Chapter Seventy-Three: Am I That Kind of Person?

When Kazuyo Kawamoto finished her performance, Ye Zhao nodded approvingly. “Very good. The ability to compose is a significant advantage. While singers bask in the limelight on stage, sustaining that glory in the long run requires consistent creative output. Ordinary singers cannot produce their own material and must rely on external composers. Once that support is gone, they inevitably face elimination.”

The reason singer-songwriters are considered “elite” is because their careers are firmly in their own hands.

“Kawamoto, I have even more confidence in you now,” Ye Zhao encouraged her at the end.

...

After Yuki Kamimura stepped out to see Kazuyo Kawamoto off, only two people remained in the recording studio. Riku Watanabe finally asked, “Ye, what do you plan to do about Kawamoto?”

Ye Zhao replied with a question, “Riku, what do you think about Kawamoto forming a band?”

“A band?” Riku Watanabe was momentarily stunned, then considered it. “Kawamoto knows how to compose, plays instruments well, and doesn’t really have any major weaknesses. Her voice is distinctive. To be honest, forming a band doesn't seem particularly necessary. Do you think she’s suited for it?”

“Kawamoto’s personal traits are strong. Whether she goes solo or joins a band, both options work. She just lacks confidence in herself. From what I’ve observed, she seems to trust you quite a bit, Riku. So I was thinking, maybe you could mentor her for a while.” Ye Zhao circled around the topic, finally steering the conversation this way.

Riku Watanabe didn’t call him out, only smiled and said, “I didn’t get the chance to tell you at the club earlier—I’m planning to return to Kyoto.”

“Back to Kyoto?”

“Naoko and I are both from Kansai, so when we decided to get married, we started thinking about moving back. Naoko’s company has a branch in Osaka, so work isn’t an issue for her. As for me, after spending so long at Elika, I’ve been reflecting a lot. Especially after meeting Kawamoto—a talented person like her, stuck singing in Ueno Park simply because she can’t get proper opportunities, it’s a shame.”

He paused. “So, I’m planning to open a live house in Kyoto, just like Elika, to give local underground musicians another venue to perform. Don’t underestimate Kyoto, Ye—it may look classical on the outside, but within, it’s truly a city of music, filled with hidden talents.”

Ye Zhao pondered for a moment and finally said, “When your live house opens, Riku, I’ll come support. If you ever need my help, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I’ll accept that promise in advance,” Riku Watanabe laughed.

...

After settling Kawamoto’s matter, Ye Zhao and Riku Watanabe, rare to find themselves gathered together, decided to continue their evening elsewhere. Not long after, Yuki Kamimura returned from seeing Kawamoto off; the three of them quickly agreed and caught a taxi to the bar district.

Roppongi, the city that never sleeps, grew more crowded as midnight approached. The streets teemed with people—fashionable young men and women, alongside foreigners of every complexion. Indeed, Roppongi’s vibrant nightlife and its congregation of Westerners are its most famous features.

The establishment they visited was called “TIP TAPS TIP.” The basement housed a dance floor, the ground floor was a bar, and the second floor an event room. Upon entering, two burly foreigners stood guard with metal detectors, performing body checks for potential weapons—a necessity where alcohol and women mix, as danger is never far.

Yet this added security seemed not to apply to women. Two young girls in crop tops, arriving just before Ye Zhao and his friends, breezed past the inspection, striding confidently inside. One of the girls, upon entering, cast a backward glance at Ye Zhao, apparently recognizing him—she pointed at him, her mouth wide open.

Ye Zhao raised his right index finger and signaled her to keep quiet. The girl covered her mouth, nodded vigorously, and headed down the stairs to the basement dance hall.

It was close to midnight, and the venue was packed. Yuki Kamimura eyed the steady stream of beauties entering the dance floor, clearly tempted. Ye Zhao noticed and said, “Riku and I will just have a few drinks upstairs, you don’t need to worry about us. Go enjoy yourself.” He winked mischievously.

With “permission” granted, Yuki Kamimura went down to the dance hall. Ye Zhao and Riku Watanabe found seats in a corner. Whenever their glasses ran low, attentive staff would approach to promote more drinks, and before they knew it, the two who had planned to just have a small drink found themselves consuming quite a bit.

As they drank, Riku Watanabe suddenly nudged Ye Zhao with his elbow. “Look, that’s Morohoshi from Hikaru GENJI.”

Ye Zhao followed his gaze. Near the bar, a blond youth who clearly knew how to charm women was flirting with a beautiful woman with long, straight black hair. Judging by her reactions, things were going smoothly.

Hikaru GENJI, as an idol group, was truly legendary. Clad in dazzling outfits, their performances always featured roller skates as they sang and danced, an image that left an indelible mark on countless Japanese. With the genius composer Ryo Asuka as their supporter, and the backing of Johnny’s, they achieved instant nationwide fame upon debut, sparking a phenomenon so intense that even later groups like SMAP and Arashi could not compare.

Though statistics showed female solo artists outperforming male soloists by a wide margin, this didn’t mean the main consumers of idol culture were men. On the contrary, the market was held up by countless girls and housewives—just look at the endless stream of influential bands and male idol groups.

Fundamentally, male solo artists are weaker because their fan base is divided among bands and idol groups. There are plenty of charismatic band leaders, and idol performers are trained from the outset to win girls’ hearts. With so many options, attention to male soloists naturally wanes.

Female fans seeking a talented, charismatic male artist have a broad selection, while male fans searching for a similarly exceptional female artist find their choices much narrower. Talented, beautiful female lead singers are rare, so their focus shifts to female solo artists.

Moreover, the true phenomenon-level female soloists offer more than just music. They are pioneers in certain fields, or their influence extends beyond music to fashion, magazines, advertising, and more. Not only do male fans adore them, but female fans also rush to emulate their style and taste—something male solo artists rarely inspire in their male fans.

Hikaru GENJI, who debuted at the pinnacle of idol stardom, did not become a long-lasting supergroup like SMAP, nor did they turn into pillars of their agency like their predecessors, Shonentai. Instead, after their explosive rise, they let loose, bullied the junior SMAP members, and saw their members leave one after another to go solo. Now, their glory days are long past.

The playboy Morohoshi, now flirting with a beauty, was notorious not only for his antics within the group but also for his reputation as a heartbreaker. Rumors said he had slept with nearly all the members of the Kitty Club...

Regardless of their future reputations, for now, Morohoshi remains a superstar idol—even if fading, still a superstar. In a place like this, he is unstoppable. Ordinary girls are no match, and even some female celebrities struggle to resist. For Japanese girls, being approached is a sign of attractiveness, and when the one flirting is a Johnny’s idol—a dream figure—even if he’s not their personal dream, it’s irresistible.

After all, being adored by someone else’s idol is more gratifying than being adored by your own.

Soon, the beauty seemed to agree to something, and the two headed for the basement dance floor. How many more stops they would make that night remained to be seen.

“Wow, Johnny’s never fails to impress,” Riku Watanabe shook his head.

“Does Naoko have a thing for Johnny’s?”

Riku’s tone turned a little sour. “When I first met her, she was a fan of Kyosuke Himuro. She told me, ‘I don’t like the flashy style of Johnny’s at all!’ But now, whenever she sees Kimura’s show, her eyes glaze over, and she’s even arranged with her colleagues to go see SMAP’s concert.”

“Haha, well, it’s Kimura Takuya, after all.”

...

Leaving the bar, the late March night still carried a lingering chill. The occasional gusts of cold wind blew away some of the intoxication rising within.

Two blond-haired, blue-eyed foreigners stepped out of a taxi. Ye Zhao gestured for Riku Watanabe to go ahead. “I’m not in a hurry.”

Riku Watanabe didn’t stand on ceremony. “Go home early, and don’t get into trouble,” he said, half-jokingly as he left.

“Do I seem like that kind of guy?” Ye Zhao laughed, waving goodbye.

The second taxi was slow to arrive. As Ye Zhao wandered the midnight streets, a silver Benz approached him, the driver flashing the headlights before stopping in front.

The person in the back seat rolled down the window and called out, “Long time no see, Ye.”

“Ayako?” Ye Zhao leaned forward to confirm the identity.

“Where are you headed, Ye?”

“Home, of course.”

“It’s not easy to get a taxi at this hour. If you don’t mind, my manager can give you a ride,” Fuji Ayako offered.

“Wouldn’t that be troublesome for you?”

“As long as you don’t live in Sagamihara, it’s no trouble at all,” Fuji Ayako smiled. If one looked closely, a hint of blush colored her cheeks—she’d clearly had a few drinks.

“It’s not that far-fetched.”

At that moment, the manager opened the passenger door.

...