By noon that day, all major TV stations' noon news broadcasts simultaneously reported on the phenonon.
So were amazed, others envious, but everyone understood that a new ratings monster had been born.
By evening, a serious talk show even dedicated a segnt to the topic, inviting sociologists and dia comntators to solemnly analyze the deep reasons behind Who Wants to Be a Millionaire's overnight success.
"This fantasy of overnight wealth is nothing but poison for our society's current despondent mood!" a white-haired professor lanted before the cara, his words impassioned and severe. "It promotes the value of getting sothing for nothing, fueling a speculative fever across the entire nation!"
The host imdiately handed the microphone to a younger comntator.
"I don't quite agree," the comntator said, pushing up his glasses. "Rather than calling it speculation, we should see it as a re-affirmation of the value of knowledge. The show makes it crystal clear to everyone—knowledge is wealth. Doesn't this encourage the public, especially young people, to broaden their horizons and study more?"
Overnight, the debate over the show's rits beca the hottest topic of conversation on the streets, in offices, and in break rooms.
By Monday, the third day, dia discussions had reached a fever pitch.
Those who criticized the show repeated the sa refrains: "Unearned rewards," "spiritual opium," and "promoting a gambling ntality."
Supporters, however, spun a dizzying array of praise: "The first shot at monetizing knowledge," "a new standard for learning in the digital age," "a beacon of hope for ordinary people"—a parade of flattery that never seed to end.
The more heated the debate grew, the higher the show's profile rose.
anwhile, the phone lines at TV Tokyo's GG Departnt were swamped, just like the contestant hotline.
"Hello, this is TV Tokyo's GG Departnt... Yes, I'm very sorry, but all GG spots for the first half of this season of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire have been sold out... The second half? Okay, I'll register your request, but I can't guarantee anything..."
Similar calls echoed through the cramped office, the operators' voices growing hoarse.
Even more outrageous was the incident involving Dentsu, Japan's largest GG agency. After his subordinates failed to reach the GG Departnt for half an hour, a director personally called TV Tokyo's director, Nakagawa Jun, in his office.
By evening, the Nakayama family phone also began to ring.
Eri had just finished feeding little Kazuki and was playing with him on the living room floor when she casually pressed the hands-free button.
"Eri! Takuya! Are you listening?!" Jun Nakagawa's voice bood from the speaker, barely containing his ecstatic excitent. "It's a success! A trendous success!"
"Dad, we saw the news," Eri said with a smile, glancing at Takuya, who was nearby, studying a set of building blocks.
"What news?" Jun Nakagawa's voice shot up an octave. "You haven't seen the scene at the GG Departnt! Just now, a Dentsu director personally called ! He wants to book all the GG slots for the second half of the season! I did as Takuya suggested and split many of the GG slots into two halves for the first and second halves of the season. The bidding will start right after the second episode airs next week."
Jun Nakagawa laughed so hard he was nearly out of breath.
The loud laughter from the phone caught the attention of little Kazuki, who was gnawing on a building block.
He dropped his toy and crawled over on all fours, pointing at the phone and waving his finger curiously, babbling a clear, "Ah-ga-ga-ga!"
"Oh! Is that Kazuki?" Jun Nakagawa imdiately switched to "Grandpa Mode," his voice softening considerably. "Grandpa's talking about sothing exciting! Do you understand?"
"Wah! Daddy!" little Kazuki mumbled indistinctly.
"Hahaha! Listen! Even Kazuki knows this is a great idea!" Nakagawa Jun declared triumphantly from the other end of the phone. "My grandson is a real genius!"
Eri was thoroughly amused by the grandfather-grandson duo's interaction.
When the second episode aired, a miracle unfolded that completely electrified Japan.
A graduate student from Kyoto University's literature departnt, ard with extraordinary knowledge and remarkable composure, carved his way through the challenges like a hot knife through butter.
He calmly used three Wildcards and successfully answered the thirteenth question—a fiendish query about Ancient Greek philosophy—to accumulate a staggering prize of 3,000,000 yen.
When the host, his voice trembling, asked if he would attempt the fourteenth question to challenge the 5,000,000 yen mark, the entire studio, along with the tens of millions of viewers watching at ho, held their breath.
Everyone recalled the greedy office worker from the first episode who had crumbled before the 600,000 yen prize.
The young scholar gazed at the "3,000,000" displayed on the screen, a relaxed smile spreading across his face. Into the microphone, he spoke clearly and resolutely: "I choose to give up and take the prize."
A deathly silence fell, followed by a thunderous applause that shook the studio.
In that mont, dreams beca reality.
An ordinary person had truly used their wits to win three million yen in a single night!
The mont the show ended, the phone in Takuya Nakayama's ho rang, as if tid precisely to the broadcast.
"Takuya! Did you see it?! Three million! He took three million!" his father-in-law, Nakagawa Jun, exclaid jubilantly into the receiver.
"I saw it, Father-in-Law," Takuya Nakayama replied, equally thrilled.
"From the GG Departnt, the director of Kirin Brewery just called my office directly! Their beer sales jumped nearly ten percent overnight!" Nakagawa Jun's voice brimd with barely contained excitent.
Seizing the montum, TV Tokyo promptly convened a mid-season sponsorship sales eting for the second half of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.
The Imperial Hotel's largest banquet hall, though packed to the brim, couldn't contain the crowd. Representatives from major GG companies and wealthy sponsors, their eyes gleaming like hungry wolves, weren't focused on the small screen on stage, but on a golden lever that could unlock the consur desires of all Japan.
Behind the scenes, Nakagawa Jun stood nervously, his palms sweating. He had never faced such a daunting crowd in his life.
The auctioneer had barely stepped onto the stage and secured his microphone when a man in a crisp suit stood up from the front row.
He was a representative from Dentsu.
"Director Nakagawa," the man said, not looking at the auctioneer but directly toward the back of the hall. His voice, though not loud, carried clearly throughout the entire venue. "No need for all this trouble. Dentsu will take the agency rights for all mid-episode GGs in the second half of the season."
The hall erupted in an uproar.
Even the auctioneer was stunned.
The man held up three fingers and declared his offer with decisive finality: "Three tis the total price of the first half of the season."
Hisss...
A collective gasp rippled through the banquet hall.
Even Nakagawa Jun felt his heart skip a beat.
Three tis! This wasn't sponsorship; this was burning money!
The Dentsu representative scanned the room, his determined gaze putting imnse pressure on all his competitors.
They understood that Dentsu intended to use its overwhelming power to monopolize the traffic entry points for this phenonon-level program.
After confirming no objections from the other clients, Nakagawa Jun imdiately slamd his gavel, securing the record-breaking contract on the spot.
With Dentsu securing the largest prize, the remaining spots—opening and closing sequences, and a few small sponsored GG positions—ignited an even fiercer bidding war.
Prices skyrocketed, ultimately exceeding even Nakagawa Jun's most optimistic projections.
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