At half past noon on the last Tuesday of May, Tokyo TV aired the final episode of Cooking Master Boy.
When the words "Thank you for watching" appeared on screen, Director Nakagawa Jun finally let out a long breath of relief in his office.
That evening, his secretary placed the rating summary on his desk.
"President, this is the final report." Beside her, GG Department Chief Okabe respectfully handed over another document. "The ratings didn't reach number one in the time slot, but they held firmly in the top three for the entire midday run. What's most important is the GG conversion rate—honestly, it's a miracle."
Mentioning this, Okabe's expression lit up with barely concealed excitement.
"Kikkoman soy sauce sales increased fifteen percent compared to before the show aired. The sponsored Chinese wok sold so well it was out of stock in department stores. I had dinner with several sponsor reps last week—they were sighing like parents sending their kids away, complaining that such a great show only ran for half a year."
Nakagawa Jun couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips.
He picked up the GG report. The numbers vividly demonstrated the power of Takuya's "sponsor props magnification" strategy.
Every clearly framed logo was like a precisely fired bullet, striking the hearts of countless housewives watching at home.
The show didn't just make money—it earned the station prestige.
And just as sponsors were mourning the end of Cooking Master Boy, Tokyo TV's next program—launched without pause—reignited their hopes, even stirring more excitement than before.
The new show's title was simple and blunt: Supermarket Wars.
Just hearing the concept pitch, sharp-nosed sponsors instantly sensed it—the GG potential of this program was even scarier than Cooking Master Boy.
This was the true long-term flagship that could keep their products constantly in front of every housewife's eyes.
---
In early June, the first episode aired.
In the director's office, GG Department Chief Okabe stood before Nakagawa Jun, barely containing his excitement.
"President! The ratings are out—please look!"
Nakagawa Jun took the report. At just one glance, his pupils tightened.
Okabe could no longer hold back:
"As a follow-up program, the premiere rating—was nearly double the peak of Cooking Master Boy! A midday lifestyle show, breaking into double digits! That's unheard of in this industry!"
It was a miracle.
"And the GG conversion rate is even crazier!" Okabe gulped, flipping open another report. "President, guess what item we received the most calls about after the episode aired?"
"Soya sauce? The sponsor's discount beef?" Nakagawa asked with interest.
"Neither!" Okabe slapped his thigh. "It's a new no-scrape rapid grater!"
His excitement only grew as he explained:
"In the show, the poor housewife whose opponent filled her cart with root vegetables—she used that grater to turn the game around in the last few minutes! Carrot shreds, potato shreds—done fast and perfect. She made an Osaka-style pancake on the spot! The camera even gave it a close-up. Housewives everywhere lost their minds—the department store's phone lines nearly exploded!"
This show struck perfectly at the core issue troubling households in a declining economy: how to spend less, do more, and still make life a little easier.
The explosive popularity of a single grater was proof enough.
Nakagawa leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping lightly on the report. His face was calm, but inside, waves surged.
He recalled the young man speaking confidently in his living room that day.
Limited budgets, fighting over discounted items, sabotaging opponents…
Every detail hit the audience's sweet spot—both fun and cathartic.
Nakagawa realized that what Yamanaka Takuya saw wasn't merely a program—it was the pulse and mood of all Japan.
Okabe was still excitedly reporting upcoming GG contracts, but Nakagawa was already drifting into his own thoughts. He waved a hand, dismissing him.
When the office grew silent again, Nakagawa opened his drawer and pulled out a planning document he'd kept separately.
On the cover were a few words that made his heart beat faster.
Who Wants to Be a Millionaire
His gaze moved from the triumphant ratings of Supermarket Wars to this even more audacious proposal.
"If this show was designed to address the economic downturn—"
Nakagawa murmured, eyes sharpening.
"Then this one… is your real killing move, isn't it, Takuya?"
---
Meanwhile, the mood was far more complicated during the Saturday afternoon anime slot.
At Bandai headquarters, in the Model Division conference room, tension hung in the air.
"Premiere rating, 5.1%," the planning section chief reported calmly. "For a Gundam sequel, that's… acceptable."
But the senior staff clearly found it insufficient.
Not bad—but not impressive.
And compared with the monstrous ratings of Supermarket Wars, it looked downright mediocre.
"Viewer reactions are heavily polarized," another added. "Old fans are furious. They say this isn't the Gundam they know. A martial arts tournament? Those rubber-suit-looking pilot suits? It's absurd."
"I warned you—letting a young man decide Gundam's direction was too risky!" an older division head grumbled. "Gundam's core is the weight of war. What is this now, a Hong Kong kung fu flick?"
Voices of dissatisfaction filled the room, criticisms of Mobile Fighter G Gundam growing louder.
"Are you done?"
Mitsui Chuta's voice wasn't loud, but it instantly silenced the room. Leaning back, fingers tapping the table, he swept his gaze across the attendees.
"Old fans?" He chuckled. "You know better than anyone how many model kits old fans actually buy. Yamanaka Takuya deliberately chose the Saturday 5:30 p.m. time slot—where the previous shows aired—just to force a comparison."
He rose, walked to the whiteboard, and circled the "5.1%."
"He put a drastically different Gundam in the most familiar time slot, to tell everyone—times have changed. He isn't afraid of comparisons. He wants them."
Mitsui Chuta's eyes held unwavering conviction.
He remembered the calm smile on the young man's face when he'd spoken to him after the screening.
"Don't worry, Mr. Mitsui. Kids don't care about the UC timeline. They just want the coolest Gundam… winning in the coolest way."
"What about week two and three?" Mitsui asked.
The section chief hurriedly handed over more papers.
Mitsui glanced only once—and the faint rise of his lips was unmistakable.
He didn't read the numbers aloud. Instead, he slapped the report onto the table.
"Well then—it seems the kids have made their choice."
He looked around and declared clearly:
"Notify the factories. Shining Gundam—all product lines—switch to full-speed production. In one month, I want every toy store shelf in the country filled with them."
No one dared object.
The order had been given.
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