Otaku Translation: Absolute Number One C93

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Chapter 93: A Special Talent

Witnessing someone leap into the river left with no choice but to act. Regardless of whether this was the person he sought, saving a life took precedence. Without hesitation, he shrugged off his coat, preparing to vault over the railing and jump in after the man. However, before he could fully climb over, yanked him back forcefully.

Startled, Chihara turned to her, only to immediately understand why she’d intervened. "Hitomi, quick. Save him," he said quickly, assuming her swimming skills far surpassed his own—after all, she was a before coming to Tokyo.

But Hitomi shook her head firmly. Pointing toward the water, she explained, "Chihara-sensei, that river isn’t deep enough to drown anyone. He’ll stand up on his own."

As an expert in water-related activities, she could gauge depth based on how the person flailed. Chihara leaned over the railing for a closer look and noticed the man splashing about, choking on several mouthfuls of water before finally standing upright—the water barely reached his chest. After coughing violently for a moment, the man covered his face and began sobbing uncontrollably, exuding an aura of utter despair, like a lone wolf grieving the loss of its mate.

Realizing the man wasn’t in mortal danger, Chihara decided against jumping in. Though Tokyo’s spring evenings weren’t particularly cold, being soaked through wouldn’t be pleasant. From the bridge, he called out, "Sir, whatever happened, don’t give up hope so easily! Come back up!"

Konoe Hitomi tugged gently at Chihara’s sleeve, whispering, "Sensei, stop trying to persuade him. Once he’s cried himself out, he’ll come up on his own. Don’t worry—he’s already choked and struggled enough. Even if he still wants to die, he won’t stick his head underwater again. Drowning is agonizing; no one willingly tries it twice. Trust me, I know."

Chihara, who had trained in swimming pools rather than open waters, raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that? Have you drowned before?"

"Not exactly," Hitomi replied solemnly. "I’ve seen it happen. Back in our village, we once fished out a couple who had attempted a lovers’ suicide pact. They’d bound their hands together with chains, but when they were retrieved, their faces were nearly torn apart from clawing at each other. The elders said that their desperate need for air overpowered even love—they didn’t care what they had to do to surface, even if it meant shoving their partner underwater. It was sheer agony. So trust me, no one would want to try drowning twice."

Her tone was unusually serious, almost mature, as she concluded, "Chihara-sensei, never attempt suicide by water—it’s the most painful way to die. This is advice from a family of !"

Chihara nodded silently, finding her reasoning oddly convincing, whether or not it was scientifically sound. For a fleeting moment, his thoughts wandered to hypothetical scenarios, but he quickly snapped back to reality. Slapping the back of Hitomi’s head lightly, he scolded, "Who goes around thinking about suicide? Take those morbid words back right now!"

Rubbing her head indignantly, Hitomi muttered, "I’m just stating facts! I have no intention of dying—I’ve saved plenty of drowning people myself..."

Deciding to ignore her for the time being, Chihara resumed shouting encouragement down to the man below. But the figure remained unresponsive, refusing to answer any questions and continuing to sob despondently. Growing impatient, Chihara prepared to wade in and drag him out himself—until the police finally arrived. Clearly experienced with such incidents, they swiftly deployed a long-handled net, ensnaring the man and hauling him ashore. Judging by their efficiency, this area must see frequent jumper attempts.

Chihara rushed over to assist, taking the opportunity to scrutinize the failed suicide candidate more closely. To his immense disappointment, the man appeared far older than expected—his temples streaked with gray, suggesting an age well beyond forty-five. Even with makeup, he could never pass for "." Perhaps cosmetic surgery might work, but it seemed unlikely he was an actor at all. Sure enough, the refused to display his .

Could this not be ?

Just as Chihara entertained the thought, the police confirmed the man’s identity: it was indeed Yasuda Shintaro. At that moment, Chihara felt a wave of frustration bordering on despair. He’d missed dinner with , spent , and crossed half of Tokyo—all for... this?

Given the substantial investment already made, Chihara resolved to spend a bit more time unraveling the mystery. Helping the officers escort Yasuda to the local security office, they dried him off as best they could using heaters and towels. When the police suggested sending him to a welfare facility for the night, Chihara quickly intervened, claiming acquaintance and promising to take responsibility for his well-being. With some persuasion, they allowed him to leave with Yasuda in tow.

By now, Yasuda was completely sober, trailing behind Chihara in a daze. Though visibly shaken, he managed a polite bow of gratitude, though he remained withdrawn, his complexion ashen. Patting him gently on the shoulder, Chihara sighed. "Let’s get something warm to eat first."

Truthfully, Chihara himself was starving, and poor Hitomi hadn’t eaten either—a frustrating turn of events.

They found a small stall nearby selling ramen, oden (a type of Japanese stew), and alcohol. Along the way, Chihara stopped at a payphone to reassure Murakami Iori of his safety, explaining he hadn’t been assaulted or detained. Satisfied, they settled into the stall and ordered three large bowls of —a hearty variant of .

The ramen turned out surprisingly authentic: thin, springy noodles bathed in a rich, creamy pork bone broth that verged on decadent. A touch of (a citrus chili paste) added a unique zest, making it highly palatable—even for Chihara, whose tastes often clashed with traditional Japanese cuisine. He’d long relied on instant noodles not solely out of laziness but because many local dishes simply didn’t appeal to him.

The shopkeeper also proved intriguing. While a standard bowl cost 380 yen, customers opting for “complete consumption” (finishing every last drop of soup) paid only 280 yen. Was this a hidden gem run by some reclusive sage?

Regardless, Chihara finished his bowl quickly, then ordered oden and drinks. Under Hitomi’s expectant gaze, he also purchased a round of sake, though limited Yasuda to light beer. As they ate, Chihara coaxed Yasuda into sharing his story, which unfolded as both tragic and straightforward.

Before , Yasuda Shintaro had been a successful stock trader, educated at prestigious . However, during the market crash, his department reacted too slowly, failing to cut losses in time. Coupled with leverage and other factors, they lost everything.

While many suicides followed, the real issue arose when their section chief embezzled funds under everyone’s names to create a secret account—a common practice during the bubble era. When the losses mounted, the entire team faced charges of corruption and abuse of power. Though Yasuda bore secondary responsibility, the sheer scale of the scandal landed him a prison sentence of three years and eight months.

His life unraveled completely. Assets seized as fines, his wife filed for divorce, citing his criminal record as grounds for mandatory separation. She took their infant daughter and returned to her parents’ home, leaving Yasuda destitute. Now thirty-one, he looked decades older, his hair prematurely gray from stress during incarceration.

Post-release, Yasuda sought redemption but found society unforgiving. In Japan, ex-convicts are stigmatized, and despite his efforts, he couldn’t secure stable employment. Relatives distanced themselves, and even part-time gigs eluded him amidst the bleak economy. Today, desperate to reconnect with his daughter, he visited his ex-wife, only to be turned away. Heartbroken, he spent his meager savings on cheap liquor, drinking until despair drove him to the riverbank.

Listening intently, Hitomi sipped her sake, moved by Yasuda’s plight. She empathized deeply with urban struggles, sighing alongside him. Meanwhile, Yasuda sat motionless, utterly directionless.

Chihara sighed too, half for Yasuda, half for himself. He’d hoped for an extraordinary actor, yet the cursed system had instead gifted him a financial expert—a specialist ill-suited for his current needs.

Still, Chihara reasoned, every cloud has a silver lining. Clearing his throat, he addressed Yasuda directly. "Yasuda-san, don’t lose hope. Fate brought us together. Would you consider working for me?"

Yasuda’s eyes flickered with hope. In Japanese society, unemployment carried a heavy stigma—especially for someone in his position. After a moment of stunned silence, he asked almost instinctively, “What kind of work?” But no sooner had the words left his mouth than he stopped, overwhelmed. In an instant, he leapt off his stool and dropped to his knees, hands pressed to the floor. “No, please! Any job—anything! Just give me a chance! I beg you!”

Startled by his intensity, Chihara and Hitomi hurriedly pulled him back onto his seat. "Relax, Yasuda-san," Chihara reassured him. "You’ll handle investments—your old expertise."

"Thank you!" Yasuda exclaimed, tears streaming down his face. "I’ll work harder than ever! No mistakes this time, I swear!"

Hitomi handed him a towel, dabbing at his cheeks. Chihara patted his shoulder gently. "I believe you, Yasuda-san. But let’s maintain professionalism, alright? Kneeling isn’t necessary."

"Yes, sir!" Yasuda wiped his face vigorously, regaining composure. Composing himself, he asked earnestly, "May I ask… Chihara-san, what’s your current financial situation?"

"I’m modestly positioned," Chihara admitted. "About two million yen in savings." Accumulated painstakingly over six months, this sum largely stemmed from royalties earned via ’s successful first season, supplemented by a signing bonus from . Starting from scratch in a foreign land, surviving and saving within half a year felt like an accomplishment.

Yasuda froze, dumbfounded. Two million yen? Enough to buy collectible baseball cards perhaps?

His expression darkened again. "Thank you, Chihara-san, but I seek work, not pity..."

Pouring him another glass of light beer, Chihara countered earnestly. "This isn’t pity, Yasuda-san. Believe me. While my funds are limited now, significant royalty payments may arrive soon. I genuinely need assistance managing investments—and frankly, I lack the expertise. Your help would be invaluable."

He had been following the financial news, but the more he watched, the more dizzy he felt; it seemed that different industries were like entirely different worlds. He realized that the television production industry suited him better. He outlined his anticipated income streams, emphasizing potential growth. Finally, he offered candidly, "I can’t afford a high salary initially—perhaps just meals and pocket money—but this is legitimate work. Consider it carefully, Yasuda-san."

Yasuda hesitated. Chihara’s current finances seemed slim, but if his projections held true, future prospects appeared promising. More importantly, few trusted him these days. Perhaps this was a chance to rebuild credibility...

Meanwhile, Chihara nibbled on oden, resigned to fate. If Yasuda declined, so be it—he could always search elsewhere later. Just as he popped a piece of boiled radish into his mouth, pondering where to find "Hanzawa Naoki," a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. "Chihara-sensei?"

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