booktalesy Chapter 228 The Direction of Military Green
Chapter 228 The Direction of Military Green
Chapter 228 The Direction of Military Green
The week the first batch of trench coats was shipped, Kitahara's office inbox was overflowing with photos.
Someone unpacked the trench coat, laid the box and the handwritten delivery card on the floor, took a neat picture, and wrote: "Received."
Some people simply put it on, stood in the hallway outside their homes, and made a peace sign in front of the mirror against a backdrop of messy shoe cabinets and clothes racks with socks hanging out to dry—it was utterly unappealing, yet the comments below were far more numerous than those for the carefully arranged product photos.
Kenichi Oshima received the package just before noon when the store opened.
He unpacked the coat, unfolded it, and held it up in the back kitchen of the bento shop. It fit him perfectly. Sachiko looked over from the stove and saw him standing there dumbly in the steam, wearing only an apron and a military green M-51 trench coat.
"Are you planning to cook while wearing it?" Sachiko asked.
"Give it a try."
Sachiko stared at him for a few seconds without saying a word, then turned back to continue chopping vegetables. But a slight smile played at the corners of her lips, not completely suppressed.
Jianyi took off his trench coat, folded it neatly, put it in a box, and placed it on the shelf behind the cashier.
After the store opened, almost all the regular customers who came to see "Bad Investigation Line" that day noticed the box. An elderly man by the window craned his neck to look at it for a long time before asking, "Did you receive it?"
"received."
"How does it feel?"
"It's heavy, and the fabric is very thick." Jian took out the box and let him feel the collar.
The old man nodded, and said thoughtfully, "He certainly doesn't seem like the kind of person who's just trying to fool people."
A young working woman in the corner, shoveling rice into her mouth with her chopsticks, turned her head and asked, "What number did you buy?"
"0734."
She thought for a moment and said, "I am 2204." Then she lowered her head and continued eating, her tone carrying a hint of nonchalant pride.
The topic of trench coats spread even faster than Kitahara Shin had anticipated during that period.
Initially, it was just fans sharing photos of their purchases. Later, an editor from a fashion media outlet noticed the garment, found one, studied it carefully, and wrote an article about it, which was published in the magazine's column that month.
The article is titled: "Military Green Returns—From Screen to Street, the M-51's Second Life"
The columnist didn't delve too much into the plot of "Bayside Shakedown" in the article, but instead focused on the design language of the trench coat itself—
The M-51 style was originally a modified version of the US military field uniform. It features wide shoulders, dropped sleeves, and an unfinished waist, with an overall large and square silhouette, which is completely the opposite of the slim-fit suit aesthetic that has been popular in the Japanese fashion industry in recent years.
But that is precisely its unique characteristic.
The editor wrote that when Aoshima Shunsaku was running around in the corridors of the Wangan District Office wearing this outfit, the garment itself had a clumsy, loose feel, which strangely echoed his unlucky streak of hitting a wall and not turning back. The oversized silhouette didn't weigh him down; instead, wearing it gave him a contradictory feeling of being ready to move at any moment, yet being held back by something.
This kind of style is especially easy to pull off in this era of economic downturn and when many people are struggling to make ends meet.
The article included a street photo of a young man waiting at a red light at the Shibuya intersection. He was wearing a military green trench coat, his hands in his pockets, and his face turned to the side. The angle of the camera perfectly showcased the dropped shoulder line of the coat.
After the magazine was published, the picture was cut out and began to circulate in various places.
After the fashion magazine article came out, Secretary Aida included it in the week's media report, attaching it to the viewership data, and handed it to Kitahara Shin.
Kitahara Shin read the article from beginning to end, then put it down.
"President," Aida adjusted her glasses, laying out the question she'd been pondering for days, "the first batch of 10,000 pieces has already been shipped. There are still 90,000 pieces in stock. What's the next step?"
-
Kitahara Shin did not answer immediately, but instead turned to the window with his coffee cup and looked at the street below for a while.
Secretary Aida waited quietly.
"Leave it for now," Kitahara Shin said.
"Leave it." Aida wrote these two words on the memo, then looked up. "When exactly?"
"Wait until the show finishes airing." Kitahara Shin turned back and sat down. "After the entire first season ends, wait at least three months before considering the next step."
Secretary Aida nodded, but instead of putting away the memo, she continued, "So, three months later, will it be a full-scale release?"
"No." Kitahara Shin shook his head, his tone calm. "Releasing the entire stock would be the stupidest thing to do."
He placed the coffee cup on the table and began to explain.
"The first batch of 10,000 pieces are numbered, limited-edition releases. Their value lies in their scarcity and timing. If I were to dump all 90,000 pieces at once three months later, those who received the numbered pieces in the first batch would feel cheated the very next day. The reputation of this garment, and the credibility of all subsequent merchandise, would be destroyed along with it."
Secretary Aida wrote down these words and nodded: "Then how about selling them in batches?"
"We'll release it in phases," said Kitahara Nobu. "After the first season's finale airs, to capitalize on the buzz surrounding the ending, we'll release a second batch of 30,000 units. These will be unnumbered and officially available for pre-order as the standard edition. This batch will be priced a notch lower than the first batch, with the selling point being 'consistent quality at a more affordable price.'"
"After the second batch sells out," he continued, "the remaining 60,000 pieces will be sealed up and released as a 'movie commemorative edition' when the first theatrical version is confirmed for filming. By then, this garment will have been deeply intertwined with the 'Bayside Shakedown' IP for three or four years; buyers won't be buying a piece of clothing, they'll be buying a memory."
Secretary Aida paused for a moment.
Having worked in this industry for so many years, handling all sorts of business negotiations and product planning, she had never seen this kind of logic in any company's planning documents.
The same garment is divided into three distinct consumer meanings chronologically: the initial release's scarcity, the widespread availability of the official version, and the emotional appeal of commemorative editions. Each batch targets a different group of people and addresses a different purchasing motivation.
The inventory is not being sold, but rather being released in a phased manner.
"There's one more thing," Kitahara Shin added, speaking slowly and deliberately, "between these three batches, every now and then, have the design department come up with a minor revision—not a change to the pattern, but the pattern and fabric must remain exactly the same, only the color."
We'll release a dark blue and a khaki color. Each color will be limited to 5,000 pieces, sold through stores and mail order channels. We won't do large-scale advertising; we'll rely on word-of-mouth to spread the word naturally.
"In that case," he looked at Aida, "this piece of clothing won't just become 'something I bought back then,' but rather something that will generate new topics of conversation every now and then, something that people will keep thinking about."
Secretary Aida filled this page of the memo, turned to the next page, and continued writing.
She kept her head down, not letting Kitahara Shin see her expression.
But she thought to herself that if this logic was ultimately proven to be correct—and she had a feeling it would be—then this military green trench coat would leave a rather peculiar mark on the history of the Japanese clothing market.
1
While all these business plans were quietly progressing, "The Great Search Line" itself was also moving forward in an extremely slow but undeniable way.
The ratings did not experience any dramatic jumps, fluctuating between thirteen and fifteen points. Occasionally, an episode with a slightly explosive plot would briefly touch the edge of sixteen.
Compared to other prime-time dramas airing at the same time, which easily maintained viewership ratings above 20%, "The Great Search Line" always seemed to be stuck in the middle.
But if you look closely at what's behind those numbers, you'll find that some things are starting to subtly change.
The most noticeable change is the increase in the number of people watching at non-fixed times.
In those days, television ratings surveys weren't sophisticated enough to track every single person, but Fuji TV's GG department pieced together a vague outline through feedback from partner businesses—more and more people were encountering "Bayside Shakedown" in different places and at different times.
Some people watched it in a bento shop, some watched it while waiting at a barbershop, and some watched it out of curiosity after a colleague mentioned that "that Aoshima Shunsaku has been scammed again recently."
These people constitute a part of the viewership statistics that is not visible.
And this part is gradually getting bigger.
On the night that Toru Ijuin finished watching the sixth episode, something happened that even surprised him.
His roommate came back from outside and saw him staring blankly at the TV. He casually asked what he was watching.
He told him the title of the play.
His roommate said "Oh," sat down next to him, and picked up the remote to adjust the volume.
The two of them watched the last part of episode six together.
When the end credits rolled, my roommate was silent for a moment, then said, "This head of the criminal investigation department is just like our department head."
Ijuin Toru glanced at him but said nothing.
My roommate continued, "It's like he's always right, but you just feel like something's not quite right, but—"
I can't put it into words.
Ijuin Toru took the remote back and turned on the next episode.
My roommate sank deeper into the sofa, showing no sign of leaving.
That night, the two of them watched the remaining episodes in one go.
When my roommate saw the scene in episode eight where Aoshima Shunsaku was standing at the meeting room door, desperately trying to rush in but getting stuck by the program, he suddenly burst out laughing, then quickly stopped himself and said, "That's fucking accurate."
Ijuin Toru did not answer.
He just remembered the shipping confirmation card number 0732 on the bookshelf, and what Kitahara Shin said on a variety show: "One day, they will suddenly realize that the unlucky Aoshima Shunsaku on the screen looks a lot like someone they know."
He didn't know whether Kitahara Shin knew this day would come before the drama aired.
But it did come.