After the oversized jubako had been completely emptied, the afternoon meeting began amid a strange sense of camaraderie.

All of the staff were wrapped in the happiness that came from being full, along with a moderate high brought on by the oil from fried food.

“Alright, our stomachs are full now, so let’s make a masterpiece.”

Hibiki pushed up her glasses and opened her binder.

“Today’s agenda is the overall plot of the film and a final confirmation of the last scene. Professor Fumizuki, please.”

“Y-yes!”

The one who was called on was Fumizuki Mashiro.

With her black hair in braids, she was a slender screenwriter who looked like a literary girl who had simply grown into adulthood.

With a tense expression, she began reading from the script in her hands.

“The title of this film is—‘Rondo of Roses and Bullets.’”

…Starting with the title alone, it was already quite different from what I knew.

“The setting is Neo-Tokyo. The protagonist is a justice-driven female detective. Opposing her is a beautiful mafia boss who rules the underworld. Though the two are enemies, they are drawn to each other’s sense of aesthetics and engage in a dazzling battle.”

I see.

I crossed my arms and listened.

In short, films in this world seem to be based on an aesthetic, decadent worldview similar to Takarazuka (an all female theatre troupe).

Gunfights and brawls alike must, above all else, be ‘beautiful.’

“And now, about the problematic final scene…”

Mashiro raised her voice.

“The cornered mafia boss faces the detective on the rooftop of an abandoned factory. He throws away his gun and shouts at the detective. ‘What I truly wanted wasn’t control of the city! It was your heart!’”

…Huh?

“The detective shoots him while shedding tears. The boss collapses into her arms and, with his last breath, says this before dying. ‘Thank you… at last, I was able to feel your warmth…’. And then, as a beautiful sunset fills the scene, it goes to the end credits—”

Silence…

The meeting room was enveloped in a moving stillness.

Some staff members were even sniffling back tears.

Karen was also gazing dreamily, murmuring, “What a heartbreaking love…”

But, what filled my chest was nothing but a powerful sense of discomfort.

‘…That’s lukewarm.’

Unconsciously, I furrowed my brow deeply.

What the hell is that?

Isn’t that just a lovers’ spat?

The ‘villains’ in my memories from my previous life weren’t anything that clean.

Kitano films, true-record yakuza films, Battles Without Honor or Humanity.

What exists there is violence, desire and emptiness.

“…Hah.”

A heavy, low sigh slipped from my mouth.

In the silent meeting room, the sound echoed louder than I had expected.

Twitch.

Hibiki’s ear moved.

She turned a sharp gaze toward me.

“…Jō. You just sighed like you were bored, didn’t you?”

Everyone’s eyes focused on me.

Mashiro looked at me with a face that seemed on the verge of tears.

Damn it, I did it again.

But there was no point in lying now.

I was the one who would be playing the ‘villain’ in this film.

“…I don’t mean any harm. I just felt a bit of discomfort.”

“Discomfort? Go on, tell us. I’ll respect the opinion of the lead actor.”

Prompted by Hibiki, I spoke honestly.

“Well, this is just a layman’s opinion, but… doesn’t this villain feel a little too much like a ‘good kid’?”

“A g-good kid?”

Mashiro’s eyes went wide.

“I mean, think about it. If you’ve got time to chatter on about yourself in the middle of a fight to the death, wouldn’t the ‘real thing’ be to just put a bullet right between the other guy’s eyebrows?”

At my words, the staff began to murmur.

“And then the end. He reforms and dies in her arms? …That’s not how a villain dies.”

In my mind flashed the brutal final moments of Shōwa-era silver screen stars that I had watched over and over in my previous life.

“True evil struggles until the very end, curses others and dies pathetically. That’s why it’s ‘evil.’ And that’s exactly why the protagonist’s ‘justice’ shines when they defeat it, isn’t it?”

In response to my passionate speech, Mashiro hurriedly countered.

“B-but, Jō! Then there’s no salvation! Audiences want a beautiful tragedy. A cruel ending like that isn’t beautiful!”

“It’s just a different kind of beauty, Fumizuki.”

I shook my head.

“For example, this last scene. If it were me, I’d do it like this.”

I stood up and began an improvised performance.

Let’s assume the location is the rooftop of an abandoned factory.

“He throws away his gun and pretends to surrender. The moment the detective lets their guard down and approaches—”

I made a motion of reaching into my coat.

Then, with a speed that seemed to tear through the air, I mimed drawing an invisible knife.

“With a knife he had hidden, he aims for the opponent’s heart.”

Shhk!

It felt like I could hear a sharp slicing sound.

Mashiro gasped.

“But the detective is faster. Instead, I get shot.”

Bang.

I clutched my chest and staggered.

An expression of agony.

But the corner of my mouth twisted into a grin.

Staring into empty space, I spat out my final line as if coughing up blood.

“…Heh. I’ll be waiting for you in hell.”

Thud.

I collapsed on the spot and went still.

No apologies.

No words of love.

What remains is only the obsession to drag the other person down with you even in death and the pride of a man who lived by his own code.

“……”

The meeting room fell silent, as if water had been poured over it.

No one spoke a word.

Maybe I went too far.

Maybe it really didn’t fit this world’s standard of ‘beauty.’

Just as I was starting to feel awkward and tried to stand back up—

Rattle rattle rattle….

I heard a trembling sound.

Looking over, Hibiki was hugging herself with both arms, trembling in small shivers.

“D-director?”

“…I got chills.”

Hibiki lifted her face.

Her eyes were shining to a nearly insane degree.

“‘I’ll be waiting for you in hell’… Dying while leaving behind a curse instead of an apology… Not begging for love, but baring your fangs until the very end…”

She slammed both hands down on the desk.

“This is the best!! That’s it! That’s exactly what I wanted to film!!”

“Huh?”

“I don’t need that sickly-sweet romance! What I want is the taste of iron and blood! A ‘real’ noir that makes the soul sting!”

Hibiki’s switch had flipped.

She yanked the script out of her binder and tossed it into the air.

White pages fluttered down.

“The script, rewrite the whole thing!! Rewrite everything!! And that wimpy title like ‘Roses and Bullets’ is rejected!”

“Eeeeeh!? We start shooting next week!?”

Mashiro and the staff let out screams.

But Hibiki didn’t stop.

“Shut up! For the sake of a masterpiece, schedules can burn! Mashiro! Go into a training camp with Jō right now!”

“Huh!?”

“Absorb all of his ‘knowledge of evil’ and dye that pure white brain of yours pitch-black!”

Karen was also staring at me, her cheeks flushed.

“Almost getting killed by Jō… Being told ‘I’ll be waiting for you in hell’… Wonderful… It gives me chills…”

…She’s pretty far gone too.

“Aah…”

I looked up at the ceiling.

I was only supposed to end up as a decorative villain.

But it seemed that with a single remark from me, this film had completely transformed, genre and all, from an ‘aesthetic action’ into a ‘no-holds-barred, honorless conflict drama.’

My peaceful life had just moved one step further away.