Otaku Translation: Absolute Number One C71

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The negotiations proceeded smoothly, and for , this deal was a no-brainer—a highly profitable investment. ’s proven ability to create hit programs was exactly what desperately needed. They were more than willing to invest in such talent, as their biggest concern at the moment was the lack of compelling content to compete for viewership share.

If Chihara turned out to be merely competent, producing mediocre shows with average ratings, it wouldn’t make much difference—they’d lose nothing significant beyond some wasted goodwill. As a major network, even a failed big-budget production wouldn’t shake their foundation. And if Chihara ended up being a one-hit wonder whose subsequent projects flopped spectacularly, well, they could still frame it as an act of faith in new talent—a “thousand gold pieces for a horse bone” gesture. After all, they could always say, Look how supportive we are of newcomers. If you’re unhappy at one of the Big Five networks, why not give us a try?

With that mindset, Shiga Ayumu barely haggled over any of Chihara’s demands, agreeing to them almost instantly. This left Chihara even more impressed by the man’s straightforwardness. Smiling, he concluded, “There’s just one final point. Regarding the crew structure, I’d like Murakami-san here to serve as the executive producer for the variety show, with full authority over operations. I hope this will be clearly stated in the contract so there won’t be a repeat of what happened at Tokyo Eizo Broadcasting (TEB). As for me, I’ll take on…”

“Hold on a second,” Murakami Iori interjected, cutting him off mid-sentence with a polite smile. Turning to Shiga Ayumu, she added, “Director Shiga, while Chihara might have limited time available for the variety show due to his other commitments, I’m happy to step in as the producer. However, for the summer season’s larger project, I believe the creative lead should fall under the main screenwriter’s purview.”

Chihara shot her a surprised glance. This wasn’t something they’d discussed beforehand. But Murakami met his gaze firmly, silently signaling that this arrangement made sense. Kanto United TV had clearly come knocking because of Chihara’s reputation. The springtime variety show was essentially a warm-up exercise—she didn’t mind taking charge of that. But when it came to the bigger production, she felt it would be inappropriate to claim control over key decisions like casting or final editing rights. This opportunity belonged to Chihara—it wasn’t hers to seize, unlike their previous collaboration.

Shiga Ayumu simply nodded, maintaining his neutral smile. He didn’t intend to meddle in internal team dynamics. While writer-led productions weren’t common in Japan, they weren’t unheard of either, nor did they violate industry norms. Ultimately, his priority was ensuring smooth output from the team—and since these two were evidently a united front, who held which title mattered little to him. Why bother inserting himself into their affairs?

After a brief hesitation, Chihara relented. Given their close relationship, the nominal leadership role didn’t matter much; decisions would likely continue to be collaborative anyway. Moving on, he continued, “Additionally, Director Shiga, could you help us select a few capable individuals for the finance team? It would also be great if you could assign someone to oversee financial supervision.”

Money matters required caution, after all. This request served to reassure investors and demonstrate their sincerity—it was important to show Kanto United TV where their funds were going.

Shiga Ayumu was pleasantly surprised by their thoughtfulness and professionalism. His confidence in the project grew significantly; these two clearly weren’t looking for a quick payday but instead seemed intent on fostering a long-term partnership. After exchanging a few polite pleasantries, he readily agreed, planning to send over a trustworthy yet discreet individual—someone who would observe quietly without interfering.

Pausing briefly, he asked, “Are there any special arrangements regarding the rest of the team? Please feel free to speak up, Chihara-sensei.”

Given that only Chihara and Murakami were present—clearly the core brains behind the operation—he assumed there must be others assisting them. To demonstrate good faith, he prepared to arrange additional support staff, allowing them to focus fully on creativity and program development.

Chihara chuckled awkwardly. Their current team consisted solely of the two of them, though they hoped to expand soon. Still, he maintained a composed expression, replying, “For now, it’s primarily just us. Perhaps we’ll bring on one or two assistants, but nothing too elaborate. A simple contract will suffice once we finalize things.”

“I see,” Shiga said, unfazed. Kanto United TV certainly wasn’t short on manpower. Extending his hand—not daring to shake Murakami’s—he grasped Chihara’s firmly, saying earnestly, “Then let’s consider this settled, Chihara-sensei, Murakami-san. The success of the program rests in your hands.”

“We’ll do everything in our power to deliver results and secure a top spot on the ratings chart for Kanto United TV!” Chihara replied with equal conviction, sealing the promise with a firm handshake. With that, the preliminary partnership was cemented. On Kanto United TV’s side, the deal reflected remarkable trust—they hadn’t even reviewed the proposal or script before committing, banking entirely on Chihara’s reputation. Meanwhile, the duo was equally motivated, eager to capitalize on this opportunity for mutual benefit. Whether it truly succeeded depended, as always, on performance.

Murakami accompanied Shiga to handle specifics like contracts, office space, and orientation tasks. These logistical details didn’t require Chihara’s involvement. His immediate task was to draft the initial concept for , after which he could focus on crafting the summer drama’s screenplay. Responsibilities like assembling the team and conducting preliminary casting fell squarely on Murakami’s shoulders.

As per usual, as the primary creative force, Chihara’s highest priority was writing. Other duties mostly involved making appearances, offering input, or approving decisions.

This was precisely why he insisted on bringing Murakami aboard. Without a reliable partner, he’d be stretched far too thin. There were countless tasks—neither trivial nor monumental—that demanded attention. Without someone dependable to share the load, he’d constantly live in fear of oversight.

After seeing Shiga and Murakami off, Chihara hesitated for a moment before borrowing the café’s phone to call Konoe Hitomi. He’d landed a promising new job, and he wondered how the former was faring. Her resignation had been partly tied to him, and if she was open to it, he wanted to offer her a position. Skills could be cultivated, but her character—kind, principled, and reliable—was already commendable.

Using the contact information she’d left him, he dialed her number. The person who answered was curt and irritable, barking, “She’s out working,” before hanging up. In the background, the clatter of mahjong tiles echoed…

Chihara sighed, pocketing the phone. After a moment’s thought, he decided to visit . He recalled her mentioning that she worked at a fish stall there, handling tasks like slaughtering and delivering fish.

Akashi Pier wasn’t far from where he lived, located near the seaside in the neighboring district. He arrived quickly and navigated toward the fish market. The air reeked of salt and fish, prompting him to pinch his nose as he inquired about Hitomi’s whereabouts. She was a regular presence, and her distinctive appearance made her easy to identify. Soon enough, someone pointed him in the right direction, leading him to a stall deep within the bustling market.

There stood Konoe Hitomi, clad in black rubber boots and a dark green waterproof apron. Armed with a long-handled net, she wrestled with a massive fish in a large pool, splashing water everywhere. Her face was scrunched in concentration, brows furrowed. Nearby lay a blood-streaked wooden block adorned with various knives, surrounded by scattered fish scales and buckets brimming with entrails.

So she hadn’t exaggerated—her part-time gig really did involve playing butcher to marine life.

Chihara watched as she hauled a particularly feisty fish onto the chopping block, giving it a couple of smacks before pinning it down. She tossed her ponytail back and reached for a knife, muttering complaints about the unpleasantness of the task.

Not wanting to get drenched in fish guts, Chihara called out from a safe distance, “Hitomi!”

Her ponytail swung as she turned, eyes widening in surprise before lighting up with joy. Clutching the knife, she hurried over, exclaiming, “Chihara-sensei! What brings you here? Are you here to buy fish? Let me pick out the best one for you!”

Chihara instinctively took a step back. “Let’s talk first—put the knife down, please!”

Realizing her faux pas, Hitomi blushed slightly, tucking the knife behind her back. Chihara couldn’t help but chuckle; her antics always amused him. Grinning, he said, “I’ve found work—at Kanto United TV, working on a new program. Would you like to join me? I can offer you a position paying around 165,000 yen per month.”

This salary aligned with entry-level assistant roles at TEB, and he assumed Kanto United TV’s rates would be similar—perhaps differing by no more than 10,000 yen.

Hitomi’s eyes widened in delight. “Eh? Are you asking me to become an actress, Chihara-sensei?”

“No!” Chihara shuddered at the thought. Hitomi was still at the amateur level, and placing her in front of the camera now would spell disaster—for both her and the director. Laughing, he clarified, “It’s just a regular assistant role within the production crew. Interested?”

Without hesitation, Hitomi responded, “Yes! Wait for me, Chihara-sensei!”

Anything beat gutting fish. Dropping the knife, she kicked the wriggling fish back into the pool, abandoning her post without another word. Moments later, she emerged from the shop behind the stall, having swapped her boots and apron for street clothes, clutching a thousand-yen bill and handful of coins. Beaming, she declared, “I’m ready, Chihara-sensei!”

Chihara tried to explain, “You don’t need to quit immediately…” The production hadn’t even started yet. But Hitomi waved off his concerns, skipping happily alongside him as they exited the market. “It’s fine—I was only freelancing anyway, and I hated that job. Honestly, I don’t understand why people love eating fish so much!” Curious, she asked, “What will my main responsibilities be tomorrow, Chihara-sensei?”

You won’t start tomorrow! Chihara thought, but seeing her round face alight with excitement, he couldn’t bring himself to dash her hopes. The production was set to launch within a few days, and letting her relax for a bit wouldn’t hurt. Smiling, he replied, “You’ll start as my personal assistant.”

Tasks like tidying the office, brewing tea, running errands, and printing documents would keep her busy during the early stages.

Hitomi nodded enthusiastically. “Understood, Chihara-sensei! You can count on me—I’ll work hard. Look forward to my contributions!”

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