Otaku Translation: Absolute Number One C98

Please support the translation by reading the translation and commenting on otakutl official site.

Thank you.

Everyone from Otaku Translation

Chapter 98: Pen Pals

had hoped to balance his personal life and career seamlessly, but ’s lack of cooperation left him frustrated. With no other choice, he hastily finished his meal and returned to his apartment.

The apartment was spotless, thanks to regular cleaning. On the desk, as expected, lay a note. He picked it up and examined it, noting the elegant handwriting. The message was brief: she was going on a trip, might take some time, and had temporarily entrusted her cousin with the apartment duties, hoping he wouldn’t mind.

After reading it, Chihara sighed. He walked over to the closet, moved aside the futon, removed a hidden panel, and retrieved a large locked box. Inside were his memories of another world—carefully scrambled and recorded using cryptic abbreviations in pinyin, resembling nothing more than gibberish. Then, he placed the note inside.

On the bright side, at least she’d remembered to notify him before leaving. That meant something—he held a place in her heart, which already put him ahead of many competitors.

After consoling himself, he sat down at the desk out of habit. His mind raced, and suddenly, he realized this could be a blessing in disguise. With the note as an excuse, couldn’t he write back to Hakuba Neiko?

Opportunities needed to be seized, and once discovered, they had to be acted upon! If he wrote her a letter, given her gentle nature, even if she didn’t seek him out upon returning, she’d likely leave another note. He’d reply again, she’d respond, and through this exchange, familiarity would grow.

Pen pals were still trendy these days—it was a solid idea! Start as pen pals, then friends, then boyfriend, fiancé, and finally husband. A five-step plan, each phase spanning a season—one year and three months to secure victory!

Perfect! Hope dawned anew. He spread out some stationery and began writing. Over the years, he’d memorized countless classic love songs and famous romantic poems—resources too valuable not to use. Confident in his ability to upgrade from pen pal to husband, he carefully crafted his first letter.

He wasn’t foolish enough to start with poetry—that would be like trying to trap a sparrow without bait. First, you scatter grains to lure it under the basket; only then do you pull the string with a confession. So, his initial letter remained formal. He expressed that he didn’t mind her cousin taking over temporarily, briefly explained why he’d been absent for a month (feigning fatigue), and wished her a pleasant trip to .

With the draft complete, he poured over it like a scriptwriter refining dialogue—revising word choices, polishing phrases, and agonizing over every detail. He nearly considered calling Shiraki Keima for assistance. After nearly an hour, he finalized the version, ending with a playful request: “When you return, tell me about the interesting places you visited in Shikoku Island—I’ve never been there.”

This lighthearted plea would work wonders. Fresh from her travels, she’d surely feel eager to share her experiences. Without social media to post updates mid-trip, she’d need someone to listen—and who better than him? This significantly increased the likelihood of a response.

Halfway to securing his future wife! Feeling clever and confident, he slipped the letter into an envelope addressed to “Hakuba Neiko, Personal,” deliberately omitting his name to avoid interference from Yamagami Aiko. Relieved, he retired early, sleeping soundly for the first time in weeks.

---

Perhaps it was exhaustion catching up or simply shedding a burden, but he slept dreamlessly and woke refreshed, brimming with energy. After freshening up, he headed straight to work.

Passing by Yamagami’s small restaurant, he glanced around to ensure no one was watching before slipping the letter into their mailbox. Then, he made his way to , fully immersing himself in filming.

Sugano Makoto was scheduled to shoot scenes today. While his acting style appeared method-based, it leaned more toward experiential immersion. Lately, Chihara found him increasingly indistinguishable from Hanzawa Naoki—even off-camera, Sugano seemed perpetually in character. This worried Chihara slightly—not because of artistic integrity but due to potential chemistry between Sugano and Hosokawa Sai, who played his on-screen wife. Komori Hinako, Sugano’s real-life partner, might have cause for complaint.

For now, nothing seemed amiss. Their on-screen chemistry was undeniable, though as the director, Chihara hesitated to intervene directly.

Apart from this minor concern, production had smoothed out after a month of adjustments. Errors were rare, and retakes were primarily for perfection rather than correction. Filming continued until noon.

As Chihara ate lunch while reviewing footage, a sweet voice interrupted him. “Master, hello!”

Turning, he saw , his unfortunate apprentice, bowing respectfully. Smiling, he asked, “Your shoot wrapped?”

Michiko had come to visit. She placed a bottle of oolong tea beside him—a gesture of respect—and began unpacking local delicacies. "I’ve been back for almost a week, but you were never around. And when you finally did come back, you didn’t even let me know. I only found out today.”

“Busy indeed!” Chihara chuckled, eyeing the assortment of snacks and souvenirs. “Did you go to ?”

“Yes, most of the filming took place in southern Kyushu, near .”

“What kind of film did you shoot?” Chihara rummaged through his disciple’s “offerings,” finding an assortment of things—shōchū, yam cakes, dried radish—everything imaginable. Finally, he picked up a bag of Nippon dried radish, tore it open, and started eating it with his meal. Casually, he asked, “Was it tough?”

“Tough! The volcano there spewed ash almost every day. I have no idea how people can live in a place like that.” Michiko immediately replied. “The film’s called . Nothing special—just a divorced mother living with her poor child. I played the child, and in the end, the child dies.”

“Do you know when it airs?”

“Not sure, maybe late July or early August.” Michiko waved dismissively. What mattered to her was something else entirely. Tentatively, she broached the subject: “Master, I’m free now. I told Mom I want to continue learning screenwriting under you… She agreed. What do you think?”

“No problem.” Chihara waved over a staff member. It was a promise long made. “Go to my office. Shiraki-kun is handling things—you can resume as usual.”

Michiko’s face lit up, though she feigned reluctance. “I haven’t seen you in so long, Master. Let me stay a bit longer.”

Chihara smiled knowingly. “Rare to see such ‘filial piety’ from you. Fine, let’s chat a little longer.”

A flicker of discomfort crossed Michiko’s face, but she forced herself to sit back down. Chuckling, Chihara teased, “Enough. Go ahead. Stop pretending to be so grown-up.”

A little teasing was harmless. Michiko was a good apprentice, bringing thoughtful gifts—not mass-produced trinkets but carefully selected specialties.

Michiko let out a couple of sheepish chuckles but didn’t look embarrassed. She bowed deeply. “Thank you, Master.” After that, she didn’t dare say another word, afraid that Chihara might find an excuse to keep her there, so she followed the staff to the office.

She’d been thinking about this game for two months; her gaming addiction was serious!

She reached the office, greeted Shiraki Keima, and immediately commandeered Chihara’s computer. Her hands trembled as she embarked on her “dragon-slaying journey”—though truthfully, she hadn’t yet figured out where the dragon was, aimlessly wandering instead.

Regardless, she approached this “learning” with enthusiasm, not caring in the least what Chihara was doing. Every afternoon, she dashed over for two or three hours of gaming, advancing closer to the dragon day by day. Time flew, and soon spring’s programming season neared its end—it was late June.

Chihara finally glanced at the spring ratings war. maintained its lead, occupying the top and fourth spots among the top five. However, achieving a triple crown remained elusive. , , and claimed second, third, and fifth places, respectively.

TEB faced another rough season. Without last winter’s surprise hit—which defected to Kanto United TV—they clung to dignity via a veteran show, barely scraping sixth place.

This underscored the importance of reputation-driven prime-time slots. Trust built over years through quality programming sustained viewership even when new shows flopped. Kanto United TV lacked this foundation entirely, struggling to establish even one reliable prime-time slot.

The big five networks dominated the top ten rankings. Kanto United TV’s best performer was a continuation of last season’s blockbuster, ranking eleventh. Thirteenth place went to , the new all-amateur variety show. Riding the coattails of ’s failure, its ratings growth stabilized, eventually climbing to thirteenth—a feat earning widespread admiration.

For a debut season variety show, this performance was commendable, hinting at future success. Meanwhile, Tales of the Unusual Season 2 crashed spectacularly. Despite flashes of brilliance from the writing team, it came too late. Viewers lost faith, and ratings barely stabilized, ending at 12.1%—a stark high-to-low trajectory.

Chihara shook his head, reviewing the analysis. Whatever Ishii Jiro had planned, this outcome likely shattered those ambitions. Worse, Tales of the Unusual might retreat to late-night slots, with Season 3 delayed until next year. Similar experiments by other networks yielded mixed results, signaling diminishing novelty for multi-element twist-heavy content. Revival seemed unlikely.

But that wasn’t Chihara’s concern. His focus shifted to summer season promotions and competitors—a key task as seasons transitioned. Networks hyped upcoming shows, enticing audiences while strong programs negotiated exclusive time slots to avoid clashes.

Surveying the landscape, Chihara noted familiar patterns. The big five safeguarded their prime-time staples while launching new dramas. TEB, humiliated twice, vowed revenge with a mystery drama aiming for the top five.

Chihara reviewed pre-promotion interviews, suspecting it aligned with Awata Isao’s rumored project. But confrontation wasn’t worth jeopardizing a major production. Ideally, a blank slot would feature Hanzawa Naoki alone, ensuring undivided attention—an impossibility, alas.

After deliberating with Murakami Iori, they secured Friday’s 8 PM slot, followed by Human Observation at 9 PM. For the premiere episode, Human Observation would shift later.

Competitors inevitably loomed, but their schedule avoided direct clashes with the big five’s marquee offerings. This wasn’t cowardice—it was strategy. Ratings judged program quality, and reckless competition benefited no one.

Promotions for Hanzawa Naoki ramped up. Posters flooded subway cars nationwide alongside rival ads. Leveraging Human Observation’s platform, Chihara arranged actor cameos, blending playful antics with promotional efforts.

Everything proceeded smoothly. Summer season broadcasts arrived, and Chihara unleashed Hanzawa Naoki, honed over 100 days of preparation.

This season, he aimed to dominate decisively, cementing his status in the industry. No longer would he be dismissed as insignificant!

If you like this project, please rate or leave a review for this novel through the link below, thank you.

https://www.novelupdates.com/series/absolute-number-one/

Join our discord you will receive update notification

If you would like to support this translation, you may choose any one of the options below.

All the tiers provide an off-line reading experience

Tier 1: 20 Advance chapters

Access fee $3.00 Monthly