Chapter Thirty-Six: Entrance

Formed in 1988 and officially debuting in 1991, SMAP was undoubtedly Ye Zhao’s senior in the industry. Seeing them approaching, Ye Zhao quickly greeted them, “Hello, SMAP-san, I’m Ye Zhao.”

Upon hearing his introduction, Masahiro Nakai joked, “Thanks for going easy on us with ‘Rainbow’ and letting us snag a weekly number one.” Their debut single had been overtaken by Chage and Aska, and it wasn’t until this year’s release of “HEY HEY, Thanks for Coming” that SMAP finally achieved their first weekly champion spot. Unlike later generations of Johnny’s idols, they didn’t take the top spot so seriously, which was why Nakai could joke about competing for weekly champions without any resentment.

“Not at all, Nakai-san, you flatter me,” Ye Zhao replied modestly.

“It’s not flattery. I’ve listened to your ‘Rainbow’ and ‘Summer Colors.’ To be able to write such songs is truly impressive!” Takuya Kimura interjected. Having just starred in “Asunaro Hakusho” in 1993, Kimura was at the peak of his looks. Occasionally, female staff members passing by couldn’t help but steal a glance at him.

Michie Iijima handed Ye Zhao a business card. “Hello, Ye Zhao-san, I’m SMAP’s manager, Iijima. We look forward to your guidance in the industry.” A few years later, it would have been a fantasy for a new artist to be treated so courteously by Iijima, but for now, SMAP was still on the rise. Iijima was not yet the iron-willed manager who would later spark a succession war within Johnny’s. The group still needed connections to climb higher, and Ye Zhao, as a singer-songwriter who had just debuted with two hit singles, was someone Iijima naturally hoped to befriend. If SMAP became a national group, perhaps he’d be aiming high by offering them songs, but for now, it was a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Ye Zhao accepted the business card. “It’s really me who should be saying this. I hope to have your and SMAP-san’s support in the future.”

Ye Zhao’s humble attitude won Iijima’s favor, and she couldn’t help but add, “Your songs are so outstanding, Ye Zhao-san. When will you write one for SMAP?”

“Of course, as long as you find it suitable,” Ye Zhao replied readily. Even without mentioning building a relationship with SMAP, merely providing songs to a popular idol group was a lucrative business. After all, idols were different from regular singers—they had a legion of devoted fans who guaranteed their sales. As a songwriter, Ye Zhao only needed to submit his work, and once accepted, he could sit back and watch the royalties roll in.

While their conversation was in full swing, a chorus of greetings—“Good evening, Koizumi-san!”—heralded the arrival of a graceful and beautiful woman, accompanied by four staff members. There was only one star surnamed Koizumi who commanded such a presence: Kyoko Koizumi.

Debuting in 1982, Kyoko Koizumi had ridden the idol craze through to its cooling period. While many of her contemporaries had faded into obscurity, she successfully transitioned into a major star in music, film, and television. With twelve years in the industry, she was undoubtedly the most senior artist present that day, though she was only twenty-eight.

Seeing their senior, SMAP hurried to greet her in unison, “Hello, Koizumi-san!”

Kyoko Koizumi smiled warmly. “Hello, let’s all do our best for today’s performance.” Truly a pioneer among idols, her voice was so sweet it could melt one’s bones.

Ye Zhao quickly followed suit. “Hello, Koizumi-san!”

Kyoko Koizumi looked Ye Zhao up and down. “Hello, are you new?”

“Yes, my name is Ye Zhao. I’m a new artist signed with BEING.”

The smile on Kyoko Koizumi’s face faded markedly, and her tone became formal and distant, completely different from how she’d addressed SMAP. “Oh, well, do your best,” she said, then departed gracefully with her assistant.

What was that about? Ye Zhao was left bewildered—this senior’s mood swing was remarkably swift. He cast a confused glance at SMAP and Iijima; the former seemed at a loss, while Iijima’s expression was more nuanced, as if she knew something she couldn’t say outright.

“Iijima-san?” Ye Zhao tried prompting.

Iijima responded perfunctorily. “SMAP has rehearsals now, so we’ll be going. Just remember, Ye Zhao-san, the entertainment world might seem like a big circle, but within it, there are many smaller circles.”

So even within the big circle, there were small circles? In other words, Ye Zhao and Kyoko Koizumi belonged to different factions. Ye Zhao nodded thoughtfully and sought out his assistant, Akihiko Niigaki. “Niigaki-san, which agency is Kyoko Koizumi with?”

“Koizumi-san? She’s the leading actress at BRUNING’s main office,” replied Niigaki. “Did you meet her? Don’t take it to heart if she wasn’t very friendly. Our company and BRUNING… well, we don’t get along.”

Not getting along with BRUNING… Ye Zhao suddenly found himself with a headache. For a relatively small production company like BEING to have such a formidable adversary? His most direct impression of BRUNING came from an article he’d read about the Japanese entertainment industry, which described a “one superpower, four strong” structure, with the “superpower” being BRUNING.

Founded single-handedly by Yukio Suo, BRUNING was officially a mid-sized agency, but its true strength lay in the fact that over half of the industry’s smaller agencies were connected to it—either by mentorship or outright as subsidiaries. Moreover, Yukio Suo was notorious for his connections on both sides of the law, backed by the RB Black Society, notorious for his ruthlessness and skill. Calling him a capable gangster was not far off.

How had BEING managed to offend such a heavyweight in the industry…

7:50 PM, at the “MUSIC STATION” studio.

Ten minutes to air. Hosts Tamori and assistant Hiroshi Ikushima entered the studio. A staff member handed them microphones. “Tamori-san, Ikushima-san, please check your mics.”

Speaking of “MS” hosts, from 1987 to 2017, Tamori was a constant presence on the show, while nine different female hosts rotated beside him. This earned the program the nickname, “Ironclad Tamori, flowing female hosts.” In its first few years, however, Tamori’s co-host wasn’t a woman but the crew-cut, thickly bespectacled Hiroshi Ikushima.

“The microphones are fine,” Tamori signaled with an OK gesture.

“Nine minutes to live broadcast. Please get ready.” With that, the staff hurried off stage. The vast studio fell silent, broken only by the countdown called out at one-minute intervals.

Backstage, all the performers had changed into their stage outfits. SMAP, who had worn casual clothes for rehearsal, now sported flamboyant, circus-like costumes—a signature of Johnny’s groups. DEEN members wore matching black suits; BEING was known for its minimalist styling. In stark contrast, LINDBERG was decked out in wild, rebellious attire, unmistakably rock. Kyoko Koizumi appeared in a black, sheer, floral-patterned gown, her sleek hair draped over her shoulders, while NOKKO wore an all-white dress. The two women, one in black and one in white, stood on the same side backstage, each exuding a distinct aura.

As for Ye Zhao, he wore a white casual shirt paired with Levi’s blue jeans, looking every bit the college student who’d just come straight from class. In a tweed jacket, Noriyuki Makihara was chatting amiably with him. Perhaps because they were both male solo singer-songwriters, Makihara had shown Ye Zhao great kindness from the start.

“Everyone, the show’s about to begin,” a staff member announced.

…

In the studio, the staff counted down with hand signals: … three, two, one!

As the signal for “one” dropped, music filled the air.

“Good evening, I’m Tamori.”

“Good evening, I’m Hiroshi Ikushima. September is almost over, and schools across the country are getting ready for their culture festivals. The artists performing tonight are said to be very popular in schools and are often covered by student bands. So, let’s welcome our lineup this evening!”

As Ikushima finished, the cameras, previously focused center stage, swiftly fanned out, moving between the stairway and the audience.

First to appear was LINDBERG, followed by SMAP, then DEEN and Noriyuki Makihara. NOKKO and Kyoko Koizumi were scheduled last, with Ye Zhao slotted third from the end.

Descending the stairs, Ikushima introduced, “Next up is Ye Zhao. As the most mysterious and talked-about singer in Japan right now, today marks his television debut. Welcome!”

MS’s audience was famous for their enthusiasm in welcoming artists. The moment a performer stepped onto the stairs and their name was announced, they unleashed a deafening chorus of screams, rivaling the fake tears on melodramatic shows. When Ye Zhao appeared, whether they were his fans or not, the audience greeted him with cheers and applause no less fervent than for any other performer.

As he walked down the stairs and took his place center stage, the lights converged on him, illuminating Ye Zhao alone.

The sensation of being bathed in the spotlight—he’d first experienced it at the DOCOMO talent competition’s winner’s press conference. Back then, though standing in the center, he’d been little more than a supporting character. Now, even if this wasn’t his home turf, he was finally no longer an unknown extra.