Absolute Number One C79

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Chapter 79: Are You Still Looking for People?

Early the next morning, Chihara Rinto had barely stepped into his office when Murakami Iori followed him in, concern etched on her face. “Chihara, are you feeling unwell? Is it serious?”

That morning, she’d received a call from him saying he wasn’t feeling well and needed to visit a clinic before coming in. The meeting was postponed, which worried her. Just as Chihara fretted over her risk of burnout, she reciprocated by worrying about his health. If anything happened to such an important partner, it would be disastrous. Better to treat any illness early than push through and risk prolonged bed rest—or worse. If necessary, he could take a couple of days off. She could manage the workload in the meantime.

Chihara felt a bit awkward. Last night, he’d sneezed nonstop, eventually developing a runny nose. Worried, he’d visited the doctor that morning, only to receive an unusual prescription: clean his house thoroughly, open windows for ventilation, and deal with any mold.

It wasn’t exactly an illness—perhaps not even that. Just a mild allergic reaction, likely triggered by dust or fungal spores. Truth be told, he wasn’t one for housekeeping. His meals came from instant noodles and takeout, his laundry was dry-cleaned, and his apartment hadn’t seen a proper cleaning in nearly six months. Though he presented a polished, elite image outside, his home was a chaotic mess. He’d always managed to scrape by, ensuring guests weren’t too horrified, but he’d neglected corners and crevices entirely.

Now, karma had caught up with him!

But he couldn’t admit this to Murakami. Instead, he brushed it off with a vague, “I’m fine now, don’t worry,” and quickly changed the subject. “Have the ratings come out yet?”

Murakami scrutinized him carefully. He looked sharp in his suit, radiating competence and charm. Reassured, she relaxed and took a seat across from his desk, handing over the ratings report with a smile. “The results are good—better than expected.”

Chihara immediately began examining the report in detail.

Human Observation, despite its expanded budget, was still a standard variety show. Kanto United TV had provided standard promotional support across channels, and associated newspapers had given due coverage. As a debut episode without prior reputation or fanbase, the ratings were solidly within the norm for prime-time variety shows: an average time-slot rating of 10.35%, peaking at 11.3%, with the final five minutes settling at 11.2%.

In today’s market, the default survival threshold for prime-time variety shows was 10%. Below that, panic set in. Exceeding 10% in the premiere episode was commendable. Moreover, the ratings trend was impressively stable, rising steadily from 9.28% at the start to a peak of 11.3% near the end, with only a negligible dip afterward. This indicated viewers not only tolerated the show but actively engaged with it. Few switched channels, suggesting that as long as future episodes avoided universally offensive content, the program’s survival was assured.

This aligned closely with Chihara and Murakami’s expectations—slightly better, in fact. Neither of them carried significant clout to guarantee massive viewer turnout, so these numbers were perfectly acceptable.

They discussed the report thoroughly, finding no need for major adjustments. Their next steps were clear: continue promoting, maintain quality, and gradually build reputation. Once established, they could invite popular idols, actors, or celebrities for guest appearances to gauge further reactions.

Satisfied, Murakami left. A pragmatic yet grounded individual, she harbored no illusions of overnight stardom. Achieving above-average ratings in the first episode was already excellent—a strong foundation for competing in the timeslot. From here, steady growth toward the top ten was plausible.

Her modesty stemmed not from lack of ambition but from realism. Programs like Tales of the Unusual’s first season, which climbed steadily in popularity, were rare. Such shows relied on explosive word-of-mouth buzz, whereas variety shows typically saw incremental gains of 0.3–0.5% per episode. Gains were matched by competitors, making large gaps uncommon unless a show faltered entirely.

With Murakami gone, Chihara turned his attention to competitor ratings, particularly Tales of the Unusual Season Two. Murakami hadn’t mentioned it earlier, leading Chihara to infer its performance was strong. 

Tales of the Unusual had been her maiden project, into which she poured her heart. Even after losing control of it, she’d drunkenly vowed to continue supporting it indefinitely. Yet human nature being what it is, she might secretly hope for its failure—wishing misery upon what she once loved. But since she hadn’t brought it up, it likely performed well, sparing her distress. Out of respect, Chihara hadn’t mentioned it either. Now alone, he reviewed the figures: an average time-slot rating of 23.12%, peaking at 26.11%, with a 38.5% share of the viewing market. It ranked third, just 0.1% behind second place and 0.4% shy of first—an exceptional start.

Even Chihara was impressed. Despite the timeslot change robbing it of some core viewers (many likely still tuned in late at night), it retained stellar ratings. Not only did it carry forward momentum from Season One’s finale, but it surged by over 3%. This spoke volumes about the first season’s legacy and fan loyalty.

Once old viewers adjusted to the new schedule and natural prime-time audiences joined, Tales of the Unusual Season Two could dominate the charts, potentially reaching a 35%+ average rating. A national hit, it deserved its crown.

Chihara didn’t feel bitter. Walking away was his decision, and he accepted responsibility. Even if Season Two became a phenomenon, he wouldn’t begrudge it. Still, he doubted Ishii Jiro’s restructured team could sustain the brilliance of the first season. Those 30-odd short stories were culled from nearly 700 episodes and 2,000 shorts—the cream of 26 years’ worth of creative flashes. Replicating such genius consistently would be near impossible.

If they faltered, viewers—the harshest critics—would revolt. After tasting excellence, subpar content would drive them away en masse, leaving scathing reviews and tarnishing the show’s reputation. Chihara wagered that Episode One’s ratings might mark Season Two’s peak. At best, Episode Two could see a slight bump before declining sharply, alienating both loyal fans and casual viewers.

By then, Human Observation, strategically placed in the same timeslot, might feast on the remnants. Thanks to TEB’s announcement of the timeslot shift, competition pressure eased significantly. Even if astute observers discerned Season Two’s weaknesses, it was too late to alter course.

This maneuver, though somewhat underhanded, showcased Chihara’s cunning. In a cutthroat industry of 5,000 weekly programs vying for limited viewership, exploiting every advantage was essential. Noble intentions wouldn’t pay the bills.

Convinced Season Two was coasting on borrowed glory, Chihara dismissed its current success. Scanning newspapers, he found critics silent—neither praising nor condemning. Uncertain of the situation, they avoided premature judgment to protect their credibility.

Setting aside thoughts of Tales of the Unusual, Chihara refocused on the marathon ahead. Let Ishii enjoy his fleeting triumph; there’d be time later to seal his fate. Revenge wasn’t the priority—leveraging this opportunity to promote Human Observation and bolster his reputation mattered more.

Reaching for the phone, he planned to contact his building manager about hiring a cleaner. With no time to tidy himself, outsourcing was the only option. Moving remained a consideration, but until Human Observation proved successful, asking Kanto United TV for housing felt presumptuous.

As his hand touched the receiver, it rang. Picking it up reflexively, he asked casually, “Hello, who’s calling?”

“It’s me, Chihara,” Fujii Arima’s voice responded hesitantly. “Um… sorry to bother you, but… are you still looking for people?”


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