Otaku Translation: Absolute Number One C117

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Chapter 117: As If I Don’t Exist Here?

Chihara Rinto found Murakami Iori’s advice reasonable. With Hanzawa Naoki making such a massive social impact, winning several awards at the Star Awards seemed inevitable. No amount of behind-the-scenes maneuvering could stop it now. Preparing to attend the ceremony was clearly necessary.

Chihara wasn’t one to disregard good advice, especially when it came to his first major award. After work, he visited a renowned tailor in Embassy District and ordered a suit befitting the occasion. The cost was staggering—over half a million yen for what amounted to standard tailoring without premium materials or expedited service. Tokyo’s prices were indeed exorbitant.

The tailor shop was located inside a large mall. On his way out, Chihara spotted a mobile phone display. Considering his improved financial situation, upgrading his communication device seemed prudent. His wallet took another hit as he purchased the latest model—a clamshell design with a blue screen capable of custom ringtones. Japan had pioneered the flip phone, an innovation that stubbornly persisted into 2019 despite global trends toward smartphones. Tradition ran deep in Japanese culture.

After registering his new number, Chihara continued downstairs but paused again upon seeing laptops. Shopping triggered dopamine release, creating a sense of happiness—and addiction. Tempted by the sleek machines, he examined their specifications. However, reason prevailed; they were bulky, inconvenient, and offered poor value compared to desktops. He decided against the purchase, marking the end of his shopping spree.

He returned home, only to receive unexpected news days later. Yukinoshita Publishing, moving with remarkable efficiency, delivered the draft of Hanzawa Naoki’s novel adaptation before the final episode aired. Their urgency stemmed from the show’s overwhelming popularity—a lucrative opportunity not to be missed. A team worked tirelessly to convert the literary script into novel form, a relatively straightforward task given its inherent readability. The result came quickly.

Chihara reviewed the thick stack of manuscript pages, pleased with the outcome. The story flowed smoothly, retaining some script-like qualities but remaining engaging overall. “Obata-san,” he said with a smile, “go ahead and print it. I have no objections.”

Delighted by Chihara’s lack of fuss, Obata promptly left. For Chihara, this side venture concluded; beyond participating in promotional activities, all that remained was awaiting royalty payments. Between his high salary, bonuses from Hanzawa Naoki, 5% copyright revenue, and book royalties, the total sum promised to be substantial. It was time to execute his wealth-building plan.

Seated at his desk, Chihara sketched plans, calculating potential investments. Information gathered by Yasuda Shintaro suggested starting with emerging internet companies abroad, particularly in the U.S., to multiply his initial capital rapidly. Soon, the Asian Financial Crisis would unfold—an opportune moment for profit. First, the Thai baht would collapse, followed by the Philippine peso, Indonesian rupiah, and Malaysian ringgit within months. Then Korea’s financial storm would devastate the won, eventually spreading to Japan, where banks and securities firms would fail, crippling the economy once more. These events presented golden opportunities for savvy investors.

This era offered unparalleled chances for wealth accumulation. Missing it meant waiting until the next wave around 1999-2002. Chihara plotted his moves carefully, envisioning future success.

Lost in thought, he barely noticed Michiko enter, her face darkened by frustration. Spotting her mentor brightened her expression slightly. “Master, sorry to bother you again,” she greeted politely.

“Not at all. Go ahead and play,” Chihara replied casually.

Michiko hung her small bag, sat by the computer, and began playing. Chihara shifted aside, allowing her space. Observing his scribbled notes, she asked curiously, “Master, are you preparing your next drama? Something about economics?”

She couldn’t decipher much, recognizing only country names and terms like short-selling, funds, and building positions. Chihara chuckled dismissively, “Just keeping tabs on the global economy. Don’t worry about it.”

Crumpling the paper, he tossed it into the trash and turned to Michiko. “You seem upset. What happened yesterday? Why didn’t you come?”

Her face darkened further. “Mom sent me to perform at a commercial event—it was awful!” She spoke freely in front of Chihara. “I can’t stand this life anymore. When will it end?”

“Isn’t performing rewarding?” Chihara asked, aware of Michiko’s recent rise to recognition. The House at the End of the Slope, the movie in which she had starred, had struck a chord with audiences. It began with screenings in 370 theaters and expanded to a peak of 900 before gradually tapering off. For a small, artistic production, its box office performance was exceptional. Michiko’s performance, in particular, drew attention—not only did fans adore her, but critics also praised her work, cementing her status as a rising child star. Naturally, Nambu Ryoko saw an opportunity to leverage her daughter’s newfound fame.

“It was terrible,” Michiko complained bitterly. “Standing in the sun all day at a boring opening ceremony, forced to smile constantly. I hate it.”

Chihara sympathized but offered little solace. “You’re almost there. Acting suits you. Stay strong; the hardships today will pay off tomorrow.”

Michiko sighed. “But I truly dislike it—I hate it.” Engrossed in Dragon’s Treasure, her mood visibly improved, though her words lingered. “She broke her promise. She said if I worked hard on that movie, she’d let me relax this year.”

“When you’re older, she’ll ease up. Bear with it for now—it’s your mom.”

Michiko nodded hesitantly. “Maybe. But unless I win an award or become famous enough to fulfill her dreams, she won’t stop.”

Her voice trailed off as she immersed herself in the game. Chihara felt a pang of satisfaction. Allowing Michiko to escape daily pressures through gaming stabilized her emotions, reducing her earlier despair. In time, as she matured and gained autonomy, her career would stabilize, resolving these issues naturally.

Perhaps he’d earned some karmic merit? So he thought.

---

Two days later, just before the finale of Hanzawa Naoki, Shiraki Keima suddenly burst into the meeting room urgently while Chihara was preparing for the next season of Human Observation. Whispering nervously into Chihara’s ear, he said, “Chihara-sensei, Nambu-san is here. Umm… Could you… maybe come to the office?”

Chihara turned, frowning. “Why are you acting so strange? Isn’t it normal for her to come here?”

“She caught Michiko-chan playing games… she’s furious,” Shiraki said, his voice low and nervous. “She’s scolding her in the office. Do you want to go see?”

Chihara’s eyebrows shot up. “How did she even catch her? Didn’t Michiko see her come in?!”

“I wasn’t there… I don’t know,” Shiraki admitted.

Chihara thought for a moment. Michiko must have been so absorbed in the game that she didn’t notice her mother entering—and got caught in the act. He quickly paused the meeting, leaving the support team to continue discussing earlier ideas, and rushed toward his office.

Even before he reached the door, he heard Nambu’s voice, low but sharp and full of fury:

“You say you come to study every day, and yet you’re playing this? I’m so disappointed in you! Why are you so unambitious?!”

“Do you realize how much effort I’ve invested in you? How can you be like this?!”

“Answer me!”

Chihara froze. He hadn’t expected this side of Nambu Ryoko. Pushing the door open, he saw her poking at Michiko’s head with her fingers, making her wobble like a puppet. Michiko’s gaze stayed fixed on her toes, letting herself be prodded without protest.

Chihara felt his irritation spike. Fine if this happens at home—but dragging it into my office? As if I don’t exist here.

His expression hardened. “Nambu-san, just so you know, it was me who allowed her to play the game.”

Nambu, still fuming, whipped her head toward him. “Chihara-sensei, I trusted your character and ability enough to leave my daughter in your care. And yet you indulge her like this, letting her waste herself. Is this how you teach?”

“This is my method,” Chihara said evenly. “I use it to develop her imagination. Do you have a problem with that?”

His calm, unreadable expression made him all the more intimidating. On top of that, he was currently a rising star in the entertainment industry, with a clearly bright future and the potential to become a major player in the circle. Recognizing this, Nambu froze, stunned. Not daring to talk back, she quickly softened her tone. “I don’t mean to disrespect you, Chihara-sensei. But I’ve invested so much in this child. I can’t accept her squandering time on frivolities. Please try to understand.”

“She’s still very young,” Chihara replied. “Between training and work, she deserves an hour or two to relax. What’s the harm? Do you need to push her to the point of death to feel satisfied?”

“Push her to death?” Nambu bristled. She thought of herself as one of Japan’s top mothers. “I’ve been strict because I want her to excel! Chihara-sensei, you’re young—you don’t understand children. I’m sorry, but I’m not here to debate. We’ll be leaving now.”

She had no intention of clashing openly with Chihara, but she wasn’t letting her daughter stay. Originally, she had wanted Michiko to gain opportunities from this teacher, but he hadn’t helped at all. Over half a year, he had only assisted her once by showing up at her movie premiere—hardly worth the effort. Michiko was already gaining recognition independently; spending two hours a day here was pointless. Better to pursue other opportunities and earn money.

Nambu moved to take Michiko away. Michiko didn’t speak, but she also didn’t move—her feet seemed glued to the floor. Nambu tugged at her, but Michiko resisted. Frustrated, Nambu yanked harder.

Michiko was small, delicate from years of strict training, and no match for her mother’s strength. She stumbled, silent, and was dragged out of the office. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to cry in front of anyone.

Shiraki looked on anxiously. “What do we do, Chihara-sensei?”

Chihara clenched his jaw, suppressing his own fury. He had no way to stop her mother. It was her daughter—he couldn’t exactly shut the door and hit Nambu.

Damn it. In the end, he still couldn’t protect that unlucky apprentice.

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