mijobooks Chapter 162 The Monster of Ratings
Chapter 162 The Monster of Ratings
Chapter 162 The Monster of Ratings
The second Thursday of October.
Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo.
In the intern break room at Naniwa University Hospital, the air was filled with the smell of stale instant coffee, disinfectant, and the ink from piles of old newspapers.
The clock on the wall pointed to 9:55 p.m.
Junki Tanaka casually hung his stethoscope around his neck, slurped up his bloated instant noodles, and eagerly hooked a chair over with his foot, sitting down directly in front of the old color television in the corner.
"Hey, Tanaka, you really want to watch that?"
A fellow intern slumped on the sofa next to him, flipping through a well-worn copy of Weekly Shonen Jump, his face full of disdain: "I heard you even took a few days off to be an extra? Was it really necessary? It's just an idol star playing a doctor, isn't it?"
What's the point of watching those shows that are only for housewives?
"Yeah, that's right." Another intern wearing glasses was catching up on sleep at his desk. Hearing the noise, he looked up, rubbed his eyes, and said, "Aren't all medical dramas like that? They're all in white coats, falling in love, and trying to look cool in the operating room. What doctors are like that in real life? They're exhausted, how could they have time to comb their hair? It's all just a misleading gimmick."
The other interns also laughed, some still holding unburnt cigarette butts, creating a languid and decadent atmosphere.
The longer you're in this industry, the more you dislike the glamorous, unrealistic image of doctors on TV.
For them, being a doctor means endless shifts, countless medical records to write, and the scolding of professors.
"Tsk, what do you know?"
Tanaka Junki swallowed the noodles in his mouth, completely ignoring his companions' mockery. Instead, he gave them a look that said, "You bunch of country bumpkins who've never seen the world before." He continued, "Let me tell you, that Kitahara Shin is different. You guys didn't go to the open class, but I saw with my own eyes how he handled those equipment better than the director. He'll dazzle you in a bit."
As he spoke, he reached out and pressed the slightly faulty power switch on the television, then slapped the top cover of the television twice before the picture finally stabilized.
"It's starting! Everyone be quiet!"
The screen lights up.
As the solemn aria "Amazing Grace" played, the white tower cast a huge shadow in the setting sun.
After the opening credits, the main feature begins.
The first scene depicts a radical esophagectomy for cancer.
The interns who were originally reading comics and dozing off mostly just glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes while shaking their legs, waiting to find fault.
However, when the familiar "beep beep" sound from the monitor came from the television, along with the crisp metallic sound of the hemostat hitting the curved plate, several people subconsciously raised their heads.
That voice... it's kind of right.
On the screen, Shin Kitahara, who plays Goro Zaizen, stands under the operating lights.
There are no superfluous lines, no slow-motion shots for showing off, and no scenes where the protagonist deliberately makes everyone around them look like idiots in order to highlight their charisma.
Only hands.
Those hands, gloved with rubber, moved swiftly through the bright red surgical field.
"Um?"
The intern who had been reading comics just moments before found his copy of Jump slipping from his hands and resting on his lap. He squinted, leaned forward, and stared at the close-up on the screen.
Cut open, stop the bleeding, and separate.
The movements were crisp and clean, without any hesitation. Even the angle of the palm when handing over the instruments and the subtle movements of twisting and knotting the wrist after receiving the hemostats were textbook perfect.
"Feeding—that gesture is pretty professional."
The bespectacled intern, no longer sleepy, pushed up his glasses and couldn't help but say, "Look at that knot-tying technique, a deep knot with one hand? That control of strength—was that really done by an actor? No hand double?"
"No!"
Junki Tanaka looked smug, as if he were the one showing off his skills on TV: "I was there at the time, although I was standing far away, but it was a long shot, and there was no cut in the middle! He really did it himself."
As they were talking, the scene cut to that classic blind stitching operation.
Zaizen Goro raised his head, looking coldly at Professor Azuma opposite him, but his hands moved so fast that only afterimages could be seen.
The knot slips off, tightens, and is cut.
The lounge was completely silent.
No one spoke anymore, and no one flipped through the comics.
We're all industry insiders, and we love to nitpick when watching medical dramas. Things like improper aseptic technique, incorrect scalpel handling, etc.
Mispronouncing terms—these are all sources of amusement for them.
But now, they can't find anything funny.
The man on the screen, though he had the face of a celebrity, exuded an aura of authority in front of the operating table, and his absolute control over the instruments gave them a strange sense of pressure that junior doctors felt when facing top professors.
"Is this... Goro Zaizen?"
The classmate, sprawled on the sofa, muttered to himself.
He thought of the associate professor in his department who was equally skilled but had a bad temper and would do anything to get promoted.
so similar.
It's like tearing apart the sordid and cruel aspects of reality and putting them nakedly on the screen.
One episode has aired.
The end credits song began to play.
Tanaka Junki finished the last sip of soup, tossed the empty glass into the trash can, turned to his dumbfounded companions, and chuckled, "How about that? I wasn't lying, was I? Is it the real deal?"
The bespectacled intern took a deep breath, pulled a small notebook from his pocket, and wrote down the broadcast time for next week.
"Next Thursday — I'm on the night shift."
He glanced at Tanaka, his eyes resolute: "Tanaka, will you cover my shift? Or—shall we move the TV to the duty room?"
"Dream on!" Tanaka Junki crossed his legs. "However—I can consider the suggestion of moving the TV."
From that day on, this resentful interns' break room had a new, unwavering group activity—every Thursday night at 10 p.m., everyone would gather to observe Professor Zaizen's teaching session.
At the same time.
Arakawa Ward, Tokyo.
The signboard for "Oshima Bento Shop" flickered in the night.
Although it was already 10 p.m., the store was still packed with people.
The owner, Kenichi Oshima, was busy behind the counter, sweating profusely as he quickly stuffed fried pork cutlets into lunchboxes.
-
"Honey! Zaizen's specially made deluxe bento boxes, three more! Hurry up!"
From the kitchen came Yoko Oshima's booming voice: "Got it! It's frying! Why are all these people buying this in the middle of the night? Aren't they afraid of getting fat?!"
Kenichi Oshima chuckled.
Ever since they became die-hard fans of Shin Kitahara during the filming of "Tokyo Love Story," this couple has discovered a "wealth code." They immediately replicate anything Shin Kitahara ate or endorsed in the drama, labeling it "Kitahara's Pick."
This trick always works.
In particular, with the premiere of "The White Tower", they specially launched a pork cutlet bento box that says "Although you can't afford high-end kaiseki cuisine, you can eat this to feel your ambition".
At that moment, the small television set hanging on the wall in the corner of the shop was playing the first episode of "The White Tower".
The dozen or so customers in the store included office workers who had just finished get off work, students in school uniforms, and housewives from the neighborhood. They were all holding number tags and waiting for their numbers to be called.
But now, no one is urging us to place an order.
Everyone looked up at the small 14-inch television.
On the screen, Goro Zaizen is arguing with Shuji Satomi on the rooftop.
The wind howled.
Kitahara Shin's profile looked particularly cold and aloof in the setting sun.
"Only those who stand at the top of the tower have the right to talk about dignity."
Upon hearing this line, Kenichi Oshima, who was putting the lid on his lunchbox, stopped what he was doing.
He looked at the man on the screen.
That look in his eyes.
That look in their eyes, a look of recklessness as they strive to climb higher.
Kenichi Oshima may not understand acting or cinematic language, but he is a man, a man struggling desperately to support his family in this depressed society after the bursting of the bubble economy.
He understood that look in his eyes.
That desire to "not be reconciled" and "want to win" struck the hearts of everyone present, who were struggling to make a living.
The shop was deathly silent.
Even Yoko Oshima from the kitchen came out with a strainer, stood at the door, and stared blankly at the television.
The sizzling sound from the oil pan became the only background noise.
GG came in at the end of this episode.
"----call."
I don't know who breathed a sigh of relief first.
The air in the store started circulating again.
A middle-aged office worker in a suit, looking exhausted, wiped his face and walked to the counter: "Boss, that Zaizen bento—add an extra piece of meat. I'm full now; I have to fight those bastard bosses again tomorrow."
Kenichi Oshima snapped out of his daze and nodded vigorously: "Alright! Here's an extra piece of meat for you! We may not be professors, but we have to eat our fill! Let's all keep going!"
"Let's go blow it up! I think Kitahara-san's acting was really good, it got me really excited."
In a small lunchbox shop, a TV series unexpectedly ignited a strange, passionate atmosphere belonging to ordinary people.
Odaiba, Fuji Television Headquarters.
Inside the 24th-floor conference room of the Production and Editing Bureau, the lights were on and the air was thick with smoke.
The ashtrays in front of the senior executives were already overflowing with cigarette butts.
On the huge projection screen, a line graph of real-time viewership ratings was constantly changing.
This is not just about the success or failure of a TV series, but also a gamble about the "future".
Since the bubble burst, prime-time ratings have been as volatile as a rollercoaster. The days when any idol drama could easily break 30% are gone forever.
This time, they not only gave Kitahara Shin a top-tier schedule, but also broke with convention by allowing him to bring his own funds and take a 20% investment share.
If they lose, those conservative high-ranking officials who originally opposed this "capitalization of actors" will definitely seize the opportunity to launch an attack.
"Chief."
The data analyst's voice broke the silence, holding a freshly printed thermal sheet: "The ratings for the first episode are out."
All eyes immediately turned to the technician in the plaid shirt.
The production director stubbed out his cigarette, his voice slightly hoarse: "How much?"
The technician took a deep breath and announced the figure: "In the Kanto region, the average viewership rating is 21.8%."
"The highest instantaneous viewership rating occurred during the scene where Goro Zaizen was on the rooftop, reaching 24.5%."
Quiet.
After a brief silence, a suppressed commotion arose in the conference room.
"It's broken 20—"
One producer loosened his clenched fist, his palms sweating. "And it broke 20 on its premiere. This is a serious medical drama, not some family-friendly romance."
"It's stable now."
Another executive looked at the data table and said, "This is the highest premiere record for a professional drama in the past five years. Even the premiere of the hugely popular 'Hero' only matched this."
The bureau chief leaned back in his chair and exhaled a long smoke ring.
If the premiere episode surpasses 20, the basic audience base is secure. This demonstrates that viewers have extremely high trust in the "Kitahara Shin" brand.
"but----"
The data clerk looked at another fax in his hand, his tone becoming somewhat subtle: "This is a message from TBS just now."
Upon hearing the words "TBS," the atmosphere in the meeting room tensed up again.
That was their mortal enemy.
And tonight, they've also pulled out a trump card—"Hot-Blooded Cop," a film produced by Johnny & Associates with the star power of rising star Takuya Kimura.
In an effort to counter "The White Tower," Johnny deliberately scheduled this show for Thursday nights as well, creating a direct ratings clash.
"How much over there?"
"The average viewership rating for the premiere was 22.9%."
21.8% vs. 22.9%.
It's only 1.1% different.
A sigh of regret echoed in the conference room.
"We still lost by a small margin."
"After all, it's Kimura. That policeman's character is so likable—passionate, righteous, and with a touch of roguishness, exactly the type of young women love these days. In comparison, our Zaizen Goro is too dark."
The bureau chief tapped on the table, interrupting the discussion.
"Alright. Stop looking like you've lost."
He stared sharply at the still-strong line graph on the screen: "Although it dropped by one point, the word-of-mouth is completely different. Our audience retention rate is as high as 95%, which means that once someone gets into the view, they simply can't leave."
"As for Johnny's Entertainment—humph, it's all propped up by the idol filter. You get tired of watching too many idol dramas, but the more you think about human nature, the more interesting it becomes."
"This is just the first episode. The best is yet to come."
at the same time.
Roppongi, Johnny & Associates.
Mary Kitagawa looked at the ratings report in her hand, and a long-lost smile finally appeared on her face.
Although we only won by 1%, a win is a win.
In the eyes of GG merchants and the media, this is irrefutable proof that "Takuya Kimura > Shin Kitahara".
"here you go."
She handed the report to the producer next to her, a hint of smugness in her voice:
Mary: "I knew it! Audiences still prefer stories where good triumphs over evil. How could Kitahara Shin, with his bribery and medical malpractice, possibly be likable? Audiences watch TV to relax, not to be educated."
The producer nodded repeatedly:
Producer: "Yes, yes, yes, the vice president is brilliant. We're also contacting the media to release press releases, focusing on Kimura Takuya's ratings victory, surpassing Kitahara Shin. With this wave of media hype, the gap will definitely widen even further next week."
Mary picked up her teacup and took a sip with a cheerful expression.
Although the previous "dirt plan" failed, Johnny's still has a strong foundation in the front lines.
As long as Kimura can keep Kitahara Shin in check, the throne of "King of Japanese Drama" will still belong to Johnny's.
That Kitahara Shin was ultimately just a challenger who was a bit luckier.
late at night.
Minato Ward, Kitahara Shin's apartment.
The television is already off.
Kitahara Shin sat on the sofa, holding the viewership ratings report that Ota had just sent him.
21.8%————
He looked at the number, then glanced at the 22.9% rating for TBS's "Hot-Blooded Detective" next to it.
Did we lose 1%?
He wasn't angry, not even a hint of disappointment.
Instead, a playful smile curved his lips.
-
He was well aware of Takuya Kimura's strength. In the original timeline, that man was a legend who dominated Japanese drama ratings for a full twenty years. The fact that he could fight so fiercely against an opponent of this caliber from the very beginning already proved the terrifying power of "The White Tower."
not to mention----
"It's really satisfying when the police catch bad guys."
Kitahara Shin put down the fax paper, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked at the bustling Tokyo night view outside.
"But the character of Goro Zaizen—"
"But it's a glass of strong liquor."
The first episode is just setting the stage.
When Goro Zaizen truly begins to struggle in the mire of desire, and when the ultimate question about "life and power" is presented to the audience...
That's the real deciding factor.
"Let the bullets fly a little longer."
He looked out at the night sky and spoke softly.