Otaku Translation: Absolute Number One C74

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Chapter 74: This Is a Master!

Before the crew set off, Murakami Iori followed tradition by holding a pre-shoot ceremony. Meanwhile, the studio team was putting the finishing touches on the set to ensure smooth progress for both in-studio and on-location filming. Afterward, she led and the field production team to the temporary exterior location—a makeshift "mysterious " that had been hastily rented and decorated.

Upon arriving at the “fortune-telling hut,” the crew got to work installing hidden cameras and microphones to create an immersive experience for viewers. Chihara Rinto left these technical details entirely to Murakami Iori, as they fell under her purview. He simply plopped down in front of a nearby monitor, waiting patiently for the shoot to begin.

Variety shows didn’t require directors who specialized in post-production creativity like TV dramas or films did. In fact, editing skills were far more critical for variety programs—but editors rarely needed to be present on-site. Their job began once the raw footage was delivered.

As Chihara observed the bustling activity around him, his expression remained calm and composed. He hoped everything would go smoothly. A decent viewership score would justify their efforts, especially since he didn’t want to add undue pressure on Murakami Iori. There was another unspoken reason behind his hopes as well—having a successful variety show could prove invaluable for promoting future TV dramas. It provided a convenient platform for soft advertising.

For instance, during the airing of a drama, actors could make guest appearances on , enthusiastically hyping up the show while also enjoying it as a perk. Since both programs belonged to the same network, coordination would be seamless—it was essentially one hand washing the other. This approach was far preferable to seeking external collaborations, where cooperation levels might vary. Otherwise, Chihara might have opted to produce another low-budget late-night drama instead.

This strategy represented a form of resource optimization. As he watched preparations unfold step by step, Konoe Hitomi entered with a stack of newspapers, bowing respectfully. “Chihara-sensei, here are the newspapers you requested.”

She had officially joined the production team, taking on the role of third-tier assistant—a polite term for a junior errand-runner. Given her lack of specialized skills, there wasn’t much Murakami or Chihara could do to offer her a higher position, so this arrangement sufficed for now. Still, Hitomi didn’t mind; she cheerfully ran errands, delivering the morning papers to Chihara before dashing off to tackle other tasks.

Chihara paid her no further attention and unfolded the newspapers, scanning for noteworthy industry news. Flipping through several editions revealed nothing new—just the usual mix of self-promotion, industry squabbles, columnists bickering, and rumors about popular actors. Nothing stood out.

He picked up another paper and immediately spotted a headline about . Upon closer inspection, he realized the article conveyed two key messages.

First, Episode 12 was set to air at 11:15 PM that night, marking the end of the first season—a reminder for audiences not to miss it. Second, the piece announced that Tales of the Unusual Season Two would move to Friday nights at 9 PM in the springtime slot, urging viewers to continue their support.

The first point was standard practice—an attempt to boost ratings with last-minute promotion. However, the second message carried deeper significance. While ostensibly aimed at viewers, its real target was competitors within the industry. By announcing their Friday night timeslot early, TEB was signaling: We’re occupying this prime time. No major productions scheduled here, please.

This was part of an unwritten code among . Despite fierce competition, the sheer number of players created a delicate balance. Direct clashes between heavy-hitters often resulted in mutual losses—if two blockbuster shows aired simultaneously, each might achieve only half the expected ratings, leading to catastrophic failure for both parties.

To avoid such disasters, producers typically gave advance notice of their plans, allowing rivals to adjust accordingly. They also monitored other networks’ schedules to gauge competition strength and decide whether to yield ground strategically. Few were willing to gamble their careers on head-to-one confrontations. Instead, a symbiotic mindset prevailed, driven partly by self-interest but also endorsed tacitly by upper management, who preferred avoiding high-risk scenarios unless absolutely necessary.

Chihara skimmed the article briefly before setting it aside. He fully intended to stir the pot, and ’s actions suited him perfectly. Inadvertently, Ishii was clearing obstacles for Human Observation. Any preemptive announcements from Kanto United TV held little weight against entrenched competitors. Even if TEB faced resistance, influential executives could orchestrate countermeasures, ensuring Kanto United TV wouldn’t gain traction easily.

Moreover, Chihara harbored doubts about Tales of the Unusual Season Two’s prospects. If tasked with producing it himself, he’d feel apprehensive. Audiences were notoriously fickle, their expectations ever-rising. Despite TEB’s strong writing team, pulling off a successful second season seemed daunting.

Lost in thought, Chihara continued reading. True to his reputation as the higher-ups’s brother-in-law, Ishii Jiro commanded abundant promotional resources. Even after flopping with a big-budget project, he still enjoyed robust backing. The article featured yet another exclusive interview, touting Tales of the Unusual’s record-breaking late-night drama ratings. Ishii confidently declared that Episode 12 would cement an unbeatable milestone.

Chihara frowned deeply, mulling over the implications—not because he wondered how stunning Ishii’s sister must be to secure such advantages, but because he suspected Ishii might brazenly claim credit for Murakami Iori’s hard work on Season One. Though Ishii avoided outright statements, his tone implied ownership of the entire series.

It was audacious, considering Ishii had joined only after the wrap party for Season One. What business did he have claiming glory for something he barely contributed to? Chihara silently cursed, irritated by Ishii’s shamelessness.

Just then, Murakami Iori sat down beside him, brimming with energy. She grinned. “Chihara, everything’s ready. Should we start with the non-professionals or the actors?”

By “non-professionals,” she referred not to ordinary civilians but rather staff members or extras unaware they were participating in a show. Occasionally, genuine laypeople appeared, usually with family consent or as part of interactive segments requiring pixelation. These unwitting participants often yielded unexpectedly compelling footage—or sometimes none usable at all.

To hedge their bets, the team brought along professional extras. If the amateurs failed to deliver, the actors would step in. Regardless, today’s goal was clear: secure enough material for at least half an episode.

Chihara trusted Murakami Iori to handle logistics. His role focused on creative oversight and final edits, leaving operational details to her. Soon, he’d retreat to his office to focus on the upcoming blockbuster script—he lacked time for trivialities.

Smiling, he replied, “You decide. Either way works.”

Murakami didn’t hesitate. “Let’s try the amateurs first. If we don’t get good footage, we’ll switch to the actors.”

With her command, the crew sprang into action. The first unsuspecting participant arrived—a young woman in her mid-twenties, carefully selected as a friend of one of the crew members. Occasionally moonlighting as an extra, she’d signed a basic acting contract, believing she was merely hanging out with a friend.

Her companion dragged her into the supposedly renowned “fortune-telling hut.” Though puzzled, she wasn’t surprised— were immensely popular in Japan, boasting surprisingly high ratings. Shrugging, she sat down.

The “fortune-teller” was neither actor nor professional but a crew member playing dress-up. Lighting candles and sprinkling essential oils, they mimed mystical gestures over a , embodying Japan’s penchant for theatrics. Fixing the young woman with a vacant stare, they murmured, “Are you a ?”

Startled, she gasped softly. “Ah…?”

Ignoring her reaction, the fortune-teller gazed intently at the fake 700-yen glass orb. “You love flowers and cats, your blood type is AB, and you dislike spicy food?”

Eyes widening, the young woman leaned forward, peering at the inert orb. Despite knowing it was fake, awe crept over her. Could divination really be this accurate? No wonder people obsessed over it!

Nodding fervently, she whispered, “Yes, that’s me! You… you’re amazing!”

“You’re currently in a low phase of ,” the fortune-teller droned, fully immersed in their role. Having memorized the script, they delivered the next lines effortlessly. “But worry not—your luck is rebounding, especially in romance. Soon, it will peak. Your destined partner awaits.”

Blushing slightly, the young woman couldn’t resist asking, “What… what’s he like?” She marveled at receiving such specific insights about her future spouse. Hopefully, he’d be gentle and capable!

Without missing a beat, the fortune-teller elaborated: “He’s 177 cm tall, blood type O, slim, wearing a gray coat, black casual pants, and carrying a red-and-black shoulder bag. Most notably, he wears a black knit cap. Yes, that’s him—your soulmate. When you meet him, don’t hesitate. Approach immediately—you can’t afford to miss this chance!”

Swallowing nervously, the young woman struggled to believe her ears. Such detail! Wasn’t astrology supposed to provide vague personality traits? This description bordered on criminal precision.

While she processed the revelation, the fortune-teller gently swiped the orb, as if erasing a mystical vision. Bowing slightly, they added, “That’s all I can reveal. Ultimately, fate rests in your hands. That’ll be 500 yen, thank you.”

Only 500 yen? Clearly, this wasn’t a scam!

Without hesitation, the young woman placed a coin reverently on the table. This is a true master, she thought. I’ve never met anyone like this fortune-teller!

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