but his ears are always listening. There's always a melody playing in his head. He's waiting for a story worth his time. I've already sent the script and part of the storyboard to 3-7 Karuizawa Chitaki. After you've read it, if you don't think it's worth it, just throw the package away. If you think it's worth it..."

Yuma Kamiya gripped the receiver tightly.

"Please give my fairy a melody she has been waiting for for a thousand years."

Two days later, Karuizawa.

When the package was delivered to Qianlong Villa.

Joe Hisaishi was burning a lot of useless sheet music in front of the fireplace.

Over the past three years, he has poured every melody he has created into the raging flames.

In the flames, the edges of the musical staff began to curl and then turned black.

The heat rose upwards, and the ashes from the paper floated up.

It then landed on the piano lid.

His hands hadn't touched the piano keys for three whole years.

The doorbell rang three times, but he didn't answer.

The deliveryman left the package at the door and left.

Joe Hisaishi sat quietly in front of the fireplace for a full hour.

Until finally, that discarded sheet music was burned to ashes.

Only then did he stand up and go to open the door.