The entire phenomenon began with two "cheap" Japanese anime series, Mashin Hero Wataru and Magical King Granzort, for which CN had acquired the first-run broadcast rights for just $500 per episode.
The initial run of both series had just concluded.
To fill the afternoon schedule, CN had initially slotted these two shows at 4:30 PM.
This time slot was awkward. Most elementary school students in the United States had just gotten off the school bus. If the driver lingered on the route or the children dawdled at the door for a few extra minutes, they often rushed into the house and turned on the TV only to catch the end credits.
For Japanese anime, with their strong emphasis on plot continuity, this was a disaster.
What made it even more unfortunate was that these two series were simply too good.
This was the beginning of the golden age of Japanese animation's hand-drawn techniques, and behind them stood Bandai, the wealthy toy giant, whose generous funding—driven by the desire to sell merchandise—had ensured ample resources.
Compared to the stiffly animated, sloppily rendered American cartoons, Sunrise's work was a complete dimensional shift.
Especially the special moves and mecha transformation sequences, which industry insiders called "stock footage," were packed with detail.
Every time the protagonist shouted, "The chance has come!" the soaring background music, dazzling visual effects, and fluid mechanical transformations were as visually stunning to American kids who'd never seen anything like it as their first glimpse of color television.
On school playgrounds, children who'd seen the scene animatedly struck poses from the "Dragon Ascension Sword," while those who hadn't tugged at their ears in frustration.
"I want to see that robot with the sword!"
"Mom, the school bus driver was too slow! I missed the transformation!"
These complaints spread through living rooms across the United States, culminating in a flood of phone calls to Atlanta.
The Director stared at the report in his hands, his expression shifting from impatience to a peculiar, constipated look.
The ratings curve showed a sharp rise at 4:30 PM, peaking at 4:52 PM—the exact moment the protagonist unleashed his special move.
Average rating: 1.6%.
"Damn it," the Director cursed under his breath, slamming the report onto the table.
Betty looked puzzled. "Isn't a rating this high a good thing?"
"Good? Go check the contracts those Japanese left behind!" The Director gnashed his teeth, the pain of the thought like a piece of flesh being carved away. "They dug a massive pit for us. The contract states that once the rating exceeds 1.5%, the copyright fees jump to the next tier, and we have to give back 15% of the GG share!"
Betty froze, then remembered the business representatives from Sunrise Animation at the negotiation table, their expressions like they were practically giving the show away at a loss.
So it wasn't foolishness—it was the patience of a hunter watching its prey step into a trap.
The $500 was just bait; the real killer blow was yet to come.
"So... should we pull the show?" Betty asked tentatively.
"Pull it? If we pull it now, do you think those parents will set the CNN building on fire tomorrow?" The Director rubbed his temples, gazing at the gloomy sky outside. Finally, he waved his hand in resignation. "Adjust the schedule."
"How should we adjust it?"
"If they want to watch, let them watch their fill," the Director said, a ruthless glint in his eyes. It was the compromise a capitalist had to make for profit. "Clear out the weekend morning continuous broadcast slot and let them watch their fill. Replay all five episodes from this week in one go."
Betty's eyes lit up. "This will both appease the children who missed the premiere and boost our weekend morning ratings?"
"It's mainly to shut those parents up," the Director snorted. "As long as we can keep those hyperactive brats glued to the TV for two hours on Saturday morning, they'll be willing to pay 30% of the GG fee—even 15%—just to get their sleep. Those parents will be begging us to pay up."
"Good thing we signed the contract for the first rerun when we signed the initial agreement, and the GG share isn't as brutal as the premiere." The Director paused, gritting his teeth. "Still, anything over 1% viewership means we have to give away 8% of the share..."
Takuya Nakayama had already calculated these numbers for them.
As the GG fees for the weekend reruns of the two animated shows went out, the calls from Atlanta finally died down.
At the CNN Center in Atlanta, Ted Turner stared at the report in his hand, his expression suggesting indigestion.
"The ratings are 1.4%," Betty said, pushing her glasses up her nose. Her tone was neither celebratory nor regretful. "Boss, according to the contract, we only owe Sunrise 15% of the GG revenue. As for the merchandise sales share—
Since we didn't reach the 2% betting threshold, we don't owe them a penny. On paper, we've saved a substantial amount."
Turner remained silent, his gaze fixed on another document on the table: the quarterly sales report from Bandai's American branch, provided by the Marketing Department.
Those plastic robots, which he had always dismissed as crude as building blocks, had somehow achieved over ten million dollars in sales in just three months.
Although Bandai's models weren't widely distributed, the GG slots during the anime's broadcast had included merchandise sales channels, making them relatively easy for children to find.
Cartoon Network had invested little—only the 4:30 PM afternoon slot, along with some promotional resources. Yet the result was a seemingly substantial GG fee and channel commissions.
Although this deal was quite profitable for Cartoon Network, it paled in comparison to Bandai's staggering sales figures.
"We didn't lose money, but we still gave away a lot," Turner said, tossing the report back onto his desk and leaning back in his chair, the leather creaking in protest. "Those Sunrise Animation folks planned this from the start. They don't care if we break 2% in ratings—they might even be deliberately holding us back. All they want is that 1.4% of the core audience."
As long as some kids watched, bought the merchandise, and showed it off at school, the rest of the work would be done by the children's own competitive nature.
These Japanese were using his television station as a free trade show while they hid behind the scenes counting their money.
"So... what about the next renewal?" Betty asked tentatively. "Should we keep airing it?"
"Air it! Why wouldn't we?" Turner smiled through gritted teeth, a ruthless glint in his eyes that only a businessman seeing profit could possess. "Even though we gave them a free ride, this free ride is still making us money. As long as we're making money, I'll put up with it. But next time, don't think you can fob me off with five hundred dollars again. Tell those Japanese that if they want to air their GG commercials on my turf, they'll have to pay more."
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