On the television screen, the late-night shopping program was finally drawing to a close.
Eri leaned back against the sofa, chatting as if a little girl sharing a secret. "Father was complaining about it on the phone yesterday. He originally wanted to pull in the other regional stations from the TXN Network to jointly import the drama, splitting the copyright and dubbing costs among everyone to share the risk."
"The other stations didn't agree?" Takuya chuckled softly, as if he had already anticipated this outcome.
"Stingy bastards!" Eri pursed her lips, a hint of indignation for her father in her tone. "The people at TV Aichi and TV Hokkaido said it's an old Hong Kong drama from years ago, the picture quality isn't new enough, and the subject matter—stock trading—is too obscure. They said the risk is too high and flatly refused to put up the money."
Takuya shifted into a more comfortable position, his arm naturally draped over the back of the sofa behind Eri.
"That's normal. Regional stations have tight budgets to begin with. They'd rather spend their money on safe bets like local news and low-cost food variety shows. So, what did your father decide in the end?"
"My father lost his temper and made the decision right then and there—TV Tokyo will buy out the copyright completely! They'll even cover the post-production dubbing costs." Eri turned to her husband, her voice brimming with unconcealed pride. "The External Relations and Finance Departments worked through the night to get the contract ready."
"Nobody at the station objected?"
"Who would dare?" Eri's eyes curved into a smile. "Father's word is law at the station right now. Those flagship shows you planned for them are all cash cows for TV Tokyo, and they're raking in ad revenue. With your reputation as a golden guarantee—a 'sure-fire hit'—backing this, the old men on the Board of Directors didn't even fart. They passed it unanimously!"
Takuya shook his head with a smile.
Just then, the shopping program on the television ended, and the screen cut to a three-minute commercial break.
"Nomura Securities: Providing you with the most professional asset management solutions to withstand the risks of the era—"
"Sumitomo Mitsui Trust Bank: Stable investment, your most solid financial support—"
"Daiwa Fund: Grasp the pulse of the era, create a beautiful future together—"
A string of commercials followed, all for Japan's top financial institutions.
The images of successful men in sharp suits, paired with a deep, persuasive male voiceover, felt jarringly out of place in the dead of night.
Takuya pointed to the TV screen, a shrewd smile playing on his lips.
"See? This is why my father-in-law was so confident in buying out the ad slots himself."
Eri blinked in surprise. "Don't these financial companies rarely advertise in the late-night slots? How much must that cost?"
"They never used to, but things have changed." Takuya picked up a tissue and wiped his hands, his gaze deepening. "Japan's economy is sluggish, and with the chaos in Southeast Asia—the Baht's collapse sending shockwaves everywhere—people's money is losing its value. Everyone's desperate for investment channels to preserve their wealth. The Greed of Men is all about sudden riches and bankruptcy in the stock market. It hits the exact pain points of these financial institutions' target clients. They're paying a premium for these slots to sell their wealth management products right when the audience is most emotionally charged and craving money."
"So that's how it is. Father's playing a clever game. He'll probably recoup his costs with this GG fee alone," Eri realized.
11:00 PM sharp.
Accompanied by a background score heavy with a sense of oppression and fate, the TV Tokyo logo faded away, and the main feature of The Greed of Men officially began.
The opening shot was the rooftop of a skyscraper that pierced the clouds.
The sky was so gloomy it seemed ready to drip with rain. A fierce wind howled, whipping clothes into a frenzy.
The camera zoomed in sharply.
A man with a contorted, ferocious face was gripping a young man's collar, forcing half his body over the edge of the roof, which lacked any railing.
"Ting Hau-kan! Jump! Jump, damn it!"
The man roared hoarsely, his facial muscles twisting with extreme madness, the veins on his forehead bulging.
The young man struggled desperately, sobbing and pleading for mercy, his voice filled with absolute terror.
The next instant.
The man let go without hesitation and shoved him forward with all his might!
The young man screamed as he fell from the high-rise building.
Immediately after, a second, a third, a fourth—this man was throwing his four biological sons off the building one by one, as if he were taking out the trash!
"Ah!"
Eri abruptly covered her mouth, letting out a short gasp.
Her face instantly turned pale, and she involuntarily shrank into Takuya's arms, her eyes wide with shock.
"What—what kind of person is this? How could he kill his own sons?!"
Eri's voice trembled, completely shaken by the opening scene's extreme horror and absurdity.
As a Japanese housewife who had grown up watching Taiga Dramas and pure love stories, she had never seen such a brutal and shocking opening.
Takuya wrapped an arm around her shoulders, gently patting her to reassure her. "Don't be afraid. This is the antagonist, Ting Hai. He's an extremely selfish and paranoid madman who constantly preaches benevolence and morality while acting without any bottom line. This is just a flashback for the opening."
The high-tension opening sequence lasted only a few minutes. Then, the camera shifted, the color palette warmed, and the timeline rewound thirty years. The narrator, Eri, began to recount the long-standing feud between the families of Fong Chun-sun and Ting Hai.
Eri, who had been clutching Takuya's sleeve in fear, found herself completely absorbed as the story unfolded. The portrayal of Fong Chun-sun's integrity and tragedy, Ting Hai's suffocatingly twisted logic, Lo Wai-ling's resilience, and the raw struggle of the marginalized fighting for survival in the torrent of the times—all were depicted with profound depth.
Takuya leaned back on the sofa, paying little attention to the plot he knew by heart. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, listening intently to the Japanese voice-over.
He had to admit, Shochiku had spared no expense on this localization team.
The voice actor cast as Ting Hai was a seasoned veteran, a regular for the final bosses in hot-blooded anime. He captured the character's neurotic, self-righteous madness perfectly. Even the pauses in his breath were laced with a sense of oppression, completely free of any stiff, translated feel.
Fong Chun-sun's portrayal of righteousness and helplessness was also natural and fitting.
The localization of the dialogue was masterfully handled. Hong Kong-specific slang and stock market jargon were cleverly replaced with Kabutocho terms that Japanese audiences could instantly grasp.
Nothing felt out of place; instead, it added a unique flavor, reminiscent of a Japanese kyōkō (anti-hero) drama.
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