Otaku Translation: Absolute Number One C102

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Chapter 102: Digging a Hole and Burying Himself

In the conference room, sat at the head of the table poring over the ratings report, his expression heavy with concern. On either side of him, Murakami Iori, Yoshizaki Shingo, Miyawaki Haruhito, and others wore smiles of satisfaction. However, since their leader hadn’t spoken yet, they restrained themselves from voicing their excitement.

After carefully reviewing the report, Chihara’s face grew even more somber.

According to his memory, the first episode of Hanzawa Naoki in 2013 had achieved an average time-slot rating of over 19%, with peak moments surpassing 21%. But those numbers were bolstered by the novel’s literary accolades and a built-in fanbase that naturally boosted viewership. In this world, however, such advantages didn’t exist. He had adjusted his expectations downward, hoping for an initial rating above 15%—a modest benchmark to allow room for growth later.

But looking at the current results… something was off. These numbers shouldn’t be this high!

He paused, deep in thought, before realizing what he might have overlooked.

In 2013, the internet posed significant competition, siphoning away a large portion of TV audiences. In 1995, though, the internet was still in its infancy, posing no real threat to television entertainment. Could it be that in different eras, the same work would perform better without the distraction of online platforms? Did having a natural, larger audience outweigh the impact of dedicated fans?

If that were true, then the , crafted with painstaking effort, might achieve ratings so high they’d make even future-Chihara cringe.

Had he dug a hole and buried himself?

Chihara was a meticulous planner, someone who thought far ahead. He was the type to decide on his child’s name, school districts, and future education plans before even pursuing a romantic interest. Now, his mind raced ahead to how he’d compete against himself—or rather, his past successes. Beside him, Murakami Iori glanced at his grave expression and asked curiously, “Chihara, are you dissatisfied with these results? What’s the issue?”

She knew her colleague always aimed high—when their ratings hovered around 2.27%, he dared dream of breaking records. Yet here was a result no one could fault. Why maintain such a serious demeanor?

A debut drama with no prior reputation, airing in ’s regular primetime slot, achieving an average time-slot rating of 20.1% and peaking at 22.3%—this was extraordinary, wasn’t it? Moreover, just after the premiere, it had already entered the top ten of the weekly rankings. Though ranked seventh due to Kanto United TV’s historically weaker base compared to the , if aired on any of those stations, it would undoubtedly rank among the top five.

This performance exceeded all expectations. Anyone could see this was shaping up to become a national hit, destined to reach 30%. Even if the crew started cheering wildly enough to lift the roof, both the production bureau and the programming committee would applaud enthusiastically: "Well done!"

So why continue wearing such a stern face? Didn’t he notice the shift in atmosphere?

The longer she worked with Chihara, the more Murakami sometimes struggled to understand his unique mindset. He was unlike anyone else she’d met. Meanwhile, Chihara snapped out of his thoughts, noticing the odd expressions on everyone’s faces during the analysis meeting. Hastily, he declared, “There’s no problem. These results are excellent. Thank you all for your hard work.”

A collective sigh of relief swept through the room, followed by joyous chatter as people congratulated one another. Chihara temporarily set aside his worries about the future and smiled genuinely.

Good. All their efforts hadn’t been in vain—audiences had embraced the show.

Months of tedious writing, countless revisions; late-night discussions over storyboards, sleeping on air mattresses until legs cramped; nearly jumping into a river while searching for the lead actor, enduring hundreds of meetings and personal visits to persuade veteran actors to join; the grueling shoots that left them unable to eat or sleep properly—all these hardships found perfect vindication in this moment, knowing the audience approved.

A profound sense of relief washed over him. It felt like shedding a mountain of weight. But Chihara quickly forced himself back into focus. Celebrating now was premature—the real celebration should wait until three months later, when the season concluded.

Clapping his hands, he grinned. “Alright, let’s analyze the charts together and discuss areas for improvement.”

Everyone eagerly responded, taking turns offering insights based on the data. Spirits were high, and thanks to their meticulous preparation, even post-hoc scrutiny revealed few issues. They noted potential concerns for comparison in subsequent episodes and decided to intensify promotional efforts, given how crucial their pre-season campaign had been to this stellar start.

Once the discussion on Hanzawa Naoki’s premiere ratings concluded, the team realized there was another unexpected bonus.

, whose viewership had plateaued and crept upward slowly, showed a slight uptick in ratings. Whether this stemmed from accumulated goodwill or piggybacking on Hanzawa Naoki’s success, the trend looked promising.

This was truly a double celebration. Everyone grew even cheerier, visibly relaxed. Chihara, smiling as he watched the lively banter, dismissed the meeting without insisting they adopt solemn expressions again. There was no need to dampen spirits unnecessarily. These professionals had integrity—they wouldn’t slack off for long. But if anyone grew complacent, thinking this level of success sufficed, well, he wouldn’t hesitate to reprimand them harshly.

His goal remained singular. Anyone seeking comfort wouldn’t earn his recognition as a true comrade.

With tasks delegated, Chihara didn’t rush to oversee the next shoot. Instead, he asked Tsumura Haruki to prepare while he reviewed critics’ feedback, ensuring nothing slipped past his notice. Just as he picked up the newspaper, Shiga Ayumu arrived with a group of colleagues.

In the TV industry, ratings were everything. Achieving such remarkable results, especially for a program Shiga personally recruited, warranted a visit. Shiga came to congratulate the team, check if his protégés faced any challenges, and encourage them to keep pushing forward.

Shiga was genuinely surprised. When he initially requested entry into the top ten, he hadn’t expected the first episode to deliver. His presence was inevitable—not just to celebrate but to remind internal staff: this was a director-monitored program. Full cooperation was essential to avoid jeopardizing their promising position.

After courteously seeing Shiga off, Chihara returned to the newspaper, focusing on reviews related to Hanzawa Naoki. Paid puff pieces orchestrated by Murakami Iori were skimmed quickly—he’d already previewed drafts. What interested him were neutral critiques and suggestions.

Scanning through, he found critics behaving predictably. Guarding their reputations, they offered lukewarm praise since only one episode had aired. Substantive evaluations awaited further episodes, lest premature accolades undermined their “professional insight” should the series falter.

Such caution was typical among critics. Having observed two seasons, Chihara wasn’t surprised. He focused instead on useful feedback and specific concerns—like Sugano Makoto’s troubled past. Though six or seven years old, rival networks might exploit it if jealous. Vigilance was necessary.

He’d prepared for this scenario, confident in handling fallout. Reviewing opinions, he found praise for Sugano’s acting and charisma but no mention of past controversies. Critics either forgot or dismissed the minor scandal entirely. For now, Chihara shelved the matter, ready to address issues as they arose.

His gaze shifted to competitors.

Nippon Television remained dominant, maintaining its reputation-driven primetime slots while launching two new big-budget dramas—a fantasy romance and a family drama. Critics offered no negative feedback, deeming both promising contenders worth watching.

Asahi Television and Fuji TV followed closely, each debuting one major production alongside several experimental shows. Their strategy mirrored each other’s: diversify offerings to gamble on dark horses. While their flagship programs garnered decent responses, some experimental shows faced harsh criticism.

NHK continued its lackluster performance, while TEB ambitiously launched two major productions—an investigative drama and a workplace drama—to redeem itself after disappointing previous seasons. The latter, starring , was hailed by critics as another promising contender, currently ranking fourth.

Several columnists juxtaposed Doctor’s Heart and Hanzawa Naoki. With only one episode aired, meaningful comparisons were impossible. Such pairings served more as clickbait, though authors leaned slightly toward Doctor’s Heart, citing its higher ratings.

Chihara glanced indifferently. It was natural for TEB to hold an edge initially. Despite setbacks in winter and spring, their inherent audience base still outnumbered Kanto United TV’s. Starting slightly behind mattered little. The seasonal battle had barely begun—victory remained distant.

Finishing the newspaper, Chihara rose to oversee filming, resuming his hectic schedule. Calmly, he awaited the next clash.

And so, amidst relentless activity, another week swiftly passed...

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