Otaku Translation: Absolute Number One C39

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Chapter 39: Is This a Hater?

Michiko’s claim that “the reviews are glowing” was a bit of an exaggeration. scoured the papers for quite some time before finally spotting a tiny blurb about . If one weren’t specifically looking for mentions of the show, it would be easy to overlook entirely.

Still, their influence wasn’t enough to compete with primetime blockbusters.

Chihara read carefully, though. In an era before widespread internet access, newspapers wielded significant authority, and he wanted to gauge how the media was framing his show.

First up was , originally a financial publication but now a comprehensive daily covering every aspect of Japanese life. Its parent company owned over thirty magazines, journals, and newspapers, along with professional sports teams, semi-professional leagues, publishers, and various industries tied to printing—it was a true media giant. Moreover, it held substantial shares in Tokyo Eizo Broadcasting (TEB), making it one of TEB’s behind-the-scenes power players.

As expected, the boss took care of its own. The entertainment section lavished praise on TEB’s winter lineup, including Tales of the Unusual. It hailed the series as a rare gem among late-night dramas, awarding it five stars and expressing high expectations.

The small article overflowed with compliments, singling out lead screenwriter Chihara Rinto as innovative and trailblazing for late-night television. It anticipated his future prominence in the industry.

Chihara shrugged it off. Media flattery? Take it with a grain of salt—or perhaps just trust the punctuation marks. If the show flopped later, these same outlets would be the first to tear it apart. He trusted this pattern implicitly—media loved nothing more than contradicting itself.

What he really sought were negative reviews. He’d harbored concerns that his patchwork storytelling might not resonate culturally. After reading through the piece multiple times, however, he found no hidden barbs or veiled criticism. Either the reviewer had gone easy due to corporate ties, or they genuinely meant the praise.

He shook his head, ready to move on to another paper—but not before his eyes skimmed the headline dominating the entertainment section: “Most Promising New Drama of the Season: .” Intrigued, he gave it a quick glance.

The coverage was at least ten times larger than theirs, filled with effusive praise. The review practically urged readers to watch, promising regret if they didn’t. Phrases like “’s latest masterpiece,” “Directed by ,” and “Starring veteran favorites Akai, Nagaoka, Satomi, Utsumi, and Hasebe alongside rising stars and in a Sengoku-era romance” dominated the text. To top it off, there was an exclusive interview with and the leads, accompanied by glossy color photos of and .

The promotional firepower… Chihara nearly sank into despair after glancing at it twice.

Was he jealous? Of course. Who wouldn’t be? With such robust marketing, he wouldn’t need to twist arms convincing Murakami and Fujii to aim for the top spot—they could simply let word-of-mouth do the work.

But envy passed quickly. Such aggressive promotion went beyond mere favoritism; something smelled fishy. Ishii Jiro must have pulled strings—a common practice in entertainment circles, though ordinary viewers remained blissfully unaware.

Ishii certainly had connections. No wonder he treated as if she were far beneath him. She couldn’t secure soft advertising like this—not her fault. Having spent years as an assistant, she was still a rookie producer without extensive networks. That was understandable.

Things would improve. A team thrived when members compensated for each other’s weaknesses. Responsibility grew with capability—it wasn’t just a cheesy trope. Achieving goals mattered most. Who cared who contributed more? Success required effort, not shortcuts. And naturally, those who worked harder deserved greater rewards.

Lost in thought again, Chihara pondered. Television relied not only on quality but also on promotion. Without it, even excellent shows risked being critically acclaimed yet commercially ignored. Yet Murakami had done all she could. Promotion lagged, leaving them scrambling. Besides recruiting idols, what else could reverse their fortunes?

Think hard. Solutions always outnumbered problems!

After mulling it over fruitlessly, he decided to continue brainstorming at home. Switching papers, he dismissed The Eastern Union Economic News as unhelpful.

Top-tier newspapers shared ties with TV networks. Other dailies followed suit, showering affiliated programs with praise while avoiding outright slander of competitors—after all, readers weren’t fools, and credibility mattered.

Flipping through, Chihara noticed similar mentions of Tales of the Unusual elsewhere. Tiny blurbs highlighted the script’s originality and sincere production but noted mediocre acting except for an unknown actress playing Miho. One outlier criticized harshly, dragging up past failures, while another praised Chihara Rinto by name, predicting he might contend for Best New Screenwriter in 1995 if he maintained consistency and landed a primetime slot.

Being outed as a newcomer didn’t surprise him. Gossip spread like wildfire in broadcasting circles. Even if his entire biography appeared tomorrow, he wouldn’t bat an eye. Yet despite searching, he found no damning critiques. Viewership ratings hovered around four stars (recommended) and occasionally hit five (must-watch). This suggested…

Mainstream media didn’t seem to have much of an issue with the show? Had it adapted successfully?

Star ratings aside, finding these tiny blurbs felt like hunting needles in haystacks. Still, positive buzz accelerated word-of-mouth—a precious advantage in their uphill battle.

Reassured, Chihara turned his attention to the broader winter season premiere rankings. Late-night dramas like theirs occupied the fringes, ignored by major networks. Day one saw tentative skirmishes setting the stage for the larger war.

Currently, led with its 9 PM drama securing yesterday’s top spot—a third-season sequel averaging 19.8%. TEB trailed closely behind with Happiness in the Fields at 18.77%, poised to overthrow the leader. relied on its long-running morning serial for third place (15.7%), while ranked fourth with a variety show. Nippon Hoso Kyokai (NHK) rounded out fifth, unconcerned as usual. Funded by public taxes, it prioritized news over entertainment, reserving spikes for election seasons.

Further down, debuted at twelfth, drawing poor reception. Critics lambasted their efforts, urging focus on programming rather than infomercials.

Surveying the landscape, Chihara grasped the competitive dynamics. Tales of the Unusual’s 2.27% opening average failed to crack the leaderboard, relegating it to obscurity. Not even cannon fodder status.

Yet one detail intrigued him. Beyond The Eastern Union Economic News’ glowing endorsement of Happiness in the Fields, other papers offered mild critiques. One column stood out, slamming the show with a measly one-and-a-half stars: “One star for Terada-sensei, half for Uchiyama-san. Despite the hype, it disappoints.”

A hater?

Reading closely, Chihara noted the critic’s eloquence but sensed amateurishness. Though vehemently attacking the show, their complaints lacked substance, bordering on fanboy tantrums.

Curious, he examined other reviews. Most were polite, suggesting the premiere felt flat and the protagonist underwhelming but expressing faith in the writer-director duo. They framed the show as quietly building momentum, destined to impress.

Thus, the harsh critique likely stemmed from fandom backlash. Setting the paper aside, Chihara stopped dwelling on it. Every work attracted detractors—it was par for the course. With an 18.77% debut, Happiness in the Fields stood tall. Strong foundations hinted at potential growth; doubling ratings or reaching 30% seemed plausible.

This bore hallmarks of a national hit. Meanwhile, his 2.27%, even tripled, remained fodder for oblivion. No glory awaited.

Such a daunting start tempted him to curse under his breath.

“Master, why aren’t you happy? You’re in the paper!” Michiko had been observing silently, regretting her earlier resentment. Seeing Chihara frown after reading, she prepared to congratulate him once his mood lifted.

“There’s nothing to celebrate,” he sighed openly. “My earlier humility wasn’t false modesty. These results are truly mediocre.”

Struck by lightning, losing his girlfriend, all for a rating unfit for cannon fodder? Who wouldn’t feel bitter?

Michiko frowned. “Mediocre? My mom says it’s great and told me to cozy up to you.”

Chihara chuckled. “Would you really try to please me?”

“Yes, otherwise you might kick me out.”

Shaking his head, he smiled. “Relax. No need for extra effort. You can stay here for now.”

Pausing, he teased, “When you go auditioning again and get caught pretending, don’t be so grumpy. Not everyone’s as forgiving as I am.”

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