Otaku Translation: Absolute Number One C92

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Chapter 92: A Splash in the Night

TLN: This is a parallel world, so locations may differ; don’t take them too literally.

If trying was all it took, then so be it.

Chihara Rinto didn’t hesitate to spend 10,000 yuan on the [Discover Special Talent] item. The system promptly provided a lead: "21:09, Yamanoshita Bridge, Kotobuki Park, San’ya Neighborhood, , Tokyo. ."

As he read the message, Chihara felt a pang of frustration. Minato Ward was in southern Tokyo, while Adachi Ward lay in the northern outskirts. It was nearly nightfall—did he really have to cross the entire city? Worse still, the San'ya Neighbourhood of Adachi Ward wasn’t exactly a safe neighborhood. Known as , it housed the unemployed, homeless, ex-convicts, and disaffected youth. Crime rates were higher there, making it a poor choice for a nighttime visit.

But he had no choice. He sighed, informed Yoshizaki and Shiraki that he’d be stepping out, grabbed his coat, and left. Not far from the station, he spotted Konoe Hitomi riding her bicycle toward him. She must’ve been returning from running an errand. Since joining Murakami Iori’s team, she’d grown sharper, shedding much of her rural naivety and awkwardness.

“Chihara-sensei!” she called out cheerfully, waving enthusiastically before nearly toppling off her bike as she skidded to a stop in front of him. Chihara gave her a bemused look and smiled. “I’m just going to take care of something.”

“Is it far?” she asked, adjusting her handlebars. “Should I give you a ride?”

Chihara chuckled. “It’s quite far—I’m heading to San'ya. I’ll take the train. You go ahead; don’t worry about me.”

“To San’ya?” Hitomi tilted her head, unfamiliar with the area. Not sure she could be of any help, she could only rely, “Alright, take care, sensei! I’ll see you back at the studio!”

She pedaled off, leaving Chihara to continue toward the station. Taking a taxi would only invite traffic jams at this hour—Tokyo’s infamous gridlock could leave him stranded halfway. But just as he descended into the subway, Hitomi reappeared, panting as she handed him a pager. “Chihara-sensei, Murakami-san asked me to give this to you.”

Hitomi might not know what San'ya was like, but Murakami Iori certainly did. Though not outright dangerous, the area’s reputation warranted caution. Murakami wanted to stay in touch, ensuring Chihara’s safety by checking in periodically.

Chihara accepted the pager without protest, slipping it into his pocket while thinking perhaps it was time for him to invest in a mobile phone. As Hitomi turned to leave, she added, “Murakami-san also said… if you’re not handling personal matters, I should tag along. She thinks two people are safer than one, though I’m not sure why.”

Chihara considered this. While San'ya wasn’t rife with violent crime—after all, Tokyo remained a capital city with adequate policing—the area saw its share of petty theft and brawls. Bringing Hitomi along wouldn’t hurt. Two pairs of eyes were better than one, especially when searching for someone in such a sprawling locale. Plus, shouting for help together carried more weight.

“Alright,” he said with a smile. “Let’s go.”

They boarded the train, heading toward central Tokyo before transferring northward. Once seated, Chihara asked casually, “How have you been, Hitomi?”

Caught up in work, he hadn’t paid much attention to her lately. But Hitomi had thrived since arriving in the big city. With steady employment and promising prospects, she seemed content.

“I’m doing great, Chihara-sensei!” she beamed. “Thanks to your guidance, I’m working on set and even got to act in a couple of scenes. My income’s good too—high wages and overtime pay. I’m saving up to move out of the mahjong parlor’s attic. It’s so noisy I can’t sleep.”

“And do you still want to be an actress?” Chihara asked earnestly. “Working behind the scenes is fulfilling too—it’s less stressful than acting.”

“Yes, it’s my lifelong dream!” Hitomi replied enthusiastically. “I’m studying different acting methods—, , , and others. Sensei, which path do you think suits me best?”

She was talking about the two main schools in performing arts—Expressionism and Experiential Acting, with Method Acting being an offshoot of the experiential approach.

The representative of Expressionism could roughly be someone like . This style involves understanding the character’s inner world, but expressing it primarily through external forms—props, specific facial expressions, or signature gestures and lines—to interpret the role.

The representative of Experiential Acting would be someone like , who played the . Actors in this style must completely become the character—thinking what the character thinks, feeling what the character feels. However, this approach carries risks such as personality disorders or depression, so it’s rarely used.

As for Method Acting, it’s similar to experiential acting but doesn’t require full immersion into the character. It’s enough to express emotions similar to the character’s. For example, to portray the sorrow of a breakup, an actor could draw on the sadness they felt when their childhood dog died. The result on screen is roughly the same.

Chihara thought carefully before advising, “You might lean toward external techniques for now. Most actors develop their style naturally over time. For now, observe life closely and mimic various types of people. Start small.”

“Mimic others?” Hitomi echoed thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Chihara explained. “For example, if you’re playing a taxi driver, replicate their speech patterns, posture, expressions, habits, and gestures. If you nail those details, audiences will believe you. That’s how acting works.”

“That makes sense…” Hitomi murmured, deep in thought. “I’ll start practicing by mimicking people!”

Chihara nodded approvingly. “Exactly. Acting requires daily observation and practice.”

“Then I’ll dedicate each month to mimicking a specific type of person. Should I start with positive characters?”

Chihara smacked the back of her head lightly, laughing. “Be serious! You’re working now—you’re not a kid anymore. Stay focused!”

Hitomi winced, rubbing her neck. “I am serious, sensei! I want to improve my acting skills. I want to hear people praise me someday, to make my hometown proud and erase their mockery.”

“You’ll get there,” Chihara encouraged gently. “But stay professional. The workplace isn’t a playground. One misstep, and you’ll find yourself out of a job—and I won’t vouch for you again.”

“Yes, I understand.”

They chatted lightheartedly throughout the journey, eventually reaching San'ya. Hitomi’s cheerful demeanor proved surprisingly therapeutic, easing Chihara’s recent stress. Her innocence and optimism reminded him of simpler joys—he felt almost old next to her boundless enthusiasm.

---

By the time they arrived, night had fallen completely. Following signs, they reached Kotobuki Park—or what passed for one. The park resembled a refugee camp more than a recreational space, dotted with makeshift tents crafted from cardboard, plastic sheets, and bags. Trees were barren, their branches skeletal. The scene evoked war-torn regions rather than a bustling metropolis.

Since , industries like construction, mining, transportation, and steel production collapsed, leaving many unable to secure even temporary work. Those who remained in Tokyo gravitated toward San'ya, forming a de facto underclass. Legally entitled to welfare payments of 80,000–100,000 yen monthly, they were denied aid due to lack of fixed addresses—a bureaucratic loophole exacerbating their plight.

Navigating the park cautiously, Chihara and Hitomi encountered hollow-eyed vagrants staring blankly. Neither begged nor threatened—they simply existed, devoid of spirit. Chihara felt powerless, unable even to extend charity. Asking directions from a few relatively presentable individuals, they soon located Yamanoshita Bridge.

This place was already quite remote. Under the bridge ran a river along the side of the park, with a rather auspicious name: Yamanoshita River. Chihara Rinto looked around in all directions—there was no one particularly conspicuous. Then he checked his watch: 8:45 PM.

Hitomi’s expression was very serious. Tokyo had always seemed to her a glamorous and magnificent mega-city, like a dreamlike capital—but she hadn’t expected it to have such a dark side. It was truly shocking—she felt that the people here lived worse than those in her poor little fishing village. At least back home, they were self-sufficient, lived happily, and didn’t have to lie around waiting to die.

Feeling that she had learned a lot, she silently stood with Chihara under the dim streetlights for a long while before asking, “Chihara-sensei, why are we standing here?”

“Waiting for someone.” Chihara muttered.

“For whom?” Hitomi asked solemnly.

“A man named Yasuda Shintaro.”

“What kind of person is he?”

Chihara fell silent, unsure himself. Glancing at his watch again—21:09—he scanned the surroundings skeptically. Was the cursed system malfunctioning? There wasn’t a soul in sight…

Before he could finish doubting, a shadow emerged from the opposite end of the bridge. Beneath a broken streetlamp, a figure tipped back a bottle, drank deeply, and leapt cleanly into the river.

The splash echoed dramatically. Chihara, hand raised and words poised on his lips, found himself utterly speechless. Couldn’t you at least let me confirm your identity first?!

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