Otaku Translation: Absolute Number One C81

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Chapter 81: I’m Not That Kind of Person

turned off the TV with the remote, lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag. His face betrayed a disappointment he couldn’t conceal—two episodes in, and the gap between this season and the last felt insurmountable. Was this the lingering effect of replacing the original creator-writer?

A novice drama critic, Kameda had been assigned during the winter season to review several low-budget, small-scale programs airing throughout the day, including , a late-night show. Initially reluctant, he prepared to critique harshly but was quickly captivated after just one episode. He became an ardent fan, enthusiastically promoting it in newspapers and awarding it five stars as a "must-watch" recommendation.

The first season of Tales of the Unusual didn’t disappoint—it didn’t fade like a shooting star but instead soared, becoming a dark horse of the winter season and breaking recent late-night drama viewership records. This was deeply satisfying. Aside from a few episodes featuring clumsy idol actors—a necessity given the tight budget—the series was nearly flawless. Kameda understood the constraints and chose not to dwell on minor flaws, focusing instead on the brilliance of the show.

At the time, he hadn’t mentioned these idols, out of genuine affection for the program. Honestly, it was just that good!

Later, he heard rumors about factional struggles within , resulting in the producer and creator-writer being sacrificed and ousted from the network. Skeptical at first, he dismissed them as envy-driven gossip. But when the producer was replaced at the end of Season One and the creator-writer swapped out for Season Two, his disbelief turned to frustration. What was TEB thinking? Replacing the producer was one thing, but this show’s success hinged on its scripts. Why drive away the creator-writer?

Such talent should’ve been locked down with a lucrative contract!

Still, personnel changes within networks were none of a critic’s business. Their focus was on the quality of the drama. If Season Two remained strong, even if both the producer and writer were killed, critics would have nothing to say—that was for the police to handle. But now…

From a relatively professional perspective, Kameda found Season Two’s quality acceptable. Clearly, they’d invested heavily—better theme songs, higher production values—but comparisons killed. Against the backdrop of Season One, this new iteration lacked something. Almost every short story fell flat, lacking the resonance of classics. It was like watching a —you couldn’t deny its beauty, but it wasn’t the same.

After the first episode, Kameda refrained from harsh criticism, even omitting much mention of the show in his column. Critics had standards too; they couldn’t lash out impulsively at significant works over minor dissatisfaction—it reflected poorly on their professionalism. If quality rebounded, perhaps the creative team needed time to adapt. Forgiveness was possible, but after two consecutive episodes of such disparity…

Was it time to unleash his critique?

Finishing his cigarette, Kameda thought carefully, then picked up the phone book. Dialing a friend, he asked, “Hey, Yuta? Oh, nothing urgent—just something you mentioned last time we drank. About the shake-up in Tales of the Unusual’s creative team… Who did you hear that from?”

“Kyohei? Thanks, let’s grab a drink soon!” Hanging up, Kameda dialed again. “Kyohei, do you know the details behind Tales of the Unusual’s creative team changes? The show moved from late-night to Friday at 9 PM… Oh, your girlfriend told you? Could you ask her for more details?”

“What? Your girlfriend heard it from her sister? Her number is…? Got it, thanks… Damn it, I’m not that kind of guy—I won’t hit on her!”

Exasperated by the tangled web of information in this industry, Kameda muttered under his breath before redialing. Polite but persistent, he introduced himself: “Sorry to bother you so late—is this Adachi-san? Yes, yes, hello. I’m a friend of your sister’s boyfriend. I’m a columnist for . I’m calling to ask about the changes in Tales of the Unusual’s creative team… You heard it from a colleague? Oh, you work at TEB Production Bureau? Impressive! Could I get your colleague’s number…? Oh, inconvenient, I understand. How about I treat you to coffee tomorrow? Please share what you know…”

“Thank you so much!” After some coaxing, Adachi-san—soft-spoken and hesitant—reluctantly agreed.

Hanging up, Kameda rubbed his hands together, excitement bubbling. If he felt disappointed, countless viewers surely shared his sentiment. Investigating the drop in quality could yield a column piece that resonated widely, potentially boosting his career.

But… Adachi-san seemed pleasant, with a lovely voice. So…

He called his friend again. “Yuta, quick question… No, not about earlier. Is Kyohei’s girlfriend attractive?”

“No, I’m not hitting on her—I’m not that kind of guy! Just tell me how she looks, alright?”

“85 points? Great figure… Got it, drinks are on me later!” Kameda hung up, spirits soaring. If the older sister scored 85, the younger sister must be at least an 80. Riding the wave of Tales of the Unusual, he might land both a promotion and a girlfriend!

Lost in happy thoughts, his earlier frustration dissipated. Turning to pick out clothes for tomorrow’s date, he grinned.

---

“It really isn’t the weasel writing anymore!” exclaimed, staring at the credits. She glanced around, puzzled. “What did he do wrong? Why aren’t they letting him continue?”

Disappointed after the first episode, she’d planned to write an anonymous letter lambasting for neglecting his duties in pursuit of romance. But thankfully, Futazeno Seiko—an aspiring fangirl—had noticed the credits (something 99% of viewers ignored). To her surprise, the sole name of Chihara Rinto had been replaced by a long list of writers.

She immediately called her friends over, but the credits scrolled too fast. Unable to confirm whether Chihara’s name remained, Aiko decided to watch another episode before penning her complaint. Now certain Chihara was gone, curiosity gnawed at her.

Nishino Sagiri, munching on sunflower seeds, shook her head. “How would we know? It’s internal to the network. Even insiders probably don’t have the full story—rumors fly thick and fast there. If you want answers, you’ll have to ask him directly. But honestly, I suggest staying far away. Don’t go stirring trouble.”

She feared her impulsive friend might cause problems, but Aiko mused aloud, “You’re right… Still, I really want to know why…”

She suspected scandal—perhaps Chihara had dallied with actresses, provoking outrage. But without evidence, she hesitated to speculate. Her impression of him was poor; every encounter seemed to involve him flirting with women. In her eyes, he was no gentleman.

Futazeno Seiko, meanwhile, worried for Chihara. Imagining him heartbroken, drowning sorrows alone under dim lantern light, she sighed. “He clearly poured so much effort into this show. For him to leave after just one season is such a shame. He must be devastated.”

Pausing, she turned to her friends. “Should we keep watching this series?”

Sagiri shrugged indifferently. Without Season One’s brilliance as a benchmark, Season Two wasn’t bad—but compared to expectations, it felt bland. “It’s up to you two. If you want to keep watching, I’m fine either way.”

Aiko, straightforward in her emotions, declared firmly, “I’m done. It’s not as good as before. Watching it just makes me upset. Why bother?”

Seiko hesitated, then sighed. “I’m stopping too. Such a great concept wasted… If only could’ve continued.”

Though she found the current quality passable, she lacked enthusiasm. As a fan-oriented viewer, the switch in creators left her more disheartened than her friends. Yet, paradoxically, her admiration for Chihara grew. She marveled at how much influence one writer could wield—a genius crafting classics versus ordinary creators making shows.

Lost in reverie, she imagined herself as someone admired for talent rather than looks. But snapping back to reality, she suddenly craved Chihara’s work even more.

Jumping up, she grabbed the newspaper. “Maybe Chihara-sensei wasn’t suspended—he might’ve been reassigned. Let’s check the entertainment section for his new project!”

Aiko brightened. “That guy’s got issues, but his talent’s undeniable. If he has a new show, it might be worth watching!”

Sagiri perked up too. Several shorts from Chihara’s first season were already on her long-term VHS collection list. A new project from him was certainly worth anticipation.

Soon, the past two weeks’ newspapers were spread out. The trio huddled together, searching for clues about where their “weasel sensei” had gone.

TLN: Finally the volume 3 is completely translated

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