Otaku Translation: Absolute Number One C85

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Chapter 85: Time to Hit the Dinner Table

As the head of the production bureau at , faced immense pressure to deliver results. After all, the fundamental purpose of a commercial broadcaster was to make money, and money depended on ratings, which in turn relied on quality programming. Unfortunately, as a fledgling network formed through a recent merger and reorganization, Kanto United TV lacked both talent and legacy. Their programs often failed to resonate with audiences, leaving Shiga perpetually frustrated.

To address this, he focused on strengthening the production bureau’s capabilities, actively seeking out overlooked talent. His efforts paid off when he recruited several individuals who had fallen out of favor with the "" networks, including ’s small team. It wasn’t ideal—top-tier professionals rarely considered smaller networks—but Kanto United TV had to settle for picking up scraps.

After bringing Chihara’s team aboard, Shiga didn’t micromanage. He was far too busy to hover over them daily but ensured they received adequate funding. He planned to check in closer to the summer season, expecting their big project then. However, he hadn’t anticipated that their "training exercise," , would take off so spectacularly.

Episode 5’s average viewership hit 16.7%. While modest compared to the Big Five’s standards, it was remarkable for Kanto United TV. Among their 71 currently airing programs, only four achieved such ratings—and just one exceeded 20%. Recognizing the significance, Shiga called an emergency meeting to review Human Observation. After thorough analysis, the consensus was clear: if maintained, the show could steadily build momentum, potentially reaching an average viewership of 25% within a few seasons. Such prospects were thrilling.

A program capable of hitting 25% warranted serious consideration for cracking the top ten rankings—even if chances were slim by season’s end. Energized by this revelation, Shiga immediately headed to the Human Observation set, eager to play the role of a supportive leader. If even a training exercise could succeed, it proved the team’s prowess.

Arriving unannounced, Shiga’s visit felt like an impromptu inspection. Amid startled greetings, he quickly made his way to Chihara’s office. As he prepared to knock, he noticed the door slightly ajar and heard voices inside.

"This plot doesn’t need to be advanced prematurely. While heightened conflict might seem appealing, TV storytelling hinges on structure. Rushing it disrupts balance, doing more harm than good."

"Sensei, what exactly do you mean by 'structure'?"

"Well, most shows follow a . Haven’t you noticed? Let me explain using detective dramas as an example..." Chihara Rinto was revising the script with while imparting lessons to him. Drawing from modern analyses of , he sketched examples on scrap paper.

"A typical 12-episode season is divided into three arcs. Episodes 1–4 establish characters, settings, and subplots while resolving standalone cases. Episodes 5–8 introduce ongoing mysteries or flashbacks. The final arc, Episodes 9–12, drives the main storyline, exploring deeper themes and culminating in a climactic finish. This structure ensures coherence and engagement, even for weaker stories."

"I see! Our new script seems to follow this pattern."

"Precisely. It’s a tried-and-true method. Even mediocre tales benefit from its clarity and pacing. At minimum, it respects the audience’s time."

Chihara paused, curious. "Didn’t your professors cover this in school?"

"No, I’ve never heard of it!"

Chihara nodded thoughtfully. Perhaps no one had formally documented these insights yet—or perhaps communication barriers in this pre-internet era hindered widespread dissemination. Alternatively, each production bureau might operate independently, adhering to unique systems rather than converging toward standardized practices.

Before he could ponder further, applause interrupted his thoughts. Turning, he saw none other than Shiga Ayumu standing there, clapping enthusiastically. "Brilliant, Chihara-sensei! Your explanation was spot-on—especially emphasizing respect for the audience. That mindset is crucial for any producer!"

Caught off guard, Chihara rose politely. "Director Shiga, you flatter me. We were merely discussing casually. Might I ask why you’re here?"

Shiga entered the room, smiling warmly. "No particular reason. Just checking in on your working conditions. How are things going?"

Chihara understood; investors naturally wanted updates on their investments. Still, a personal visit from the bureau director seemed unusual but not unwelcome. He promptly instructed Shiraki Keima: "Go fetch Murakami-san. Tell her Director Shiga has arrived."

This was code for preparing detailed reports. Over the past month, Chihara had largely isolated himself, leaving day-to-day operations to Murakami Iori. Should Shiga inquire about specifics, Chihara feared embarrassment due to his lack of involvement.

Shiraki responded with a quick acknowledgment and hurried toward the door. Shiga Ayumu, feigning a casual attempt to stop him, chuckled and said, "No need, no need. I’m just here for a quick visit—don’t let me disrupt Murakami-san’s work."

Shiraki hesitated, but Chihara signaled firmly. Leadership pleasantries weren’t to be taken literally. Once Shiraki departed, Chihara invited Shiga to sit and ordered tea. Observing the cluttered office—the banner that read Absolutely Number One, the crumpled papers, the sleeping bag peeking out beneath the desk—Shiga sighed. "I haven’t visited lately. I apologize for the inadequate facilities. Please let me know if you need anything."

Chihara smiled. "It’s fine. Everything necessary is here." Truthfully, it was better than ’s accommodations. More importantly, he sought clarity on Shiga’s intentions. "Director Shiga, is there something specific you’d like regarding the program? Feel free to speak openly."

Investors often requested adjustments—soft advertisements, format tweaks, etc.—and Chihara was prepared to accommodate reasonable demands. Shiga reassured him: "Please don’t misunderstand the intention of my visit, Chihara-sensei. The bureau is extremely pleased with the program. I’m here to congratulate you and Murakami-san on creating such a success!"

Chihara was baffled. Having distanced himself from Human Observation, he remained unaware of its details. Earlier that morning, they’d mentioned surpassing 16% viewership—a milestone hardly worth celebrating in his eyes. His aspirations aligned with producing iconic dramas that garnered national acclaim and substantial profits. A mere variety show achieving 16% felt underwhelming.

Doubting Shiga’s sincerity, Chihara assumed sarcasm. Perhaps exceeding the weekly nine-million-yen budget for such middling results displeased the bureau director. Adopting a contrite expression, he responded: "The current ratings are indeed modest, and growth has slowed. However, for a new variety show, progress has been commendable. Short-term breakthroughs are challenging, but rest assured, we’ll strive diligently to improve."

Apologizing preemptively and pledging improvement was standard protocol when addressing superiors. Yet Shiga found himself bewildered. Why apologize? In just five weeks, Human Observation ranked fifth among Kanto United TV’s offerings—a feat worthy of celebration! If Chihara felt compelled to self-criticize, shouldn’t Shiga consider firing half the bureau?

Uncertain how to navigate Chihara’s peculiar logic, Shiga clarified: "The bureau is genuinely satisfied with the program’s performance and holds high expectations. Don’t overthink this, Chihara-sensei."

Still perplexed, Chihara wondered whether Shiga’s words carried hidden criticism. Just then, Murakami Iori arrived, offering formal updates on the show’s progress and future plans. Her professionalism suited the occasion—addressing the uppermost echelon required decorum.

Shiga grew increasingly exasperated. What began as a goodwill visit morphed into a formal work inspection, undermining camaraderie. Interrupting Murakami mid-presentation, he suggested: "It’s nearly lunchtime. There’s a great restaurant nearby. Let’s continue our discussion over food."

Enough was enough—it was time to hit the dinner table before this turned entirely transactional!

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