Chapter Twenty-Six: Capturing Moments of Radiance

July slipped away in a hurry, and the streets and alleys of Tokyo gradually became saturated with Ye Zhao’s “Summer Colors.” Not only did shops and businesses play it over their loudspeakers, but lately, even on his commute between home and the company, Ye Zhao frequently encountered street performers near the stations singing his single. Apollo Records had already printed the third batch; after the successful release of “Summer Colors,” this obscure underground label suddenly soared in reputation within the industry. The two who had orchestrated the collaboration with Ye Zhao, Arakawa and Shi, were now receiving offers from several mainstream record companies, having been praised for their “keen eye for talent.” Whether they would remain loyal to their old company or move on to greener pastures was no longer Ye Zhao’s concern.

On this particular day, as usual, he arrived at BEING’s headquarters vocal classroom before nine o’clock. Pushing open the door, Ye Zhao saw a tall, slender woman standing by the window, with the elegance of a model. She wore a white chiffon blouse and loose light blue jeans, her chestnut hair cascading over her shoulders.

Maeda-sensei was barely 1.55 meters tall, her hair cropped short like a high school homeroom teacher, so this was clearly not her. Ye Zhao instinctively withdrew, checked that he had not entered the wrong room, then stepped inside again.

The slight disturbance caught the attention of the woman in the classroom. By the time Ye Zhao entered, she had turned around, her hands folded behind her back, smiling shyly at him. “Hello.” Her skin was clean and fair, her brows long and her eyes almond-shaped. At first glance, she appeared gentle and delicate, but upon closer inspection, there was an air of boldness about her. Two entirely different temperaments blended in her, not clashing but instead adding to her charm.

What a beautiful woman! That was Ye Zhao’s first reaction.

“Hello. Um, where is Maeda-sensei?”

“Maeda-sensei isn’t here today. I’ll be your temporary vocal coach.” She stepped forward and introduced herself. “I’m Takahashi Mirei. I’ll be guiding you for the next hour and a half.”

“Is that Mirei Takahashi of MANISH?”

“So you know me?” Takahashi Mirei smiled with genuine delight.

Ye Zhao certainly knew MANISH. The all-female band composed of lead singer Takahashi Mirei and keyboardist Nishimoto Mari was one of the few groups launched by BEING in the early 1990s that never truly achieved mainstream success. Throughout their career, neither their singles nor albums ever claimed a number one spot. Their most famous song was the one they performed for “Slam Dunk”—“Capturing the Shining Moment.” The band abruptly ended activities in 1998, and both members vanished from the public eye.

Despite not matching their predecessors in fame, the group left behind two much-discussed legacies: Takahashi Mirei’s powerful yet crystalline vocals, and the extraordinary beauty of both members—especially Mirei, whose looks at her peak ranked among the finest of female singers.

“Does Miss Takahashi also teach vocals?”

“‘Miss Takahashi’ is too formal. We’re colleagues here—just call me Takahashi or Mirei.” She said, a little bashful. “Maeda-sensei has gone to help with backing vocals at a B’z concert, so I’m stepping in.”

“I see. Then I’ll be in your care today.”

Although Takahashi Mirei’s main profession was singing, her teaching was thorough. She combined explanation with demonstration, imparting many insights from a professional singer’s perspective.

“This isn’t right—you need to use your diaphragm.” Takahashi Mirei gestured to her own lower abdomen.

Ye Zhao nodded and sang again.

She listened with furrowed brows, then sighed, “You need to break your old habits and learn to sing with technique. Only then will your career as a singer last.”

“Sorry.”

“Never mind,” she said, shaking her head. She moved in front of Ye Zhao and gently placed her right hand on his lower abdomen. “Try again, and focus your attention here.”

The warmth from her palm seeped through his thin t-shirt. Lowering his head, Ye Zhao caught a faint fragrance at the tip of his nose. His gaze slipped downward, and through her blouse, he could just make out the delicate cup-shaped flower on her lace undergarment.

Ye Zhao’s breath caught.

“Hey, we’re starting,” Takahashi Mirei urged, oblivious to his distraction.

“Alright.” Ye Zhao discreetly shifted his gaze away, recalling Maeda-sensei’s techniques in his mind, and sang again.

This time, his performance finally won Takahashi Mirei’s approval. Her furrowed brows relaxed, and she applauded softly. “Yes, that’s it.” Her warm hand withdrew, leaving Ye Zhao with a fleeting sense of loss.

An hour and a half flew by. When Takahashi Mirei announced the end of the lesson, the two walked out of the vocal classroom together. Having just turned twenty this year, Takahashi Mirei was a peer to Ye Zhao; perhaps because of their similar ages, their interaction felt especially relaxed. Even in the elevator, the mood remained light and cheerful. Most of the time, Ye Zhao did the talking while Mirei listened with a gentle smile.

On the first floor, there was an automatic vending machine. After exiting the elevator, Ye Zhao bought two cans of coffee and handed one to Takahashi Mirei. “Please enjoy.”

“Thank you.” She accepted the coffee, opened the pull tab, and took a gentle sip.

Ye Zhao had originally wanted to invite her to lunch, but his royalties had yet to arrive. After paying rent with his basic salary from BEING, all that remained was just enough to keep him from starving. At this point, his pockets were as clean as his face—coffee was manageable, but a meal was out of the question. While he mulled over how to politely bid her farewell, Mirei spoke first, “I have another job next, so I’ll be going ahead.”

...

On August second, Ye Zhao clocked in at the company as usual. Before heading to the vocal classroom, the receptionist informed him that Daikou Nagato wanted to see him in his office.

He took the elevator to the president’s office at the top floor. After knocking, Nagato’s voice called, “Come in.” Ye Zhao entered, and Nagato rose from his seat, his face beaming as he led Ye Zhao to the long sofa in the reception area, instructing his female assistant to bring coffee.

“President Nagato, is there something you wanted to discuss?”

Nagato handed him a document from the table. “Have a look. This is last week’s single sales data compiled by ORICON.”

Ye Zhao took the document and instinctively started looking from the twentieth position upward. No sign from twenty to ten, nor from ten to five. His eyes moved up past fourth, third, second places...

“First?!” Ye Zhao stared at the top of the singles chart. His “Summer Colors” had claimed the ORICON weekly single champion with sales of over 337,000 copies! The total sales had surpassed 450,000, heading toward half a million.

“This is incredible!” Nagato clapped Ye Zhao on the shoulder. “It’s practically a miracle!”

Indeed, it was a miracle. Instances of underground artists topping the ORICON weekly chart were rare. Whichever underground artist managed such a feat, it was worth boasting about; music programs and radio stations would surely mention it. Trend-following RB people, seeing an underground single at the top spot, would be curious enough to buy and listen, resulting in another round of invisible advertising.

Amid his joy, Nagato didn’t forget the main issue. “Now that your single’s momentum is nearing its peak, there are several fireworks festivals in August. Riding this wave, you’ll stay hot through August, but once autumn arrives, a decline is inevitable. So, we shouldn’t wait for the hype to fade before preparing your new single. Ideally, we’ll release your debut song between late August and early September. By the way, do you have anything prepared for the new single? If not, that’s fine—our music library has plenty of composers’ works you can choose from.”

“Thank you, President. I already have something prepared for my new song.” Ye Zhao smiled. With his own repertoire, why would he sing someone else’s song?

“Oh? What kind of piece is it? Can you let me hear it?” Though Nagato looked expectant, he was prepared to persuade Ye Zhao to use a library song for his debut if he thought the piece wasn’t good. He knew well that Ye Zhao had no die-hard fans yet; sales depended entirely on word of mouth. If he kept producing good songs, the momentum would continue until he built a solid fan base. But if he failed to deliver, he’d instantly revert to obscurity.

Ye Zhao paid no mind to Nagato’s calculations. In his case, running out of good songs was not an issue. “May I borrow your guitar, President?”

Nagato, a music enthusiast who had even formed bands, kept numerous prized guitars in his office—even after becoming a businessman, perhaps as a reminder of his roots.

“Use whichever you like. If you take a liking to one, I’ll give it to you,” Nagato offered generously.

“Thank you, President,” Ye Zhao replied, careful not to take the offer literally. He didn’t pick the most precious guitar from Nagato’s collection, but after looking around, he selected a Martin D28. While not inexpensive, compared to the other guitars, it was modest; after all, anything displayed in the president’s office was surely no ordinary instrument.