Otaku Translation: Absolute Number One C58

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Chapter 58: A New Day, A New Journey

The celebratory banquet was a resounding success.

Once everyone had arrived, Murakami Iori, the host, led the group in a collective toast. Regardless of personal preferences or alcohol allergies, all present raised a large glass of beer (minors excluded), ensuring unity before switching to , , or soft drinks as they pleased.

For the meal, Murakami had ordered a set menu, allowing the chef creative freedom. Adhering to one of —that the dish should not overshadow the natural flavors of the ingredients—the food was relatively light. Emphasizing seasonal ingredients for nourishment, the dishes featured clams, , , veal, , , and tofu, seasoned with to ward off the chill.

The presentation was exquisite, pleasing to the eye. However, , with his northern palate, felt the cost didn't justify the taste—save for the beautiful plating and elegant tableware.

Michiko steadfastly occupied her position beside Chihara, diligently serving him. She rolled up her sleeves and continuously placed choice morsels on his plate, even shucking clams and preparing them with condiments, nearly feeding him directly.

After a while, Chihara, touched by her attentiveness, whispered, "Just pretend, you should eat too."

Her diligence rivaled that of a true disciple, making him fear she might fetch a basin to wash his feet—a traditional duty of apprentices.

Michiko whispered back, "Master needn’t worry. Rather than groveling, I’d rather be useful. Besides, most of this I can’t eat."

Chihara recalled her dietary restrictions; maintaining her delicate features and camera-ready figure meant she primarily consumed greens. Especially with her mother, , nearby—constantly mingling with Murakami Iori, and even helping her entertain guests—it seemed safer to focus on the female producer than the bald director or lead writer.

As for the head writer, Michiko’s presence sufficed. With a daughter securing roles, the next season's highlights seemed assured.

Observing this, Chihara decided to fulfill some mentorly duties. He took Michiko’s chopsticks, grabbed a large piece of grilled veal, and swiftly fed it to her while Nambu Ryoko toasted Murakami Iori.

Michiko, who craved meat passionately, was overwhelmed by the savory beef. Her eyes sparkled as she chewed fervently, oblivious to everything else. Chihara chuckled, whispering, "Eat secretly. If caught, blame me."

Unable to speak, Michiko nodded vigorously—this master was worth every ounce of devotion, perhaps even a gilded tombstone!

As the feast progressed, Murakami Iori repeatedly proposed toasts, celebrating the smooth filming, record-breaking success, and promising sales. Alcohol, the social lubricant, invigorated even the most reserved, amplifying voices and laughter, heating the atmosphere.

No urging from Murakami was needed; among fifty to sixty people, spontaneous drinking flourished. Friends drank together, acquaintances bonded, and some wandered, bottle in hand, fostering connections.

Chihara Rinto was a prime toast recipient. While unspoken, ’s brilliance stemmed chiefly from its impeccable scripts. Each episode was meticulously crafted, even those spotlighting idols were engaging.

Thus, acknowledging Chihara’s pivotal role was unanimous. No dissent arose; toasting him was obligatory.

Chihara accepted gracefully, matching each toast. Though usually abstinent, he embraced the celebratory spirit. Michiko’s considerate selection of low-alcohol beverages ensured he remained lucid—more akin to vinegar than intoxication.

Workgroup members expressed gratitude respectfully, avoiding rowdy challenges. Despite his affable demeanor, respect for talent transcended age barriers. After conveying their admiration, they discreetly withdrew, minimizing disturbance.

Brokers lingered, exchanging pleasantries and business cards. Attending this banquet, despite costs, was worthwhile. Recognizing a promising genius like Chihara could prove invaluable. While Tales of the Unusual might not catapult stars, it maintained actors’ visibility and popularity.

As libations flowed, the ambiance intensified. Fujii Arima and Yoshizaki Shingo danced, joined by performers showcasing talents. Nambu Ryoko, eager to participate, suggested Michiko perform a pop dance, but Chihara dissuaded her. The establishment offered professional entertainment; no amateur performances were necessary.

From six PM until nearly midnight, accumulated stress dissipated amidst revelry. As festivities concluded, groups dispersed, planning to continue elsewhere, embodying a carpe diem spirit.

Chihara, however, remained soberest. Observing capable walkers depart, he assisted transporting incapacitated colleagues, including Fujii Arima and Yoshizaki Shingo, via taxi. He also helped Michiko escort her tipsy mother, noting the license plate as precaution. Michiko, seated, waved enthusiastically from the rear window, mouthing thanks for the delightful meal.

Smiling, Chihara turned to escort Murakami Iori. Though she drank sparingly, she swayed, gripping his hand tightly. After a prolonged silence, she earnestly thanked him.

Chihara sighed internally. Five hours yielded over thirty inebriates, including the producer. Japanese tolerance for alcohol was modest, yet enthusiasm was boundless, channeling pent-up stress into conviviality.

Gently extracting his hand, he advised, "Murakami-san, you're drunk. Let me call a cab; you should rest."

"I'm not drunk!" she insisted, pausing before reiterating, "Thank you, Chihara."

"It's nothing. Anyone would assist you." Attempting to hail a taxi, he comforted, "Time to rest, Murakami-san. We'll converse tomorrow."

"Not about that. Remember our first meeting?"

"Of course. Thank you for believing in me, offering opportunity."

Murakami Iori shook her head. “You gave me the opportunity, Chihara. Thank you… Yes, this is what I wanted to say. You delivered on everything you promised—you gave me the chance to prove myself. I really can host a show well, and no one can look down on me anymore.”

She paused, her thoughts starting to blur, and murmured, “I really love Tales of the Unusual. I hope you’ll stay here forever, but I can sense that you, Chihara, have bigger ambitions—no, that’s not the right word; it sounds rude. I should say… you have drive! You’re different from us. You have greater drive and won’t stay here forever enjoying success at this level. So I’ll make sure to take good care of your first show, to keep it running as long as possible… This is also my first show—it’s my child, and I’ll look after it. You don’t need to worry about anything… And if there’s anything you need me to do, just tell me directly. Don’t hide anything. I’ll do my best to help. This is the return I owe you.”

Alcohol rendered her discourse disjointed, logic impaired. Thus, moderation is prudent; even astute minds succumb. Chihara sighed, realizing Murakami discerned his ambitions, silently respecting them unless intoxicated.

Indeed, no one is truly naive.

Seizing a distracted moment, Chihara signaled a taxi, smiling, “Yes, I understand, Murakami-san. If I really need anything, I’ll speak up. But you don’t need to worry either—we’re friends, and I would never betray a friend who’s helped me… Alright, we’ll talk about this later. You should go home now and get a good night’s sleep.”

Murakami complied, entering the taxi. Concerned for her safety, Chihara accompanied her home, ensuring her parents received her at the apartment.

Another lesson learned: the sole sober attendee bears the burden of managing inebriates.

Reflecting thus, Chihara returned to his apartment via the same taxi. Perhaps due to residual alcohol, he relaxed, reclining against the seat, joyfully gazing out the window as ’s lights vanished into the night sky.

Midnight struck. A new day, a new journey, a fresh beginning.

End of Volume 1

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