Absolute Number One C103

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Chapter 103: The Tenfold Revenge Bun

According to Chihara Rinto’s expectations, Hanzawa Naoki would truly shine after the fifth episode aired. The series naturally divided into two parts, with the fifth episode serving as the turning point.

Episodes 1 through 5 focused on Hanzawa Naoki’s relentless pursuit to recover the five hundred million yen loan—uncovering the mastermind behind the fraud, dismantling Branch Manager Asano’s schemes, and earning a transfer back to Tokyo’s main headquarters as Deputy Chief of the Second Business Division. This marked a cathartic release of all the tension built up in the early episodes, culminating in a major narrative peak. By this point, Hanzawa Naoki had firmly established himself as an iconic screen character, resonating deeply with viewers and sparking widespread emotional engagement.

The first half of the season unfolded in Osaka, requiring Chihara to shuttle between Osaka and Tokyo. He barely had time to return home, even conducting the ratings analysis meeting for Episode 2 via conference call. The results were impressive: an average time-slot rating of 22.4% and a peak of 24.5%, marking a modest but steady climb in viewership.

Though the show rose only one spot on the weekly rankings, critics began showing growing confidence, with more positive reviews emerging.

After a brief overview of the situation, Chihara chose not to micromanage. Everything was proceeding smoothly, leaving little room for adjustment. He remained in Osaka to focus on filming Episode 5, returning to Tokyo only when final edits needed approval. In the meantime, Murakami Iori managed operations from headquarters.

By mid-to-late July, Episode 3 aired on schedule. The plot remained taut, maintaining consistent quality. Ratings soared further—an average of 23.5% and a peak of 26.7%—propelling the show to fifth place on the weekly rankings, displacing NHK. The achievement sparked widespread astonishment.

It wasn’t NHK’s fall that drew gasps; the network often fluctuated on the rankings, sometimes plummeting like an elevator. Rather, it was the growing buzz among working professionals. Viewers began recommending the show to colleagues, and pirated tapes of the first three episodes circulated widely.

At this stage, filming in Osaka was nearly complete. A small crew stayed behind to wrap things up while most of the team returned to Tokyo to prepare for the second half of the season. Naturally, Chihara accompanied them.

Back in Tokyo, he found no respite. Morning meetings piled up, and only after clearing accumulated tasks could he finally relax and review audience reactions in newspapers and online.

Newspaper coverage of the show was overwhelmingly positive. Flipping through the pages, Chihara noticed Hanzawa Naoki had practically "dominated" the entertainment section—though not the front page, which was reserved for hard news.

In the entertainment section, out of ten columns, at least three or four referenced the drama, either analyzing it deeply or capitalizing on its popularity. Public discourse around the show was thriving.

One critique caught his attention:

"This drama articulates the frustrations of countless low-level employees—those who toil endlessly yet remain perpetually undervalued, forever trapped in the lower rungs of corporate hierarchies."

Chihara nodded instinctively. The critic understood the show’s core appeal, delivering sharp insight rarely seen among reviewers.

Continuing to read, he found more praise:

"Bank employees are the elite class closest to ordinary people in daily life, yet few works explore their cutthroat competition for promotions or political maneuvering. Money stolen, trust betrayed, knocked down repeatedly yet persistently striving for justice—such narratives thrill audiences. In a society where justice doesn’t always prevail, these stories are especially satisfying. This is a revenge tale for the underdogs, making it irresistibly compelling!"

"The plot is tense and thrilling, intricately designed. The protagonist, an idealist with principles and persistence, consistently does what’s right while speaking words that resonate deeply. Yet, he’s also pragmatic, willing to threaten, bribe, or even physically confront others to achieve his goals—a complex yet immensely charismatic figure. Actor Sugano Makoto delivers a powerful performance, showcasing rare talent..."

This lengthy review lavished praise on Hanzawa Naoki, analyzing it from multiple angles and hitting all the right notes. Chihara grew increasingly curious, especially since the critic seemed familiar with him, concluding with effusive compliments:

"Chihara Rinto-sensei must be the most outstanding new screenwriter of the year—or perhaps we can drop 'new' altogether. His script for Hanzawa Naoki excels in structure, plot, character development, and thematic depth. Even the dialogue is flawless. This isn’t a rookie effort; it requires no indulgence typically afforded newcomers. It’s a supremely mature work..."

The glowing praise made Chihara suspicious. Was this an attempt at "hype-and-destroy," elevating him only to incite backlash from industry peers?

Unable to resist, he checked the author’s name. To his surprise, it rang a bell. After a moment’s thought, he recalled: Terada Takashi, head writer of Happiness in the Fields, who had publicly clashed with Ishii Jiro over directorial disputes.

This revelation was unexpected. As a veteran TEB writer, why was Terada hyping an apparent rival? Perhaps admiration stemmed from their shared conflict with Ishii—“the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Or maybe Terada simply valued honesty above alliances.

Chihara couldn’t decipher the motive but felt goodwill toward Terada. Since Happiness in the Fields flopped six months ago, the man hadn’t launched a new project, likely focusing on crafting a strong script. If given the chance, Chihara thought, they should meet.

Continuing his newspaper perusal, Chihara realized Terada stood alone among critics in thoroughly explaining Hanzawa Naoki. While others offered insightful comments, none matched Terada’s seasoned professionalism.

One certainty emerged: the show faced no negative reviews. Whether regarding cinematography, script, or acting, major criticisms were absent. At worst, some snarky remarks mocked Kanto United TV’s sudden breakout hit, sour grapes from rivals long accustomed to dismissing the network.

Pleased with the momentum exceeding his expectations, Chihara set aside the paper and turned to his computer. Shiraki Keima, managing online promotional efforts, was promptly shooed away as Chihara scoured viewer feedback online. Newspapers reflected mainstream opinion, but the internet revealed raw sentiments, especially in an era devoid of organized trolling beyond Shiraki’s lone efforts.

Online chatter was chaotic, often veering wildly off-topic. Discussions about Hanzawa Naoki frequently descended into anonymous rants against bosses within ten posts. Chihara noted an amusing trend: many users sought pirated recordings, furious at missing episodes due to overtime. Amid vitriolic complaints, affection for the show remained universal. Viewers compared antagonist Asano to their own superiors, claiming theirs were worse.

After browsing aimlessly, Chihara failed to find substantive feedback but picked up several colorful insults—a minor gain. He stumbled upon an informal poll: “Do you relate to Hanzawa Naoki?” 

With 1,042 respondents—a respectable number for the time—660 (60%) answered affirmatively, indicating significant identification with Hanzawa Naoki.

Heartened, Chihara saw this as indirect validation of his efforts. Before delving deeper, Murakami Iori arrived, placing a document before him. Smiling, she said, “Chihara, here’s the merchandising plan proposed by the station’s operations department.”

“Aren’t we jumping the gun?” Chihara wasn’t opposed to tie-ins; filmmaking aimed for fame and profit, and with 5% of merchandise profits allocated to him, he wouldn’t balk at earning extra cash. Still, only three episodes had aired—premature monetization felt hasty.

Murakami sighed. “Operations has been calling me since last night, visiting twice already this morning. They seem eager.”

She lamented Kanto United TV’s lack of sophistication. Approaching 24% average ratings and entering the top five, they acted starved for success—a novice institution unfamiliar with handling genuine blockbusters.

Chihara was similarly exasperated. While inept at most ventures, Kanto United TV excelled at televised shopping. Before the production team could react, operations staff drafted merchandise plans, ready to order inventory at a nod.

Glancing at the proposal, Chihara discovered a bizarre assortment: non-stick pans, induction cooktops, T-shirts, keychains—even buns branded “Tenfold Revenge Buns,” filled with meat, touted as cheap and hearty.

Wasn’t this just fast-food dumplings? Chihara inwardly cursed but refrained from objecting. Televised shopping didn’t air alongside Hanzawa Naoki, minimizing impact. Let them sell whatever they pleased.

Cautious by nature, he handed the proposal back to Murakami, advising, “Show this to Director Shiga for approval. Have him remind operations not to peddle substandard goods damaging our reputation.”

Such incidents were rare; televised shopping supplemented networks’ budgets. Networks rarely sabotaged themselves intentionally—but caution never hurt.

“Got it!” Murakami swiftly departed, eschewing heels due to constant running around, her feet aching.

Chihara pondered momentarily whether any fool would buy “Tenfold Revenge Buns” via televised shopping—the shipping cost alone exceeded that of real buns. Shrugging it off, he resumed scouring online forums and prepared for the second half’s filming.

By regular quitting time, he found himself idle. With no immediate shooting tasks—having just relocated from Osaka to Tokyo—he considered leaving early. Preparations here hadn’t ceased, but final touches required time.

Had Hakuba Neiko returned yet...?

Damn this era, where connecting with someone proved so difficult, maddening indeed!


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