Chapter Fifty-Six: Return to Tokyo (1/2)

December 27th.

Sitting by the fax machine, Yuki Tamura asked casually, “Nanjo-san, how many do you think we'll have this week?”

Hiroshi Nanjo considered for a moment. “The drop has been twenty thousand for the past two weeks, but the effect of Ye Zhao-san’s northern promotional tour should be kicking in around now. I’d guess it’ll hold steady with last week—maybe another hundred thousand or so.”

Speaking of the northern tour, Yuki Tamura pursed her lips. “I really envy Takeda-san and Uemura-san for getting to travel with the president. They must have seen some beautiful scenery along the way, right?”

“The schedule’s so tight—Ye Zhao-san must be run off his feet, hardly any time for sightseeing.” Nanjo had barely finished speaking when he suddenly remembered the pile of local delicacies from Tochigi that the shipping company had delivered yesterday, not to mention earlier deliveries from Akita, Miyagi, and other prefectures. He fell silent. Their boss really did manage to sneak in some sightseeing, even while busy.

The fax finished printing. Yuki Tamura picked up the document absentmindedly, her eyes drifting upward—then suddenly widened in shock.

“How many?” Nanjo prompted.

Yuki Tamura took a breath. “...238,600.”

“How many?!” Now it was Nanjo's turn to lose his composure.

...

In the third week of the single’s release, Ye Zhao once again displayed his masterful ability to defy expectations, climbing the charts even against the odds. Although the year-end rush of releases prevented the single from topping the ORICON chart, it held the number one spot firmly in regional charts for Hokkaido and the Tohoku region of Honshu. Those who had been waiting to see this “strongest rookie” falter could only put away their prepared ridicule and wait for him to present them with even more surprises.

...

The promotional tour brought more than just publicity for the new single—it had another effect as well. Because they always negotiated and promoted under the name ZYE rather than BEING, news of Ye Zhao founding his own agency spread throughout the industry alongside the single’s spectacular sales.

“Tell them I’m still on the promotional tour and can’t return to Tokyo for now. We’ll talk when I get back.” As Nanjo, still in Tokyo, reported one interview request after another that had bypassed BEING and come directly to ZYE, Ye Zhao responded coolly, showing neither excitement at his comeback nor any satisfaction at outshining his detractors.

Still, no matter how detached he felt, there were some obligations he simply couldn’t refuse—such as the Record Grand Prize.

There was much to say about the Record Grand Prize, and yet, nothing especially worth saying. Though its viewership and credibility had waned over the years, it remained one of the most prestigious annual events in the Japanese music industry.

On December 30, Ye Zhao and his team, who were supposed to be in Ibaraki, took the Shinkansen back to Tokyo. Dusk settled over the city, and cold rain that had started in the afternoon now mingled with tiny snowflakes. Unlike China, Japan isn’t a particularly snowy country, and snowfall is rare in Tokyo—when it does fall, it melts quickly.

Ye Zhao, fully disguised in a newsboy cap and large mask, exited the station, where Nanjo waited with the only black Chevrolet minivan the agency had bought when it was founded. Nearly a month of high-intensity schedules had left Ye Zhao utterly exhausted. As soon as he got in, he put on a neck pillow and fell asleep.

Nanjo glanced in the rearview mirror and whispered, “Ye Zhao-san really is at his limit.”

“Anyone would be, living on the road for over half a month. He was dozing most of the way on the Shinkansen,” Takeda replied from the passenger seat. He turned to tell Uemura in the back to look after Ye Zhao, but found Uemura clutching a briefcase, nodding off like a woodpecker.

...

That evening, Ye Zhao treated the four ZYE employees, together with his former BEING assistant Akihiko Aragaki, to dinner at a Hakata restaurant in Kitazawa, Setagaya. As they emerged, a little tipsy, Yuki Tamura suddenly remarked, “Before we set off, I was thinking—since the president has to attend the Record Grand Prize tomorrow, he should really be eating pork cutlet tonight.”

In Japanese, pork cutlet is called katsudon, and “katsu” sounds like “victory” (katsu). Thus, it’s a tradition in Japan to eat katsudon before important exams or competitions, just as in China, people eat a fried dough stick and two eggs before exams.

“Well, we’ve still got a day. We can save it for tomorrow if you want the good luck,” Ye Zhao replied. As the only minor and public figure among them, only he and Nanjo, who had to drive, abstained from drinking that night.

“Then it’s settled,” Takeda proposed. “Tomorrow at lunch, we’ll all treat Ye-kun to pork cutlet to wish him victory!” Everyone agreed in unison. Ye Zhao smiled and accepted, “Thank you all in advance.”

...

On the morning of December 31, after getting his hair styled at the salon he’d booked well in advance, Ye Zhao glanced at his reflection in the car window before departure. He considered for a moment, then took off the black tie he’d planned to wear, folded it, and slipped it into his pocket. Together with Uemura, he made a detour to a shopping center in Roppongi.

With his still-youthful face, formal attire felt a bit stiff. To soften the look, he chose a light blue satin bow tie—more youthful and stylish.

Until 2006, the Record Grand Prize was held at the same time as the Red and White Song Battle, forcing popular artists to choose between them. But for Ye Zhao, this dilemma was still a distant concern; he hadn’t received an invitation to the Red and White Song Battle, and even for the Record Grand Prize, his enthusiasm for winning was low.

The reason was simple: the Record Grand Prize was also known as the “Suou Prize.” As the name suggests, who ultimately won depended not just on the artists’ own abilities, but also on the will of BRUNING. For someone who had only just avoided being sent home after offending BRUNING, winning was hardly realistic.

Moreover, this year had seen many prominent figures emerge in the music world. In terms of both seniority and achievement, the most prestigious awards had nothing to do with Ye Zhao. As for the newcomer award—anyone who looked at the list of recipients each year would instantly lose all faith in its value.

Given all these factors, Ye Zhao regarded this ceremony as a tedious but unavoidable social obligation. Though he was present in body, he felt no sense of participation at all.