Chapter 25: Ratings 298
Wednesday morning, Suzuki’s Classroom.
When Ichiro Hashishita rushed into the office like a gust of wind, holding the third day’s ratings report, his face bore an almost manic ecstasy.
He didn’t even have time to speak; he just slammed that report heavily onto the desk!
Everyone crowded around.
“Late-night Animation《An Shizhi》, third episode ratings: 2.98%!”
“Ratings level—excellent!”
Boom!
The entire office was like an exploded powder keg, instantly boiling over!
2.98%!
From 1.77% to 2.98%! An overnight surge of 1.21 percentage points!
This was a miracle!
A ratings miracle in the late-night slot, with no promotional resources tilt, almost impossible to happen!
“Ooh ooh ooh ooh—!”
Hoshi Minamimura and Roji Hase hugged like two madmen, shouting and jumping.
Yō Kitagawa wept with joy, tears flowing like beads off a broken string, impossible to stop.
Kiyoto Suzuki stared at that number, feeling his heart about to leap from his chest. He trembled with excitement, turned around, and gripped Hiroshi Nohara’s shoulders tightly; that old face was streaked with tears.
“Nohara-kun… we… we did it! We really did it!”
A genuine, relieved smile finally appeared on Hiroshi Nohara’s face.
He knew the snowball was rolling.
The late-night slot, including the early morning slot, generally considers 2% as passing; it could be said the program was a success.
But he never expected today’s result to be a 2.98% rating!
It could almost be called a smash hit!
Exactly.
For those prime time slots around eight or nine in the evening, 10% is considered passing; it could even be said that below 10% is failure.
But Hiroshi Nohara knew clearly.
His was not a prime time slot program.
It was a program in the worst, worst, worst early morning slot!
Most programs were just tossed up there for young directors to test the waters and gain seniority.
Utterly unimportant.
So, for most programs in this slot, 2.5% was already very good.
But now, their rating had reached 2.98%, just 0.02% shy of 3%.
It even matched the late-night slot ratings requirements around eleven o’clock.
Enough to show.
Their《An Shizhi》 had truly caught fire!
……
In Masao Iwata’s office, the air seemed to congeal into icy cold lead blocks.
The room that yesterday was filled with flattery and cheerful air was now deathly silent, where even the monotonous, oppressive whoosh from the central air conditioner vent could be heard.
Several sycophants who were usually the best at bootlicking now hung their heads, necks shrunk like a flock of quails shivering in the cold wind, not daring to breathe.
Their gazes instinctively avoided the face behind the desk, gloomy enough to drip water.
Masao Iwata stared intently at the ratings report just printed by his trusted aide on the computer screen; the “2.98%” number there was like a red-hot branding iron searing into his pupils, burning his eye sockets painfully.
How was that possible?
How was this possible?!
A trash slideshow with investment under 100,000 yen per episode, in a death slot everyone saw as a trash can, had gotten a rating he himself dreamed of?
This defied logic, wasn’t scientific; it was openly challenging all his knowledge and experience from over a decade in the television industry!
“Pa!”
He finally couldn’t hold back, grabbed the crystal ashtray on the desk, and smashed it viciously onto the floor covered with expensive Persian carpet, emitting a dull thud.
The lackeys trembled in fright, heads buried even lower.
“All gone mute?” Masao Iwata’s voice squeezed through his teeth, laced with irrepressible rage: “Weren’t you all talking so confidently yesterday? Saying they were trash, a joke, the television station’s disgrace! And now? This disgrace has slapped all your faces swollen!”
No one dared respond.
Because their faces really did sting.
At that moment, the internal line telephone on the desk rang shrilly.
“Ding ling ling—”
That ringtone, at this moment, was like the death knell.
Masao Iwata’s body stiffened visibly; he looked at the phone flashing red light, a flicker of fear in his eyes.
But he knew he had to take this call.
He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing his rage and panic, picked up the receiver, his voice instantly turning humble and deferential.
“Deputy Director Takada, it’s me, Masao.”
“Come to my office now.”
The voice on the other end was icy cold, curt, emotionless, and hung up directly.
Masao Iwata gripped the receiver, listening to the “beep beep” dial tone, fine cold sweat beading on his forehead.
He slowly set down the phone, straightened his slightly disheveled tie, stood up, and left the office without a word. His departing figure carried a stiffness and heaviness like marching to the execution ground.
Only when the office door gently closed did the suffocating pressure ease slightly.
The lackeys then dared to lift their heads, exchanging terrified glances.
“It’s over… the section chief is probably going to get torn apart by the deputy director this time.” The first to speak was his trusted aide named Anren; he wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, his voice still trembling with disbelief.
“Who says otherwise…” Another younger assistant lowered his voice, as if afraid of being overheard: “That 2.98% rating is like cheating! When I saw it first thing last night, I thought the statistics department intern had misplaced the decimal! How is this possible? That’s 12:20 a.m.!”
“Statistics error? Don’t joke.” A bespectacled, more seasoned planner shook his head with a bitter smile: “This is Tokyo Television Station, not some third-rate local station. Our ratings system is the top in all Neon, precise to two decimal places, flawless for twenty years. Numbers don’t lie.”
His words silenced everyone.
Yes, numbers don’t lie; what lied was their own arrogance and prejudice.
“To be honest…” Anren hesitated, then couldn’t help saying: “I… last night, I secretly watched the third episode of that《An Shizhi》… the one called《Family Precept》.”
His words drew all eyes to him.
“How was it?” Someone couldn’t help asking.
Anren swallowed, a trace of lingering fear on his face: “Damn… don’t bring it up. Kept me up all night. That atmosphere, that final glance… now when I close my eyes, I feel a ghastly pale smiling face staring at me. The production was rough, but… but that thing was really fucking scary.”
His words elicited a chorus of sharp intakes of breath in the office.
They were all industry insiders and knew what it meant for a work to make peers feel “scary.”
“Looks like… that old guy Suzuki struck gold this time.” Someone murmured.
A subtle atmosphere began to quietly spread in Iwata’s Classroom. It was a mix of jealousy, unwillingness, curiosity, and even a hint of… awe.
They decided that tonight, no matter what, they had to see for themselves what kind of devil this miracle-creating《An Shizhi》 was.
