Major Debut

"Deputy General Manager, I'll take full responsibility for this Group ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Sound album and make it happen!" Hayasaka declared with solemn determination. He was already imagining a scenario where his boss, moved by his resolve, would offer warm words of encouragement. But the response he actually received was the exact opposite.

"You'll take responsibility? For what?"

"Pardon?"

"What exactly are you going to take responsibility for? Are you even capable of it?"

"Well, I... uh, I'll do my absolute best to take as much responsibility as possible?"

"Good grief, this is absurd."

One didn't even need to try and read the room; the look on Deputy General Manager Watanabe's face made it glaringly obvious that he found Hayasaka utterly pathetic. As a few stifled chuckles escaped from the other members of A&R Team 1, who had been holding their breath, Watanabe stared up at the ceiling for a moment before speaking.

"I don't even know where to begin. Let's say you do take responsibility. If this album flops, how exactly are you going to take responsibility?"

"Well, perhaps by resigning from the company..."

"And what happens if you resign? Does that magically cover the cost of pressing the physical albums? Do the PR firms run promotions for free? Is that an amount your salary can cover?"

"Not at all."

"Then what are you taking responsibility for? The only thing you can truly take responsibility for in this world is what you and your subordinates eat for lunch. This isn't a low-level decision where a petty employee's empty promise of 'taking responsibility' determines whether a project gets greenlit or not."

The deputy general manager's verbal blows rained down relentlessly. As Hayasaka's shoulders slumped lower and lower, a few employees from other teams snickered as they watched the spectacle. Once the storm of nagging finally subsided, Watanabe led Hayasaka into an empty meeting room and shut the door.

"Deputy General Manager, I really think..."

"Can those girls succeed?"

"Huh? Yes, sir."

"Do you truly believe that? You're not just playing around? If there's even a shred of half-heartedness in this, tell me now."

Unlike when he was verbally battering him moments ago, Deputy General Manager Watanabe's face was dead serious. Seeing that expression, Hayasaka nodded firmly.

"No, sir. I sincerely believe they will succeed."

"What's your basis?"

"I have several reasons..."

In response to Watanabe's question, Hayasaka laid out various arguments. At the end of his minutes-long explanation, Watanabe spoke.

"To me, those don't sound like reasons that guarantee absolute success."

"Deputy General Manager..." Hayasaka muttered, hanging his head. He couldn't find the perfect words, but he was absolutely certain they would succeed. If they missed this opportunity, the band would undoubtedly sign with another label.

"However, if a member of my team is pushing a project with this much conviction, then as their deputy general manager, backing them up is simply doing my job."

"What?!" Lost in his gloomy thoughts, Hayasaka snapped his head up in surprise. He hadn't misheard, had he?

"Even so, my support doesn't guarantee anything. All I can do is tell the general manager that Team 1 wants to scout this artist and push them as a major project. I'll let him know that I, as deputy general manager, agree with the plan."

"Deputy General Manager...!"

"So in the end, the heavy lifting is all on you. The reasons you just gave me were far too vague. 'They succeeded in Korea'? Well, obviously, that's why they came to Japan. 'They sold ten thousand copies in their first week in Korea'? If they sold ten thousand in Korea, how many can they sell in Japan? Is the music that works in Korea the same as the music that works in Japan?"

Watanabe systematically pointed out every detail Hayasaka had overlooked—from the structural differences between the Korean and Japanese music markets to listener preferences, album distribution methods, promotional strategies, and more.

"They did a presentation, yes, but that was just their pitch. And remember, it's already in a semi-rejected state. You need to find solid, undeniable proof that can overcome all of that and convince people. Otherwise, this is dead in the water."

"...Thank you so much!" Hayasaka bowed deeply, filled with genuine respect. Watanabe looked at him and said,

"Bowing your head is easy; actually getting the job done is the hard part. I'll brief the general manager, so put together a proposal that can convince him within three days. If you can't, we drop this."

"Understood! I will do my absolute best!" Hayasaka bowed once more. Watching Watanabe leave, he realized that if he failed to seize this opportunity, he truly would have no excuse but to take responsibility and resign.

Even with his deputy general manager's backing, the process of convincing the general manager and ultimately securing the president's approval was far from smooth. One might think it was because they were trying to sign an artist that other labels had already rejected, but that wasn't the main issue.

"Hmm... I'm not so sure about this."

"What's the matter, Deputy General Manager Ishikawa? Do you have a different opinion?"

"I just feel like there are a few red flags. It's absolutely not personal, but..."

"It sounds pretty personal to me. Anyway, let's hear it."

In any sizable organization, politics and factions are inevitable. Zenith Music Entertainment was no exception; the A&R department was split into two factions: the Watanabe faction and the Ishikawa faction. The root of these factions didn't actually lie with the two deputy general managers themselves. They had simply aligned with their respective factions to survive and climb the corporate ladder. However, professional rivalry and personal feelings don't fade easily. In that sense, Ishikawa was more than willing to drag Watanabe down at any opportunity.

"The fact that they're a Korean artist is a bit concerning. And this proposal seems a little flimsy."

"Hmm... Who wrote this again?"

"It was Hayasaka from our team, sir."

"Call him in. Let's hear what he has to say."

It wasn't an outright rejection, but they weren't going to make it easy either. Hayasaka somehow navigated the minefield and managed to convince General Manager Nakajima. With that hurdle cleared, he was finally able to send a formal contract negotiation proposal to Manager Jung Yuyoung, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who had been tearing her hair out visiting various labels.

However, despite receiving the call, things didn't go as smoothly as Manager Jung Yuyoung had hoped when she joyfully thought, We did it! The obstacles were numerous, but the most prominent were the contract terms. For example...

"Regarding promotions, we would like to secure a tie-up—using a song as a theme song for a show or commercial to promote it—on our end."

"A tie-up... Well, I'm not sure if there are any suitable dramas or shows available right now."

From the promotional strategy...

"So, that is a condition we cannot accept on our end."

"We believe our artist's capabilities have already been fully proven. If you look at their actual track record..."

"That was proven in Korea, not Japan. Since you're entering the Japanese market, even if you self-produce future albums, we believe it would be better for our producers to handle the debut album."

...to the most fiercely contested issue: production rights. Just when Manager Jung thought she had crossed the hardest hurdle and had nothing but a smooth road ahead, she was hit with an unexpected crisis. But what gave her the biggest headache wasn't even these disagreements...

"Regarding that matter, we will need to hold an internal meeting before we can give you an answer."

"Ah, so... does that mean this will be pushed to the next negotiation session?"

"Yes, as this is not something we can decide on our own. We ask for your understanding."

It was the classic Japanese corporate attitude of needing to consult and get approval for absolutely everything. The negotiators on the other side acted like cogs in a pre-programmed machine, possessing zero individual authority. Of course, they were simply working within the limits of their system, but for Manager Jung, who came from Korea—a land of rapid, on-the-spot decisions—it was an incredibly frustrating experience.

But even those grueling days eventually drew to a close. Manager Jung believed that this time, they would finally wrap up the negotiations. The other side had agreed to bring a decision-maker to the table to end the tedious stalemate, and...

"Are they really that difficult to communicate with?"

"You have to hear them yourself! From start to finish, it's always 'we can't do this,' 'we can do that,' 'there's no precedent,' blah blah blah..."

"Then won't my presence be useless too? If they're just going to say the same things."

"No, this time their decision-maker is coming too!"

This was because Label Echo Sound had also sent someone with full decision-making authority.

"That's why I called you, Suyun!"

It was none other than the artist herself, Ha Suyun.

Inside Zenith Music Entertainment's A&R department, General Manager Nakajima Tomoyuki tapped his documents against the desk to align them, then pushed up his glasses.

"Sato, you need to organize these materials beforehand."

"Ah, I'm sorry, sir."

"Make sure you pay attention next time."

While Deputy General Manager Ishikawa glared at the junior employee who had just walked past, Nakajima scratched his sideburns—which were still surprisingly thick for his age—and wondered: Will we actually reach a decision today? It would depend on how the other side played their cards, but...

"Do you think we'll close the contract today?"

"They're bringing someone with full authority, so it should be possible."

"Hmm. True, but honestly, I wonder if this is a level that requires my presence. Don't you agree, Nakajima?"

"Koreans always want to decide everything in one go. They're an impatient bunch."

"That's true, haha..." The executive director chuckled, making a lighthearted remark. General Manager Nakajima pushed up his glasses. If they were on schedule, the other party should be arriving any moment now.

"The representatives from Label Echo Sound are entering."

Following a young male staff member's announcement, three people walked in. The first two women were familiar faces. But the moment the third person entered, the entire meeting room froze.

She wore a black jacket with padded shoulders that gave off a slightly retro yet incredibly chic vibe, paired with a white turtleneck. Her hair fell in rich, voluminous waves. In short, she was a young woman whose appearance made it utterly impossible to believe she was the frontwoman of a rock band.

"Hello. I am Ha Suyun. My Japanese is poor. Please look after me."

She strode forward and extended her hand for a handshake. Despite the somewhat informal gesture, the executives at Zenith Music felt strangely overwhelmed by her sheer confidence. They collectively realized that this meeting was going to be an uphill battle.

That apprehension proved entirely correct. As if to prove that having 'full authority' was no exaggeration, Ha Suyun wielded her limited Japanese like a weapon, completely dominating the Zenith staff.

"Self-producing is non-negotiable. I have the experience, and I can show you the results. Do you need further explanation?"

"Even so, on our end, to adapt to the Japanese market..."

"We have already adapted. Our single, Under the Satellite, is already out. It's currently ranked 20th without any promotion. Do we need to prove anything else? We sold out Zepp, and our performance at Tokyo Wheels was a massive success."

"In my opinion..."

General Manager Nakajima, who had been leading the discussion and looking increasingly flustered, was rescued by his superior, the executive director—the highest-ranking person in the room.

"I believe it is unreasonable for us to hand over self-producing rights without even hearing the tracks you have prepared. The last time you came to pitch, didn't you only play one song? At the very least, you must have a concept and a direction prepared before we can even consider this."

The executive director had struck precisely at their weakest point, saving Nakajima. Nakajima took a quiet breath of relief and looked at the other side, using the brief pause to prepare their next move. But Ha Suyun's response caught them completely off guard.

"We are already prepared for that."

"...Excuse me?"

"I will play them for you right now. Manager Jung, please set up the audio. We have tracks we've been working on in Korea, and anticipating this exact situation, I brought them with me."

Suyun's decisive action completely silenced them. The songs she played in front of them made it instantly clear why she possessed such absolute confidence. For any other artist, the executives would have shouted, "Let's release this album immediately!" right then and there. Yet, despite the quality, Zenith had a line they could not cross.

"The songs are excellent. The production is indeed... but I am afraid it is still difficult. We cannot do something for which there is no precedent."

"Wait, what do you mean no precedent—"

The executive director expressed his rejection as if there was nothing left to discuss even after hearing the music. Angered by this, Manager Jung ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was about to slam her hand on the table and unleash a torrent of protests when...

"Hold on, Manager Jung."

Suyun stopped her and whispered something into her ear. Manager Jung's expression shifted rapidly, her furrowed brow smoothing out as her eyes widened in shock.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Uh... yes. I think we can pitch this."

Once their brief exchange in Korean concluded, and while Manager Jung lightly stroked her chin, Ha Suyun spoke up.

"Fine. Since you insist it's impossible, I will accept it. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Let's go with co-production."

"Are you serious?"

Unlike her previous unyielding stance, she had suddenly made a complete 180-degree turn. The executive director responded hastily, but Suyun wasn't finished yet.

"Regarding what we discussed earlier—promotions, recording costs, and other production expenses... we will cover a portion of them. Just like a standard co-production. But in return..."

Suyun swept her hair back, leaned forward over the table, and locked eyes with them.

"We adjust the artist's royalty rate. To ten percent."

She was offering to shoulder a portion of the investment costs. In exchange, she dropped a bombshell: she wanted a royalty rate more than three times the industry standard.