The first episode came to an abrupt halt with the intense conflict between Fong Chun-sun and Ting Hai, as the closing theme song slowly faded in.
Eri let out a long breath, her chest heaving slightly, her eyes still glued to the screen.
"This show is so oppressive, but so addictive! That Ting Hai is an absolute monster! How did Fong Chun-sun end up with a friend like that? It's infuriating!" Eri couldn't help but complain, clearly completely immersed in the plot.
"This is only the first episode. The rest gets even crazier," Takuya said as he stood up and picked up the empty fruit platter. "The slaughter in the stock market and the distortion of human nature will be a hundred times more brutal than this."
Eri stood up with him, helping to clear the toothpicks from the coffee table. She looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. "Is there another episode tomorrow night?"
"One episode every day, airing continuously."
"Then I'll definitely get Kazuki to sleep early tomorrow. I can't miss the beginning!" Eri's voice was filled with obvious anticipation, and she even clenched her small fists in excitement.
Takuya carried the fruit platter toward the kitchen, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched his wife's excited figure.
Even Eri, a housewife who usually only watched family dramas and lighthearted variety shows, had been completely captivated by the first episode, her emotions riding a rollercoaster.
What would the financial professionals and retail investors—those who spent their days glued to the indices in Kabutocho, fighting tooth and nail in the stock market—do?
When they saw Ting Hai's god-like, frenzied maneuvers in the futures market later on, they would surely be driven to utter madness!
Takuya placed the fruit platter in the sink and turned on the faucet.
The rushing water washed over the porcelain dish with a steady whoosh.
He knew that Japan's late-night television was about to be hit by an unprecedented ratings storm.
As for those local stations that had refused to pay, complaining it was too expensive—they would probably be slapping their thighs in regret when they saw tomorrow's ratings report.
Friday morning.
Kabutocho, Tokyo. The VIP Trading Room of Daiwa Securities.
The air conditioning was blasting, yet the air still smelled of desperation.
The clatter of keyboards was as relentless as a torrential downpour.
A young trader tugged at his suffocatingly tight tie and took a massive gulp of black coffee, double-iced.
The frigid liquid slid down his throat, barely managing to suppress the irritation seething in his chest.
On the computer screen before him, the exchange rate curve of the Thai Baht against the US Dollar was plummeting like a kite with its string cut, continuing its heart-stopping descent. Red and green numbers flickered wildly, each second representing hundreds of millions in wealth evaporating.
The supervisor strolled over, holding a thermos, and tapped on the young trader's cubicle wall.
"Did you watch TV Tokyo last night?"
The young trader froze for a moment, tearing his gaze away from the disastrous market screen. He turned immediately, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
"I did! Of course I did! That Ting Hai guy is a complete and utter lunatic! He started by throwing his four biological sons off a building like they were trash. I was eating instant noodles at the time and almost sprayed them all over my screen!"
The supervisor pulled up a chair, sat down beside him, and took a sip of goji berry water from his thermos.
"The visuals were certainly shocking. The directors in Hong Kong really know how to push the envelope. But did you notice the part where he shorted the futures index?"
The young trader nodded vigorously, still shaken. "I saw it. It was pure intuition, completely devoid of logic. He didn't even have the most basic financial common sense. Yet, somehow, that bull-headed brute managed to bet right! The stock market crashed, everyone else went bankrupt and lined up to jump off buildings, but he made a killing. It's just not fair!"
The supervisor sneered, gesturing with his chin toward the screen, where the Thai Baht's exchange rate was plummeting.
"No justice? Look at this. How is this any different from the current situation in Southeast Asia? Soros and those Wall Street sharks are aggressively shorting. The moment the Bank of Thailand admitted defeat, the Baht just tanked. The international speculators riding the wave are exactly like Ting Hai in the show—they can rake in money by shorting with their eyes closed!"
Nearby, several traders who had been glued to their screens with tense nerves heard the conversation and rolled their wheeled office chairs over.
The topic instantly shifted from the dry, depressing trends of the foreign exchange market to a heated discussion about the TV drama's plot.
"That Chan Man-yin is too sinister. He manipulated the retail investors' psychology with just a few words, trapping them all. His tactics are exactly like those old market makers in Kabutocho!"
"You're telling me! My wife never watches financial stuff—she finds it boring. But last night, she actually pulled me aside and asked what index futures are and how leverage is calculated."
"My mom's the same! She's completely captivated by the family feuds in the show. This morning, before I left for work, she held my hand tight and warned me not to become someone like Ting Hai at the office. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry."
The supervisor stood up and straightened his expensive silk tie, a hint of sentiment in his eyes.
"That's the brilliance of this show," he remarked. "It perfectly blends professional financial maneuvers with the most melodramatic family feuds, lowering the barrier to entry to the absolute minimum. Now, all of Kabutocho—from ten-year veterans to fresh recruits—are talking about it."
He shook his head and turned to walk back to his private office, leaving behind a heavy, meaningful parting shot.
"Keep your eyes glued to the boards. A real-life stock market crash is far more brutal than anything you'll see on TV."
Noon.
TV Tokyo, GG Department Manager's Office.
Thud!
The PR representative from Nomura Securities slammed a brand-new contract onto the solid wood desk, his posture radiating dominance.
The GG Department Manager picked up the contract, his eyes darting over the figures. His heart skipped a beat, and he couldn't resist rubbing his hands together in secret anticipation.
The representative pulled out a chair, sat down with a swaggering air of authority, and spoke in a tone that brooked no argument.
"We're increasing the budget by fifty percent over the original amount. Our only demand is this: for the next month, the first mid-roll GG spot during TV Tokyo's late-night broadcast of The Greed of Men must be reserved for Nomura Securities!"
The manager fought to keep the corners of his mouth from curling upward. He set the contract down gently and feigned a thoughtful pause.
"This is... going to be difficult," the representative said, leaning back in his chair and arrogantly crossing his legs. "To be honest, Daiwa Fund sent someone over this morning. Their offer is almost identical to yours, and they're also dead set on that first slot."
The manager's head snapped up, his eyes gleaming. "Whatever they're offering, Nomura will beat it by ten percent!"
The representative tapped the desk with a rhythmic precision, his voice dropping to a low tone that betrayed the sharp instincts of a capitalist. "The Baht has been plummeting these past two days, and the news is everywhere. People are watching their money lose its value in real-time, and panic has completely set in. Your channel is airing this drama at night, filled with stories of families losing everything. You're just pouring gasoline on the fire!"
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