Otaku Translation: Absolute Number One C48

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Chapter 48: You Must Be a Man of Conscience

had thrown everything he had at boosting : cherry-picking the most gripping short episodes, orchestrating timely collaborations with idols before the next wave of idol fever hit, and deploying an army of online shills across the fledgling internet. Beyond that? He was tapped out. No more magic tricks left in his hat.

He hated to admit it, but right now, all he could do was shrug and say: “You plan your moves, but heaven decides the outcome.” Whether he’d secure the top spot or push the show’s average ratings past 20%—he’d done his part. The rest? Out of his hands.

So for now, he played it cool. Kept his head down, did his job, and devoted most of his free time this week to… well, watching the trainwreck next door.

was imploding. Quietly, subtly—but imploding nonetheless.

had spent three straight days running thinly veiled editorials hinting that the director, , was to blame for the ratings nosedive. And Uchiyama? Dead silence. To industry insiders, that silence read like surrender—he was preparing to shoulder the blame. In this business, when a big-budget project crashes and burns, someone has to be exiled to development purgatory for a few years. It’s the price of failure. The unspoken rule.

Even Chihara started to feel a flicker of respect. Maybe Uchiyama was the noble type—taking the fall to protect his team.

But on the fourth day, to everyone’s surprise, , the lead screenwriter, stepped forward. In a column for another newspaper, he threw his support firmly behind director Uchiyama Yukyo. Terada acknowledged that failure was something everyone experienced at some point—it wasn’t a big deal. The only people who deserved an apology were the viewers. However, he pointed out, the drop in ratings was a collective responsibility of the entire creative team. He warned certain individuals to stop pushing their luck, adding that just because someone had a well-connected older sister didn’t give them the right to bully honest, hardworking people. If some of the things those individuals had done in the production crew were brought to light, no one would come out unscathed. It would be far better, he suggested, for everyone to maintain a little mutual respect and save face.

Chihara read between the lines. Terada’s actual wording was far more polished—he was a writer, after all, and a damn good one. But the message? Crystal clear.

And just like that, the attacks on Uchiyama stopped. No explanation. No follow-up. Just… silence. Whatever backroom deals or power plays had gone down, they’d done their work.

Chihara didn’t get it—until he asked Murakami Iori.

Turns out ’s dad, the managing director? Mid-tier at best. Not powerless, but not untouchable either. The real player? Ishii’s older sister. Rumor had it she held a high-ranking position at The Eastern Union Economic News—and was rumored to be cozy with one of the paper’s top brass. Just rumors, of course. Murakami wouldn’t have dared whisper this if he didn’t trust Chihara completely.

Ah. So Ishii wasn’t just riding nepotism—he was riding his sister’s coattails. No wonder he got the red-carpet treatment: best scripts, best slots, best press. His sister had the strings. He just pulled them.

Some things in this world were so absurd, they made fiction look tame.

For four straight days, newspapers buzzed with speculation and sniping over Happiness in the Fields. The waters were muddy, the reputations sinking fast. But even without the scandal, Chihara knew: this show wasn’t getting a Season 2. The head writer and producer were at war—publicly, via newspaper columns. If they couldn’t even share a room without throwing punches, resurrection was off the table.

On the trending charts, Happiness in the Fields had already tumbled out of the top five. The “” narrative? Shattered. TEB still had a few legacy shows propping up its reputation, but suddenly, it looked… tired. Out of steam.

Behind the scenes at the , whispers swirled. Some said the show would be axed mid-season. Others insisted pride would force them to limp to the finish line. Without a word from the top brass, no one knew for sure. And Ishii Jiro? He’d become the office punching bag. Half the staff seemed to be enjoying his downfall. Most expected him to be reassigned—exiled to some regional branch for a year or two to “reflect.”

Chihara considered the drama fully digested. Quality? Surprisingly high. He’d learned something new: before the internet turned flame wars into bloodsport, industry feuds played out in newspaper columns—just as vicious, but with better grammar. Honestly? Not that different from watching film critics tear each other apart on . Just… classier insults.

He figured that was the end of it. Who ended up taking the fall? Not his problem. He skimmed the day’s papers—Tales of the Unusual got barely a mention. Probably wouldn’t resurface until after Episode 5 aired tomorrow. And even then, only if it held its spot on the charts.

Assuming, of course, Episode 5 didn’t suck. Then the knives would come out.

He packed up, heading home, leaving Shiraki Keima behind to keep spamming forums and interest groups—posing as a diehard fan, swearing on his life that missing tomorrow’s episode would be a regret you carried to your grave.

He’d barely stepped into the lobby of the Production Bureau annex when he nearly collided with the week’s most infamous headline-maker.

Ishii Jiro was no longer the confident man he had been just over two weeks ago. He walked alone, his head slightly bowed, face shadowed with gloom. His hair was disheveled, dark circles prominent under his eyes, and his hurried steps gave the impression of someone deeply preoccupied. It wasn’t clear where in the production bureau he was headed—his mind seemed so scattered that he didn’t even notice Chihara as they passed each other.

Chihara wasn’t surprised by Ishii’s state. If Tales of the Unusual had flopped for him, he imagined his own expression would have been ten times worse. Without a second glance, Chihara continued on his way home.

But barely out of TEB’s main gates, a soft voice called from behind: “Rinto? What a coincidence!”

In the two months since arriving in this world, Chihara had grown accustomed to being addressed by his surname—"Chihara, Chihara." So when someone called his name directly, it caught him off guard. He kept walking, oblivious at first, until the rapid click-clack of high heels echoed closer, accompanied by another call: “Rinto! Rinto, wait up!”

Surprised, he turned around to find none other than Kondo Airi—his “ex-girlfriend.” She trotted up to him, catching her breath and giving him an exaggeratedly coy smile. “You didn’t hear me calling?” she pouted. “Don’t walk so fast…”

This struck Chihara as odd. Every previous encounter with Kondo Airi had been marked by her nervousness; she’d acted like a mouse spotting a cat, too scared to utter a word. What brought her chasing after him now? Still, not wanting unnecessary drama, he politely asked, “Sorry, I didn’t catch that earlier. Is there something you need, Kondo-san?”

“‘Kondo-san’? That sounds so formal!” she protested, leaning closer. Her perfume—thick and cloying—wafted toward him, forcing him to take half a step back. He hated strong fragrances, and the discomfort showed on his face.

Kondo Airi looked impeccable today, clearly dressed to impress. Her voice dripped sweetness as she pressed nearer, but Chihara remained silent, studying her intently. When he stopped smiling or speaking, his natural charisma—or perhaps intimidation—kicked in. Kondo faltered, suddenly uneasy. What happened to him? Why does he feel so… terrifying now? He wasn’t like this before!

Once she settled down a bit, Chihara spoke coolly. “We’re hardly close acquaintances, so let’s maintain some basic courtesy. Therefore…” he paused, emphasizing her title, “Kondo-san, what exactly do you want?”

Airi swallowed hard, struggling to reconcile this version of Chihara Rinto with the one stored in her memory—the eager-to-please boy who once bent over backward for her. But she couldn’t retreat now; she’d already committed. Summoning false sweetness, she murmured, “Well, it’s been ages since we last saw each other. This is such a coincidence—I thought maybe we could grab dinner, catch up? Do you… have time?”

Chihara’s brow furrowed slightly. Catch up? There was nothing between them worth revisiting. The term “ex-girlfriend” came with quotation marks for good reason—they shared no real connection, nor did he wish to create one. “Thank you,” he replied curtly, “but I’m busy.”

“Busy with what?” she pressed.

“Private matters.”

“What kind of private matters?”

His patience began to wear thin. Why should my personal life concern you? You’re nobody to me! Meeting her gaze, his tone grew firmer. “Kondo-san, whatever happened between us is in the past. Let’s leave it there. My private affairs are none of your business. If possible, let’s pretend we don’t know each other moving forward. Would that work for you? If so, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

Had they not been standing outside the TV station, where a scene might attract unwanted attention, he would’ve walked away without another word. Instead, he finished his polite dismissal and nodded, turning toward the train station. As he left, Konto Airi stood frozen, confusion clouding her eyes.

Good enough, he thought. If she has any shred of dignity, she won’t bother him again. Better to part ways cleanly, letting old ties fade into oblivion.

Besides, he wasn’t foolish. He could see through her act—she wanted something from him. Had she stuck by his side during his lowest moments, things might be different. Even without romantic feelings, he wouldn’t hesitate to repay kindness. But this woman? She hadn’t hesitated to cut ties the moment his fortunes soured. While others might forgive her fickleness or remain friendly out of generosity, Chihara wasn’t wired that way. To him, Kondo Airi lacked integrity, plain and simple. He owed her nothing.

He quickened his pace, but before long, she caught up again, pleading softly. “Rinto, what’s wrong? Why are you angry? I didn’t mean anything by it. I’ve just been so stressed lately, and I needed someone to talk to. You were always there for me before. Just this once, can we share a meal? Please?”

Her eyes welled with tears, her desperation palpable. “Please, please,” she begged. “I’ve been through so much recently.”

Most people might soften at the sight of a beautiful girl in distress, especially one using such honeyed words. Not Chihara. Fake tears meant nothing to him—he worked in entertainment, after all. Without breaking stride, he tossed over his shoulder, “Kondo-san, I told you—I’m busy. Find someone else.”

“But I don’t believe you!” she insisted, her voice rising. “You’re heading to , aren’t you? I checked—you live in northern Meguro now… Ow!” Wearing stilettos while sprinting, she nearly twisted her ankle. Chihara ignored her stumble, continuing toward the station without looking back.

“Rinto, wait! Wait!” she cried, but he remained resolute, not sparing her a glance. Gritting her teeth, Kondo kicked off her shoes and ran barefoot after him. If only I didn’t have to beg him, she thought bitterly. But I’m out of options. No matter what, I have to reel him back in.

“We had something once,” she whispered desperately. “For old times’ sake, you can’t abandon me! Be a man of conscience. Have you forgotten everything you said to me before?”

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