Otaku Translation: Absolute Number One C60

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Chapter 60: "What A Piece of Trash!"

The so-called Senior Managing Director Kurata, named , was someone had certainly heard of. Even though they hadn’t interacted directly, it was essential to know about one’s superiors’ superiors in the workplace—it was simply how things worked.

Kurata was a quasi-senior leader responsible for personnel matters within the production bureau, reporting directly to the —the supreme authority overseeing planning approvals, budget allocations, personnel decisions, and resource management. The chairman of the committee held the highest position in the production bureau and also served as the deputy station director, making him a key contender for the next station director role. In short, he was part of the core leadership of the broadcasting network.

For production teams under the bureau, producers were considered the backbone—akin to project managers or branch heads. Any coordination with the bureau should go through them. So why was Kurata summoning Chihara personally? Something didn’t add up. Chihara suspected Murakami Iori might indeed be in trouble, but when he tried to fish for information from the young man leading him, the latter proved slippery and tight-lipped, brushing off his questions with vague pleasantries.

Soon enough, the young man escorted Chihara to a luxurious office, knocked lightly, and opened the door halfway before bowing respectfully. “Kurata-san, Chihara-sensei has arrived.”

Behind the desk sat a robust man in his forties, engrossed in writing something. Hearing the announcement, he looked up, his face lighting up with delight. To Chihara’s surprise, Kurata rose immediately, bypassing formalities, and grasped Chihara’s hand warmly. “No need for ceremony, Chihara-sensei! Your name is well-known among several committee members lately. Please, come in, sit down…” Turning to the assistant, he added briskly, “Bando-kun, quickly! Bring us the finest . Don’t make any mistakes!”

Kurata exuded none of the usual hierarchical stiffness, instead radiating an almost excessive friendliness, even using honorifics. Before Chihara could process what was happening, he found himself seated on a plush sofa while Kurata settled across from him. Opening a gilded cigar box on the coffee table, Kurata grinned invitingly. “These are handmade —would you care to try?”

Chihara politely declined. “Thank you, but I don’t smoke. You’re too kind.” Pausing, still unclear about the purpose of this meeting, he ventured cautiously, “I imagine your schedule must be quite busy, Kurata-san. Might I ask why you’ve summoned me specifically?”

Closing the cigar box without hesitation, Kurata chuckled good-naturedly. “Nothing urgent, really. Just wanted to meet with the creative team behind and share some updates. It seems only you’re available at the moment, so I’ll likely repeat myself later.”

“What updates?” Chihara asked.

“The programming committee is extremely pleased with the achievements and records set by Tales of the Unusual. You all have worked hard, and once the final ratings are confirmed after the season concludes, additional rewards will follow. Let me congratulate you in advance, Chihara-sensei!” As expected of someone specializing in human resources, Kurata’s tone was magnetic and disarming. When the tea arrived, he urged Chihara to taste it. “Please, try this. It’s the highest-grade gyokuro—a hundred tea bushes yield barely enough for such quality. For someone as talented as yourself, I wouldn’t hesitate to bring out my best.”

Chihara thanked him again, feeling somewhat more at ease. Clearly, this wasn’t bad news. Perhaps the bonus would exceed a million yen?

Under Kurata’s enthusiastic insistence, Chihara took a sip of the supposedly exquisite “gyokuro.” To his untrained palate, it tasted like ordinary green tea—pleasant enough, but not extraordinary.

Setting the cup down, he smiled diplomatically. “Truly remarkable tea. Thank you for going to such lengths, Kurata-san.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Take half a canister home with you—please, don’t refuse. Such tea suits someone of your caliber perfectly.” Kurata’s gratitude overflowed visibly, but he soon steered back to business. “Additionally, the programming committee has decided to move Tales of the Unusual to next season. With this comes great responsibility. On behalf of and the production bureau, I implore you to continue giving your utmost effort. My heartfelt thanks in advance.”

Kurata bowed deeply, hands resting on his knees, sincerity etched into every gesture. Chihara felt compelled to return the courtesy, murmuring modestly, “It’s my duty. There’s no need for such formality.”

He couldn’t help but warm to Kurata. Whether genuine or feigned, such affability was commendable in the workplace—you weren’t here to make friends, after all.

Kurata brightened further, his expression brimming with admiration. “I’d assumed someone as gifted as you might be difficult to approach, yet your demeanor proves otherwise. No wonder you shattered late-night drama viewership records.” His words flowed smoothly, accompanied by animated expressions, as if encountering a rare breed of writer—one untainted by eccentricity. Smiling broadly, he continued, “There’s one more matter. For the upcoming season, the programming committee plans to significantly increase the show’s budget and promotional efforts. If you have specific requests, please submit them formally…”

As Kurata elaborated, Chihara listened attentively, though unease crept into his thoughts. These were matters typically relayed through the producer. Why address them directly to him? Was this an indication of special favor—or confirmation that Murakami had indeed been suspended?

Intent on clarifying, Chihara prepared to interject—but froze mid-thought as Kurata mentioned, “…to enhance the creative team’s overall strength, we plan to assign a more experienced producer…”

“Excuse me,” Chihara interrupted sharply, unable to mask his astonishment. “The programming committee intends to appoint a new producer to our team?”

Kurata nodded enthusiastically. “Precisely. This decision aims to elevate the program’s success in the coming season…”

“And what of Murakami-san?” Chihara pressed, abandoning politeness entirely. “Will she remain as the primary producer?”

Kurata’s smile wavered slightly, his tone growing somber. “Murakami-san has other assignments awaiting her.”

Chihara’s expression hardened. After a prolonged silence, he asked quietly, “Who’s taking over her show?”

Though replacing producers wasn’t unheard of—often due to accidents, resignations, retirements, or death—it was incomprehensible in Murakami’s case. She was alive and kicking, albeit occasionally overwhelmed. How dare they replace her?

Despite her low profile, Tales of the Unusual Season One owed much of its success to her steady oversight. Promoting her naturally made sense. Yet now, abruptly sidelining her reeked of foul play—someone coveted this lucrative project. Not merely seeking a slice of the pie, but aiming to seize control completely, deeming her expendable.

Chihara wasn’t naive. The pieces fell into place swiftly: Murakami had been sidelined—likely suspended—and this revelation ignited righteous indignation. Kurata, caught off guard by Chihara’s directness, faltered momentarily before recovering with a strained smile.

“You misunderstand, Chihara-sensei. There’s no ‘her show.’ All programs belong to the production bureau. She fulfilled her mandate admirably, and the bureau acknowledges her contributions fully…”

“Who’s taking over?” Chihara cut in, spine straightening, his jovial facade vanishing. His gaze sharpened, commanding respect. “Is it ?”

Ishii Jiro’s recent flop with had ended disastrously, culminating in public disputes with his original creative team. Chihara suspected him instantly. The man had squandered promising opportunities, leaving chaos in his wake. Now, he sought to poach others’ teams?

"What A Piece of Trash!"

Chihara's transformation was striking. Gone was the affable collaborator; in his place stood a figure exuding authority. Kurata, unexpectedly intimidated, struggled to maintain composure. Adjusting his posture subtly, he replied evasively, “This decision originates from the highest levels—it’s irreversible. Please, Chihara-sensei, let this matter rest. It doesn’t concern you directly and won’t impact your interests.”

Pausing, he abandoned diplomacy altogether. “The incoming producer boasts broader connections, ensuring enhanced promotional resources beneficial to everyone involved—including you, the crew, the bureau, and even myself.”

“Chihara-sensei, your future shines brightly. Don’t jeopardize it. Should you excel next season, the programming committee will nominate you for the this November. Given your record-breaking achievements, securing the prize is virtually guaranteed. Additionally, your short dramas will compete for . Together, these accolades amount to 22 million yen in prize money—not to mention their long-term career benefits.”

His sincerity dripped palpably. “With such incentives, isn’t compliance reasonable? Please cooperate with the new producer, prioritize smooth transitions, and focus on creating outstanding work. That’s why I’ve taken the time to speak with you today. If Murakami-san voices grievances, disregard them.”

Kurata spoke undeniable truths, confident in swaying Chihara. Fame, fortune, and prestige awaited—what grounds for resistance remained? In the corporate world, refraining from betrayal equated to virtue. What did Murakami’s fate matter? They’d collaborated briefly—nothing more.

For a fleeting moment, Chihara wavered. He craved recognition, wealth—tools vital to achieving his ambitions. Sacrificing Murakami? No, turning a blind eye sufficed. Compliance promised rewards without repercussions. Self-preservation dictated acquiescence.

He nearly capitulated—but then remembered:

Murakami Iori wasn’t just another colleague. She was a comrade who’d marched alongside him toward shared goals.

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