A few days later.

In the large conference room of the ‘Imperial Capital Film Studio,’ the main cast and key staff had gathered for a script read-through.

But the atmosphere in the room was different from usual.

The scripts in everyone’s hands.

Up until a few days ago, their covers had been pure white, but in the finalized version handed out today, they had changed into jet-black covers like mourning clothes.

Etched into them in silver lettering was the new title, ‘Requiem of Iron and Blood 'Requiem'.’

“…Hehe, hehehe…”

At the edge of the seat of honor sat Mashiro, the screenwriter.

She wore sunglasses, arms folded and a fearless smile on her lips.

She probably had dark circles under her eyes from all the sleepless nights, but her whole bearing was completely that of a ‘writer who’d made it through a battlefield.’

“Then, shall we begin?”

Hibiki, the director, clapped her hands.

Her eyes were shining like a child who’d gotten a new toy.

“Scene 1. The mafia hideout. We’ll start with the conversation between the boss and his subordinate.”

At the cue, I quietly drew in a breath.

My role was Jō, the mafia boss.

Opposite me, playing the subordinate, was a young, neat-looking actress.

She gripped the script with a tense expression.

Following the script, I let a low, murky voice resonate from deep in my throat.

“…He’s still sniffing around, huh.”

A heavy bass note shook the air in the conference room.

The actress playing the subordinate jerked her shoulders.

“Y-yes! That female detective is so persistent…”

“…She’s in the way.”

I took my eyes off the script and looked down at her coldly.

“Go hajike that detective.”

In that instant.

Time in the conference room stopped.

The subordinate actress blinked with a blank look.

Hesitantly, she raised her hand.

“U-um… Director, may I ask a question?”

“What is it?”

“This… ‘go hajike’… what does it mean?”

Tilting her head with a serious face, she asked.

“Is it… ohajiki… the game? Does it mean I should lure the detective and go play nicely with her?”

…So that’s where her mind went.

I put a hand to my forehead and let out a deep sigh.

Right.

This world had neither Shōwa-era thug films nor hard-boiled novels.

The words women used were always proper and beautiful.

There was no way slang as dangerous as ‘hajiku’ would get through.

“…No.”

I stepped in to help.

“It’s not ohajiki. It’s slang for ‘go shoot her dead with a bullet.’”

Hiss.

I heard someone suck in a breath.

“S-shoot her dead!? And you use such a light word like ‘hajiku’ for that!?”

“How barbaric…”

“It gives me chills…”

The actresses shuddered and began to murmur.

An unknown language.

Dirty, coarse, violent words that only I used.

It seemed to stab into them as an overwhelming culture shock.

“Continue. Jō, thanks for the explanation.”

Hibiki urged us on, grinning.

* * *

The read-through continued, heading toward the climax.

The rooftop of an abandoned factory.

Jō, cornered, facing off against the female detective.

This was Karen’s spotlight as the lead.

“I’m going in.”

Karen steeled herself and glared at me.

She was a top actress. Her acting skill should be the real deal.

“…I’ve got you cornered, Jō.”

A dignified voice.

A good sound.

“Your evil deeds end here. Prepare yourself!”

“…Hah. You’re noisy.”

I replied lazily.

“You! That’s enough! Dragging innocent people into this… y-you…”

Karen’s line jammed.

In the script, it read, ‘Violently insult the opponent.’

A stage direction Mashiro had scrawled in.

Karen’s face turned bright red and trembling, she spat out the best insult she could manage.

“You… you dummy!!”

…

Still holding the script, I nearly toppled over with a jerk.

You dummy.

Was she a kindergarten teacher, or an overbearing education mom?

That was what she was going to say in front of a big man?

“…Karen. That’s weak.”

“B-but! I don’t know any dirtier words than that!”

Karen protested with teary eyes.

“My family motto is ‘pure, correct and beautiful’! ‘You dummy’ is my limit! The best I can do after that is maybe ‘you blockhead’!”

“Both are elementary school level.”

I shook my head in exasperation.

Maybe it really was unreasonable to demand ‘dirty roles’ and ‘hard-boiled’ from people in this world.

“Jō.”

Hibiki called out, sounding amused.

“Accept it head-on for her. With your ‘real’ words, break their common sense for them.”

“…Yeah, yeah.”

I sank deeper into my chair and crossed my legs.

I flipped the switch.

I wasn’t just Akutsu Jō.

I was a man who’d survived by slurping muddy water in the underworld, a man who lived through violence alone.

Suu….

The air changed.

I looked up at Karen and snorted.

“…Hah.”

A short, cold sneer.

That alone made Karen’s shoulders jump.

“Cheap justice, kid.”

An ad-lib not in the script.

But right now, the words naturally overflowed from me.

“Quit flapping your gums and come at me… I’ll turn every last one of you into mince.”

A voice carrying thick, sticky killing intent.

“Flapping your gums.”

“Mince.”

Raw, filthy words that the men of this world would never speak.

“Hii…”

Karen sucked in a breath and stumbled back.

Fear.

But her pupils had widened and she was glued to my every move.

“It’s scary, but I can’t look away.”

To women who only knew beautiful words, what I spoke was a violent stimulus, like a powerful drug that was also a deadly poison.

“…Okay, cut.”

Hibiki nodded with satisfaction.

“This is it. Got it? Karen, everyone.”

“Y-yes…”

“The theme of this film is the contrast between your ‘beautiful and correct words’ and Jō’s ‘dirty and rough words.’”

Hibiki stood up and launched into a passionate speech.

“A beast barging into a beautiful rose garden in muddy shoes. That discomfort is what creates a suspense never seen before! So Karen, you don’t need to force yourself to use dirty words. Instead, tremble with everything you’ve got at Jō’s words!”

I see.

The more of a foreign body I was, the more this worldview would hold together.

“So, we’re resuming. Jō, don’t hold back, go all out.”

“Understood.”

From there, it was chaos.

“…Um, next line. It says ‘otoshimae tsukero,’ but…”

“That means ‘take responsibility.’”

“‘Arasu the shima’ means… destroying nature on an island?”

“It means ‘trespassing on someone’s territory.’”

“‘Tama toru’ is… playing ball?”

“…It means ‘take a life.’”

Every time we progressed in the read-through, I had to pause and explain the meaning of the slang.

Each time, the actresses shrieked “How barbaric…,” and still took frantic notes.

“Jō-san, you’re incredible…”

A staff member sitting next to me said with a strained smile.

“You’re not just a villain actor… you’re like an intercultural interpreter.”

I looked up at the ceiling.

My job was acting instruction, language instruction and making a massive amount of staff meals.

…Honestly, shouldn’t I be getting triple pay for this?