Otaku Translation: Absolute Number One C62

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Chapter 62: Plucking the Fruit? Dream On!

strode briskly back to the office, ignoring the startled and uneasy glances from the female clerks. Without hesitation, he marched straight behind the partition.

Shiraki Keima was waiting there. Seeing Chihara approach, he immediately stood up, agitated. “Chihara-sensei, I just heard rumors that Ishii-san is taking over our production team. And some say said a lot of harsh things to the . They asked her to apologize publicly, but she refused. It’s not just suspension—it might be more severe punishment…”

Chihara waved his hand dismissively, signaling he already knew. Details didn’t matter. “Shiraki-kun, call Murakami-san for me. Ask her to call back.”

“Yes, Chihara-sensei!” Shiraki hesitated briefly before rushing to the office landline. Though still anxious inside, seeing Chihara’s apparent calmness brought him some reassurance.

Meanwhile, Chihara went directly to his desk and began rummaging through everything—every piece of paper, every notebook filled with shorthand notes he’d used daily. A large pile quickly formed. Initially, he considered burning it all, but then realized the smoke would raise suspicions. What if they accused him of arson? Instead, he stuffed all the papers into drawers, doused them with water, and started mashing them into pulp.

Pulping had the same effect as burning—and unlike carrying away boxes of evidence, which could get him flagged at security, this method left no trace. Even setting aside personal principles or obligations to comrades, he simply disliked people like . Snatching someone else’s show? That was taboo!

More importantly, Tales of the Unusual represented an unspoken deal between him and Murakami Iori. She had helped him enter this semi-closed industry, offering him favorable terms, while he repaid her by creating a hit series that would establish her as a rising producer. Back then, he was a nobody—an expelled university student with neither fame nor experience. It took Murakami’s bold decision to trust and collaborate sincerely with him. Protecting her position wasn’t just fair; it was right. After all, extending their partnership for another season or two wouldn’t hurt. But what was Ishii Jiro? Some opportunist who saw their success and decided to swoop in?

Dream on!

He had no intention of working with someone like Ishii Jiro—even without prior animosity, he couldn’t trust such a person. If Murakami Iori couldn’t resume her role as producer, staying on the Tales of the Unusual team held no meaning for him. Three months’ loss was manageable. Though painful, setbacks were part of life. He hadn’t walked away empty-handed—he’d gained money, minor fame, and valuable experience. That was enough.

With a stern expression, Chihara continued mashing paper into pulp, turning his desk into a soggy mess resembling an undigested cesspool. His painstaking efforts over recent weeks were obliterated in moments.

When Shiraki returned, he was shocked by the scene. Suspecting Chihara might have lost his mind, he stammered, “Chihara-sensei… Murakami-san called back… Um, what happened? Why are you doing this?”

Chihara wiped his hands and patted Shiraki’s shoulder, smiling faintly. “Shiraki-kun, I’ve caused you trouble these past three months. I’m resigning now. I won’t be coming back, so we may not meet again. Take care of yourself.”

Shiraki froze, unsure how to respond. Despite gathering gossip, he still hadn’t grasped the full situation. Hesitating, he followed Chihara a few steps before asking, “What should I do?”

Chihara smiled reassuringly. “This doesn’t concern you, Shiraki-kun. You don’t need to do anything.” There was no point dragging his assistant into this. With that, he picked up the phone and asked gently, “Murakami-san, where are you?”

“I’m…” Her voice sounded hollow and defeated. “I’ve been suspended, Chihara. Where I am doesn’t matter anymore.” After a pause, she forced a laugh. “Sorry, I was overwhelmed earlier and didn’t notify you all in time. I missed today’s meeting… The HR department will probably talk to you. Don’t worry—it’s standard procedure. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

Chihara sighed. He imagined her hiding somewhere, licking her wounds. Smiling faintly, he replied, “Kurata-san has already spoken to me. I want to see you. Where are you?”

“It’s not appropriate for you to visit now, Chihara. The higher-ups might take offense. I made a foolish mistake…”

“There’s nothing inappropriate about it. Tell me where you are,” Chihara cut her off firmly, eager to leave Tokyo Eizo Broadcasting (TEB) as soon as possible.

After a moment’s silence, Murakami murmured, “Thank you, Chihara. I’m at the in , tucked away down a back alley in . You’ll see the sign once you enter the alley… But you really don’t need to come. I can handle this myself.”

“Wait for me.” Chihara hung up, glanced around the office one last time, slipped on his coat, and left. Too bad he couldn’t take the computer—it would have to be replaced later. Damn you, Ishii Jiro. We were doing fine until you decided to meddle. People like you make society worse!

The computer contained no critical data anyway. Let Ishii practice typing on it. Chihara didn’t bother erasing anything further. With nothing left to lose, he walked out, Shiraki trailing behind in a daze.

Was this the end of his apprenticeship under Chihara-sensei before it had even begun?

Chihara didn’t stop him. Over three months, despite often losing track of Shiraki’s whereabouts, they’d developed a rapport. If the young man wanted to see him off, it was understandable.

But just as Chihara reached the lobby, Ishii Jiro emerged from the stairwell, tie askew. Spotting Chihara, he visibly relaxed, slowing his pace to maintain composure. From a distance, he called out with a strained smile, “Chihara-sensei, please wait!”

Chihara stopped without hesitation. As Ishii approached, Chihara preempted him. “Did you receive the message I asked Kurata-san to relay?”

Ishii nodded. Afraid of appearing smug in front of Chihara and others, he’d planned to wait until Kurata smoothed things over before taking over the team. But things had gone awry. Chihara’s reaction was extreme—money, awards, even the program itself meant nothing to him. He’d stormed off within minutes.

Avoiding the topic, Ishii pleaded earnestly, “Chihara-sensei, why are you leaving? Is there some misunderstanding?”

“No misunderstanding!” Chihara’s tone was icy. Adults didn’t need evidence to see through lies. It was obvious who was responsible!

For Ishii, this program was crucial. He couldn’t afford another failure. Swallowing his pride, he explained, “It seems there’s been a misunderstanding, Chihara-sensei. This is merely an internal personnel adjustment. Murakami was punished because… well, she accused the programming committee of gender discrimination, targeting Director Takayama Noriko, and made sarcastic remarks. Her punishment has nothing to do with me!”

“Would she have reacted so strongly if you hadn’t tried to snatch her show?” Chihara shot back. “If that’s all you’re here to say, save your breath.”

Ishii took a deep breath, forcing a smile. “I didn’t snatch her show. I’m following orders from the programming committee. She lacks seniority, experience, and as a woman, faces certain limitations. Last season, she reportedly made many mistakes and missed opportunities. If I were in charge, I guarantee I could do ten times better…”

Chihara interrupted sharply. “Where were you when ratings weren’t confirmed yet? Who bore the pressure? Who risked her career, humbly pleading everywhere? Who ran tirelessly between departments, abandoning heels altogether? When budgets fell short during filming, leading to poor meals and complaints, where were you? Who consoled everyone patiently, ensuring morale stayed high, and begged catering shops for better food? During post-production deadlines, who stayed up all night, guarding against delays, only to wake up swollen-faced and continue juggling tasks?!”

“You, a parasite feeding off others’ hard work, dare claim you’re ten times better? You’re not fit to carry her shoes!” Chihara’s temper flared. Normally mild-mannered, he unleashed his fury now. “Why am I leaving? Because I refuse to work with scum like you! Disgusting! And mark my words, this isn’t over. We’ll see how things unfold!”

With that, he turned and strode away, his voice echoing through the hall. Everyone pretended not to hear, stealing furtive glances at the unfolding drama. Ishii’s face flushed red, resembling an undercooked crab.

No matter how reasonable his excuse, snatching someone’s project was frowned upon. That’s why Ishii had hoped for a smooth transition. But Murakami hadn’t cooperated quietly, stirring up rumors instead. Now, the lead writer followed suit, making matters worse.

Humiliated, Ishii snapped, “Think you’re something special? You’re just lucky! Without you, I’ll still make the show succeed. Watch next season—I’ll prove I’m better than all of you!”

Chihara glanced back, sneering twice before walking away. Though no longer employed here, engaging in verbal sparring with trash like Ishii lowered one’s dignity.

"Go ahead and try," he thought. "You think Season Two will be easy? Think you’ve plucked a ripe fruit? Just wait—you’ll regret it."

He departed gracefully, leaving behind only the "cesspool." He’d intended to bid Shiraki farewell properly but forgot in his post-rant excitement, remembering only upon reaching Yōkan District. By then, Shiraki was long gone.

He resolved to apologize if they ever met again. For now, he began searching for Blue Dot Bar. Following signs, he descended into what seemed like an old air-raid shelter or drainage tunnel converted into an underground passageway. Navigating twists and turns like a maze, he finally found a discreet entrance—the unassuming façade of Blue Dot Bar.

"You’ve really crawled into a hole to lick your wounds," he muttered as he pushed the door open. The space was cramped, with just a bar counter and a row of seats. Dim lighting made it easy to cry unnoticed. At this hour, there were hardly any patrons—only Murakami Iori sat alone at the far end of the counter, shrouded in shadows.

Chihara strode over confidently. Murakami snapped out of her daze, turning to force a smile. “Chihara, I’m fine. You didn’t need to come.”

Her smile looked terrible. Chihara sat beside her, unable to suppress a sigh. You’re not fine—you’re swelling again!

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