Chapter Forty-Four: The Arduous Task

When Ye Zhao placed the negatives and the tape recorder on the desk, Daikichi Nagato couldn’t conceal the surprise in his eyes. He hadn’t expected Ye Zhao to actually obtain the evidence. Ye Zhao’s expression was calm. “President Nagato, with these and Fujimoto Ryo’s testimony, I believe there shouldn’t be any problem clearing my name, right?” Gathering the evidence hadn’t been too difficult, only a matter of spending some time. Yet Ye Zhao felt no joy in victory. Through the investigation, he had come to a clear realization: this entire series of scandals was nothing more than BRUNING taking advantage of Mika Okawa’s arrival and stirring the pot.

Without BRUNING’s intervention, the affair would have amounted to no more than an outdated gossip piece. The public might have mocked his taste in women or gossiped about his family, but soon, more sensational news would push it to the background, and no one would care about such harmless old matters. With BRUNING’s involvement, however, the expired gossip became an explosive bomb, damaging his character, family, and music in succession, nearly turning it into the biggest scandal of the year.

The most terrifying part was that all it took to almost destroy him was BRUNING’s casual manipulation through Mika Okawa. Had BRUNING intended to go all out, their methods would have ensured all traces were erased, and Ye Zhao would have no choice but to return home in disgrace.

This sense of powerlessness was like encountering a giant on a mountain path—the giant waves casually, sending you flying eight hundred meters with a gust. When you finally scramble back, the giant tells you he was merely saying hello. In the face of absolute power, any clever tricks are futile.

“With these, of course there’s no problem.” Daikichi Nagato picked up the phone. “I’ll convene the public relations department for a meeting and send the statement and evidence to all major magazines and media.”

“President Nagato, instead of merely issuing a statement, why don’t we directly sue Weekly New Wave?” Ye Zhao suggested. “With complete evidence, victory is virtually certain. Bringing down the magazine openly, making the verdict public, will be far more convincing—and serve as a warning to other publications prone to reckless reporting.”

“Sue the magazine?” Daikichi Nagato hesitated. In the entertainment industry, breaking ties with a magazine required careful consideration. Lawsuits took a long time, and maintaining a hostile stance could plant countless future troubles for the company—every offended mouthpiece might bring issues later.

“Are you concerned about falling out with Weekly New Wave? Forgive my frankness, President, but there’s no real camaraderie between magazines and artists. If there’s material, they won’t let it go; when it’s time to jump on the bandwagon, they never hesitate. Not suing them won’t make them show mercy; actually, suing might make them think twice when fabricating stories. For example, Weekly Bunshun and the Fat Autumn group are mortal enemies, yet AKB idols still appear in their photo spreads. Friday has a good relationship with Fat Autumn, but faced with a huge scoop, they also show no mercy. In this business, there are no absolute allies or enemies; interests can dissolve alliances, and adversaries can shake hands. Even though Flame and BEING are bitter rivals, WANDS and Miho Nakayama collaborated on ‘Love You More Than Anyone in the World.’ Star and BEING belong to the same group, but when Izumi Sakai was slandered, they quietly fanned the flames out of regret for letting her slip away.”

Daikichi Nagato was silent for a moment, then moved his finger from the five to the one. “…This is Nagato. Please notify the company’s legal advisor that there’s a meeting at three this afternoon. He must attend. Yes, there’s a lawsuit, and I want his opinion.” Hanging up, Daikichi Nagato looked at Ye Zhao. “You owe me a favor.”

“It’s a win-win.” Ye Zhao met his gaze. “Of course, I will remember this favor, President Nagato.”

…

The next day, the morning news bulletin board displayed a huge headline: BEING officially filed a lawsuit against Weekly New Wave for false reporting on their artist Ye Zhao, demanding a public apology and damages totaling 220 million yen.

The male morning news anchor, pointer in hand, explained the story. “…Based on the evidence BEING has disclosed, defeat for Weekly New Wave is nearly certain. If the lawsuit succeeds, the magazine may face the largest compensation since its founding.”

“As expected, Ye Zhao is innocent, right?” his female co-anchor commented.

“Now it seems so. All right, let’s move on to the next story…”

…

Ye Zhao no longer cared how BEING would fight the lawsuit against Weekly New Wave. He only had to cooperate and await the final outcome. From the eruption of the scandal to gathering evidence and deciding to sue, exactly ten days had passed. In those ten days, Ye Zhao experienced the dizzying highs and lows of an artist’s life. One day, crowds flocked to him; the next, he was shunned and reviled. His record rankings plummeted, and even when he returned to BEING headquarters with the evidence, the receptionist eyed him with a peculiar, hesitant look. On the day he sought Fujimoto Ryo, while sitting in Watanabe Riku’s car, he saw his own albums discarded in a roadside trash bin.

Victory in court was merely the first step toward a new beginning. To achieve complete success, the road ahead mattered most. In this strange country, even if Ye Zhao had done nothing and was the victim, many still considered him a troublemaker—simply because he was at the center of the turmoil.

For this reason, Ye Zhao was grateful to Daikichi Nagato. After the incident, Nagato hadn’t sidelined him or kicked him out for fear of escalating matters. Even when hope seemed slim, he sent Yuuzo Oda to help investigate Mika Okawa, and later risked fallout by suing Weekly New Wave. For a newcomer, Nagato had done more than enough. Though he was a profit-driven businessman, he was not one to abandon principle for gain.

Why call him profit-driven even after such help? Because as soon as Nagato mentioned Ye Zhao owed him a favor, he impatiently assigned him a task both difficult and delicate: write a single for WANDS.

“Can I say I can’t do it…” Ye Zhao haggled, “If the President simply wants me to write songs for seniors and colleagues, DEEN or MANISH would do just as well.”

“WANDS hasn’t released a single since June. The company’s composers have written plenty of good songs, but Uesugi and Shibasaki are dissatisfied. I thought, why not pool our efforts—you try writing one, too. By the way, didn’t you attend the same party as Uesugi? Why are you so reluctant to write for them?”

“It’s not reluctance,” Ye Zhao replied tactfully, “I just feel that since Uesugi and Shibasaki can compose themselves, why not release their own songs? It’s more fitting for a band to shape its own sound.”

If he recalled correctly, after releasing “Till the End of the World,” WANDS had a half-year hiatus. Then, as if to show their refusal to conform to Nagato’s demand for mass-produced pop rock, they released their transformative “Secret Night~It’s My Treat~.” Commercially, this shift was a failure; sales dropped sharply from then on. This deepened the rift between Nagato, who wanted a return to pop rock, and Uesugi Sho, who sought artistic integrity, until Uesugi and Shibasaki finally left both the band and the company.

As expected, Nagato frowned. “Uesugi and Shibasaki have the ability, but their style doesn’t sell. It’s fine for B-sides or album tracks, but not for a lead single.” WANDS was hugely popular, and Nagato wanted to capitalize on that momentum. Uesugi’s quest for a new direction had struck a nerve, making cooperation between them nearly impossible.

Ye Zhao respected Uesugi Sho deeply. Unlike Ye Zhao, who had always aimed for chart success, Uesugi truly loved music—he had a heart that would chase dreams even at the cost of injury and pain. As a youth, listening to “Till the End of the World” in Slam Dunk, Ye Zhao, then ignorant of Japanese, believed it was a song of dreams. As an adult, he learned the lyrics’ meaning and Uesugi’s life story. That song, rather than a dream anthem, was a song of shattered dreams—a defiant, helpless cry from Uesugi bound by chains.

Recalling Uesugi’s silence at their first beer gathering, Ye Zhao said, “I’ll give it a try, President.”

…

Of course, Ye Zhao wouldn’t hand Uesugi a chart-topping hit. Forcing someone to swallow what they most detest—knowing full well their aversion—was spiteful unless you harbored a grudge. Uesugi had his dreams to uphold; Nagato had his policies to enforce. Satisfying both was a tricky business, liable to please neither.

For several days, Ye Zhao shut himself in the studio, clutching his guitar, pondering deeply, occasionally strumming a few chords as he searched his vast library for the right song. Seeing his uncharacteristically driven state, even passing staff tiptoed by—everyone knew creators often had quirks, and if you disrupted his train of thought, getting chased with a guitar wouldn’t be a pleasant outcome…