Nakagawa Jun frowned. "A home renovation show? What's the point? NHK already has similar home improvement lectures, and the ratings are terrifyingly low."
"No, it's not a lecture. It's about uncovering real-life stories," Takuya Nakayama said, his voice taking on a hypnotic quality. "We won't be filming mundane tasks like how to paint walls or lay flooring. Instead, we'll focus on the family's struggles—the grandmother who can't climb the steep stairs, the grandson who lacks study space, the cramped kitchen where the wife feels like she's fighting a daily battle."
"Then, we'll tear the house down to its skeleton, letting viewers watch as the dilapidated home is reborn in the hands of skilled craftsmen, step by step."
"Finally, when the family pushes open the doors to their new home and sees that cramped doghouse transformed into a spacious, modern residence, and watches the grandmother tear up with joy as she touches the new handrail..."
Takuya paused, watching his father-in-law's eyes gradually light up. "This isn't just about renovation. It's about the magic of home and rebirth. Since many can't afford a new house, we'll breathe new life into the old ones. This strikes at the very heart of what so many Japanese families are struggling with right now."
Nakagawa Jun's teacup froze mid-air.
As a media tycoon, he instantly sensed the blockbuster potential behind this proposal.
In this anxious and desolate era, what could be more comforting than witnessing "corruption transformed into miracles" and "hope reignited in life"?
Moreover, what's most crucial is that this program doesn't require big stars or expensive special effects. All it needs is genuine tears and astonishing contrasts.
This is practically a low-cost, high-return project tailored specifically for TV Tokyo.
"The name—" Nakagawa Jun murmured to himself. "This program needs a striking name."
"How about 'The Ultimate Home Renovation King'?" Takuya Nakayama casually tossed out the name that would later resound throughout Asia. "Let's honor those designers who turn decay into miracles by calling them 'Takumi'—masters."
"Takumi—" Nakagawa Jun savored the word, then slapped his thigh. "Brilliant! Brilliant! It addresses the craftsmen's reputation issue while giving the audience something to latch onto. Takuya, how does your mind work?"
He eagerly moved to pour himself another drink, but Eri swiftly grabbed the bottle.
"Father, your tea is getting cold."
"The Ultimate Home Renovation King—" Hearing his daughter's reminder, Nakagawa Jun picked up his teacup but hesitated, the words still lingering on his tongue.
The teacup spun round and round in his hand. His alcohol-dazed pupils slowly sharpened, finally focusing on Takuya Nakayama's youthful face. "Takuya, continue."
Takuya Nakayama didn't mince words. He casually arranged the chopsticks on the table into an "L" shape and pointed to the space in between. "These days, no one in Japan is living well. Owning a new home is a luxury, but who doesn't want to live comfortably? That's the pain point."
He tapped the chopsticks. "We're not interested in those superficial mansion showcases. We want to find the most desperate cases: six people crammed into thirty square meters, lining up to use the bathroom, grandparents afraid of falling while bathing, children doing homework hunched over the dining table. By filming these raw, uncomfortable realities, viewers will feel, 'Ah, that's me!'"
Nakagawa Jun leaned forward, captivated. "But the renovation costs—"
"That's the genius of it," Takuya said with a smile. "The production team handles contacting the designers. The design fees, materials, and construction costs are paid by the residents. Don't dismiss it yet—it's an incredible deal for them. Normally, they couldn't even get on the waiting list for a top architect, no matter how much money they had. Besides, being on the show usually means some discount. It's good PR for the architects, too."
"Moreover," Takuya added, lowering his voice, "we can still make something of those renovation costs."
Nakagawa Jun raised an eyebrow. "How do you propose we do it?"
"Sponsorship," Takuya Nakayama said, counting off on his fingers. "TOTO for plumbing, Matsushita for lighting, YKK for windows. These construction material companies are desperate to sell their products. If we subtly feature their products in the show, they'll have to contribute some funding to TV Tokyo."
Nakagawa Jun slapped his thigh hard, causing a few drops of tea to spill. "This is resource exchange! Brilliant! The TV station doesn't have to shell out massive production fees, the homeowners save money and get to work with renowned architects, the manufacturers get free advertising, and the viewers enjoy the show. Four birds with one stone!"
"And that's not all," Takuya continued, eager to flesh out the entire business logic. "Father, weren't you worried about the unemployed workers earlier? If this show becomes popular, we can negotiate with the government."
"The government?" Nakagawa Jun hesitated. "Dealing with those bureaucrats is always troublesome."
"It's not troublesome; it's a win-win," Takuya said, refilling his father-in-law's teacup. "The Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries is vigorously promoting rural revitalization, and the Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, Transport and Tourism is pushing for subsidies for energy-efficient homes. But who among the common people actually reads those dry government documents?"
"Who knows that the government will give you money for switching to double-glazed windows?"
Takuya Nakayama pointed at the TV. "We'll promote their work. We'll set up a 'Renovation Classroom' segment on the show where experts can explain how to use local wood and create insulation layers. We'll turn those bureaucrats' policies into tangible, beautiful houses. This is a direct support for their efforts—how could that be a problem?"
Nakagawa Jun took a deep breath, the alcohol completely sobering him up.
He quickly ran through the feasibility of this proposal in his mind.
This wasn't just a variety show; it was a perfect industrial chain linking the government, corporations, the TV station, and the audience.
"But Takuya," Nakagawa Jun, a veteran of the industry, quickly grasped the key point, "there's a delicate balance here. If there's too much GG, or if it turns into a government propaganda film, the viewers will complain."
"That's why the core must be the people," Takuya Nakayama said solemnly. "No matter how much we renovate, the camera must always focus on the family. We'll film the grandmother's struggle to climb the stairs, the housewife's frustration in the cramped kitchen. When the new house is revealed, we don't want to showcase its luxury—we want the family's expression the moment they push open the door—the shock of seeing their home transformed beyond recognition, the tears of overwhelming joy."
"Only genuine emotion can soften the hard edges of commercial product placement and policy promotion. Viewers come for the heartwarming stories. If we tell the story well, they'll even think the sponsor's toilet is infused with warmth."
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