Otaku Translation: Absolute Number One C44

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Chapter 44: Heaven Helps Those Who Help Themselves

Chihara Rinto strolled back to the studio, descending the stairs only to bump into the assistant director in the lobby. The beleaguered Yoshizaki greeted him with a wry smile. "Chihara-sensei, you’ve really put me through the wringer."

Chihara felt a twinge of guilt but shrugged it off with a laugh. "It’s all for better results. My apologies, Yoshizaki-kun."

Yoshizaki’s complaint was more habitual than heartfelt. Like , he harbored doubts about casting inexperienced idols—wouldn’t they drag down the show’s quality? Spotting the mastermind behind this decision, he couldn’t resist whispering, "Do you really think this will work?"

Chihara’s gaze shifted past Yoshizaki to five young figures standing awkwardly nearby—the idols slated to appear in the upcoming episodes. They looked no older than seventeen or eighteen, still exuding the freshness of high schoolers.

"Most likely... yes," Chihara murmured softly.

Despite differences between his original world and this one, certain events were inevitable. Perhaps within a year or two, society would fully recognize the power of idols. Take, for instance, an idol group renting a national stadium for a fan rally—a move initially mocked until six teenage girls formed a heart shape on stage, prompting forty-five thousand fans to cheer in unison. Even those unable to secure tickets gathered outside, their collective roar echoing across the skies.

This phenomenon stemmed from , unparalleled elsewhere, signaling the resurgence of the idol industry. It marked a pivotal moment whose ripple effects would eventually give rise to the despised “internet traffic stars” of 2019. But Chihara saw no harm in harnessing this tide early. Whether he acted or not, these forces were unstoppable—an inexorable wave driven by societal demand.

The four boys and one girl curiously observed Chihara, puzzled by the deference shown to him by their notoriously grumpy supervisor. Catching his glance, they quickly flashed practiced smiles—charming, radiant, and polished. Such was their trade: selling personas and manufactured charm.

Chihara nodded politely in return, eliciting a flurry of bows from the quintet. Though confident within their own domain, they remained acutely aware of their low social standing as small fry in the entertainment hierarchy, eager to avoid offending anyone.

Satisfied with Chihara’s vague assurance, Yoshizaki refrained from further comment and ushered the idols into the elevator, heading back to headquarters to rehearse scripts for and . These two short plays, selected by the creative team, were slated for quick filming and inclusion in episodes three and four as part of Chihara’s experimental strategy.

Today’s task for Yoshizaki involved guiding the idols through script readings and rehearsals—an ordeal akin to staging a daylong theatrical performance. He found the prospect tedious and complained reflexively upon seeing Chihara.

As they departed, Chihara resumed his journey to the studio. Turning a corner of the main building, he spotted loading tools onto a pickup truck, sweat glistening on her brow. The daughter of the sea seemed perfectly at home on land—a peculiar trait among her village peers.

Without disturbing her, Chihara continued toward the studio. But as Hitomi climbed into the truck bed and caught sight of him, she broke into a delighted grin and rushed over. "Chihara-sensei! How are you? I saw your name in the newspaper—you’re amazing!"

Chihara appraised her appearance. Dusty but visibly thinner and more energetic, he smiled. "You look great too. How’s work treating you?"

"Perfectly!" Hitomi beamed with confidence. "It’s not hard, just a bit dirty—but I don’t mind dirt!" She drew a deep breath, subtly accentuating her waistline, and asked eagerly, "Sensei, do I look slimmer? Has my speech improved?"

Chihara paused briefly before nodding. "Your accent has softened, and yes, you’ve lost weight. It’s clear you’ve been working hard."

Hitomi’s joy was palpable. "That’s wonderful! I was worried no one would notice."

"Are you studying at night?" Chihara inquired.

"Yes! Thanks to your advice, I work during the day and attend evening radio classes to learn new skills," she replied enthusiastically. A call from afar interrupted their conversation, prompting her to turn apologetically. "I need to get back to work, Sensei."

"Keep it up!" Chihara encouraged, watching as Hitomi scrambled into the truck bed. The lightweight pickup soon carried her out of the station grounds, presumably bound for a remote broadcast site. Waving goodbye from the truck bed, she called out, "Sensei, keep going too! One day, I’ll act in your scripts!"

Her voice faded as she rounded the corner, leaving Chihara smiling faintly. He admired such determination and drive. If this former ever became a competent actress—and if his career plans aligned—he wouldn’t hesitate to offer her a chance. After all, heaven helps those who help themselves; lending a hand to the self-reliant felt both logical and rewarding.

---

The following day arrived swiftly, bringing with it revised shooting schedules. Today’s agenda included studio portions of Delinquent Study Club and Radish Samurai.

Originally titled , Delinquent Study Club featured a simple premise: after their gang leader dies in a brawl, a group of delinquents attempts to resurrect him using “black magic”—a popular trope in Japanese schools. However, they struggle to decipher the arcane text, baffled by concepts like concentric circles, dividing circles equally, and complex calculations. Desperate, they kidnap a top-performing female student. Yet even she admits defeat when confronted with advanced mathematics. Ultimately, the delinquents band together for a study session, mastering higher-level math to complete the ritual. Their efforts succeed in reviving their leader, but along the way, they discover an unexpected passion for learning.

A comedic yet inspiring tale, the 17-minute episode promised straightforward filming. Slotted mid-episode three, its primary purpose was to lure idol fans into watching.

Similarly lighthearted, Radish Samurai revolved around a high school girl preparing lunch for her crush. On her way home from grocery shopping, a bizarre encounter ensues: her radish accidentally bumps into another man’s. Taking offense, the stranger challenges her to a duel, threatening to kill her beloved if she refuses. Initially dismissing him as insane, she witnesses his prowess when he slices through a metal mailbox with his radish. Fearing for her crush’s life, she embarks on a crash course in radish swordsmanship, leading to a series of hilarious misadventures.

Both stories catered explicitly to idol fandoms, making them ideal vehicles for amateur actors. Chihara approved of the selections, though Fujii Arima appeared less enthused on set. His dissatisfaction manifested in frequent interruptions and adjustments, particularly regarding the female idol’s clumsy handling of props. Eventually, a last-minute kendo instructor was summoned to provide impromptu training.

Fujii’s efforts surpassed those of the original director, who had indulged the idols’ ineptitude, resulting in poor performances that nonetheless garnered high ratings thanks to devoted fans. Chihara harbored concerns—not about the idol shedding tears, but whether the gambit would yield satisfactory ratings. Should the experiment fail, Fujii might harbor lingering resentment toward him.

Still, sacrifices were inevitable. To seize opportunities in this golden age required navigating risks and enduring criticism. Every gain demanded commensurate effort—a fair trade-off. If failure came knocking, so be it.

The day’s shoot concluded sluggishly, running nearly two hours late. Staff grumbled while wrapping up, and the five idols were promptly whisked away by Fujii for emergency outdoor training ahead of tomorrow’s shoot. Meanwhile, Chihara packed up and headed home.

By the time he stepped outside, it was nearing eight o’clock. Walking alone under the dim streetlights, Chihara felt a pang of loneliness, missing idle chatter with his nominal disciple. He wondered how the poor girl fared under her mother’s relentless scrutiny.

Lost in thought, he suddenly heard lively music emanating from a nearby roadside performance. Turning, he spotted several teenage girls singing and dancing despite evident inexperience and frequent mishaps. Clad in thin clothing, their noses reddened by the cold, they persevered earnestly.

These trainees, typically groomed from elementary or middle school age, engaged in guerilla performances to acclimate to public attention. Unlike usual practices, however, these girls actively promoted —a stipulation of their agency’s agreement.

Chihara observed quietly before purchasing and from a vending machine. Handing the warm drinks to a surprised staff member, he simply smiled and walked away.

They were all striving for dreams, after all—and indirectly aiding him. A small gesture of gratitude felt fitting.

The remainder of the week passed uneventfully, adhering closely to schedule. As swelled again, signaling the impending broadcast of episode three, anticipation mounted.

Chihara refrained from watching, opting instead to await tomorrow’s ratings report. Success or failure of his unconventional plan hinged on those numbers. Exhausted from a long day’s work, he drifted off to sleep—only to be jolted awake by insistent knocking at his door…

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