Redefining the Terms

"Let's adjust the artist's royalty rate for physical album sales. To ten percent."

The words that tumbled from Suyun's mouth swept over the Zenith representatives like an auditory flashbang. After a brief, stunned silence, the Zenith employees stared at one another, silently questioning if they had heard her correctly.

"If I didn't mishear you... I believe you just suggested adjusting the royalty rate."

"Yes, that's correct. Let's make it ten percent."

"Ten percent?"

Department Manager Nakajima shook his head. It was an utterly unacceptable condition. However, the Executive Director and the Managing Director seemed to think otherwise, their expressions clouded with deep contemplation.

"What was the royalty rate we originally planned to offer them?"

"Well... it was around one percent," Nakajima whispered back, lowering his voice to match the Executive Director's.

Surprisingly, that was a perfectly standard range. In a typical major Japanese record label contract, the artist's royalty rate is three percent at most. Usually, it is signed at one to two percent. "Normally," thirty percent goes to the retailers, and about six percent is paid out as copyright royalties. So where does the rest go? Straight into the label's pockets. It goes by various names—sometimes under the guise of album production costs, other times as master rights. But the fact that the label takes more than half remains unchanged.

In that light, Suyun's demand for ten percent was, to put it mildly, an incredibly bold proposal. To put it bluntly, it was nothing short of highway robbery. She was essentially demanding they slice twenty percent off their own share.

"Mmm..."

Yet, despite the outrageous nature of the proposal, the executives of Zenith Music began to seriously ponder it. After all, royalty percentages only mattered if there were sufficient sales to begin with. If an album failed to hit a certain sales threshold, the production and promotional costs would far outweigh any revenue. But if Label Echo Sound was willing to shoulder the production costs, Zenith's financial risk would naturally plummet. It wasn't a completely impossible deal to make.

"Pardon us, but this is not a matter we can decide on the spot."

"Are you saying we need to schedule another meeting?"

"No, not at all. We just need to step out and have a brief discussion among ourselves."

Suyun, who had leaned forward with furrowed brows at the Executive Director's initial words, relaxed at his clarification and began chatting with her own team. Meanwhile, Department Manager Nakajima followed the Executive Director into an empty conference room and immediately voiced his concerns.

"Executive Director, in my opinion, if they're going to be this demanding, we might as well just agree to their terms."

"Is that so? What about you, Managing Director Oito?"

"Well, as for me..."

Oito trailed off. However, his hesitation leaned toward accepting the band's proposal. Hearing their responses, the Executive Director pondered for a moment before turning to Nakajima.

"Go fetch the person from the A&R team who first suggested signing this band, along with the A&R Deputy General Manager."

Following Department Manager Nakajima, Hayasaka found himself face-to-face with executives he normally never ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had the chance to speak with: the Executive Director and the Managing Director. It was a rather overwhelming moment—aside from the fact that Deputy General Manager Ishikawa, who had opposed this project at every turn, had tagged along.

"Ah, Hayasaka-kun, was it?"

"Yes! That is correct!"

"You've heard the situation. What do you think? How far do you think these girls can go?"

"Well..."

Hayasaka opened his mouth, then paused to think. How far can they go? Putting everything together, the question was essentially asking whether raising the royalty rate would result in a net loss or not.

"In my opinion, they can easily sell enough albums to make the royalty payouts far exceed whatever fixed costs we save," Hayasaka said.

"Is that so? Hmm... And what about you?"

"I don't rate this band nearly as highly," Deputy General Manager Ishikawa countered. "I don't object to releasing an album, but if we can cut our fixed costs, we should minimize them as much as possible."

"Hmm..."

The Executive Director fell into deep thought at Ishikawa's words. Then, the Managing Director, who belonged to the same faction as Ishikawa, chimed in.

"I agree that we should focus on reducing fixed costs."

With that, the Executive Director's dilemma deepened.

"If they cover a portion of the production costs, they will also claim a share of the master rights," Ishikawa added.

"Ah, right. There's that too. Hmm."

"Even taking that into account, according to my calculations... they would need to sell at least fifty thousand copies just to break even on their end."

"Really? Fifty thousand..."

For anyone other than top-tier idols, fifty thousand copies was a figure reserved for highly anticipated rising stars or legendary veterans in Japan. It was certainly not a number a newly debuted band from Korea could easily achieve.

At that realization, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Executive Director's eyes gleamed with what Hayasaka felt was an ominous light. Hayasaka wanted to object to the end, but a brief, warning touch from Department Manager Nakajima silenced him. It was not a moment where a young assistant manager could dare to butt in.

At the very least, I should make sure it's on the record that I opposed this decision. No matter how I look at it, we're going to lose out on this... Hayasaka scratched his head, filled with a sense of impending doom.

The tedious negotiations dragged on after that. They bickered over the exact percentages of the costs they would shoulder and the shares they demanded. After a dizzying maze of complex discussions that went completely over Suyun's head, the contract was finally finalized.

"So, to summarize?"

"A ten percent album royalty and four percent of the master rights. That means we receive a total of fourteen percent per copy sold. In return, of course, we shoulder the burden of promotional and production costs..."

After signing the contract, Suyun, Manager Jeong, and Assistant Manager Kim headed to a Starbucks near Zenith Music. Unlike ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in Korea, where they often had buzzers or table service, they had to stand in line to pick up their drinks. While Assistant Manager Kim went to fetch the coffee, Manager Jeong continued the conversation.

"But is this really going to be okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Us shouldering the costs and all... To be honest, this was completely outside our original plans."

"I already spoke with Team Leader Ko and, uh... the CEO, and got their approval, so it's fine. We're all on the same page."

"Well, that's a relief then!"

"Here's the coffee! This one's yours, Suyun-nim. A decaf Americano."

Assistant Manager Kim returned, placing the tray on the table. It held two sweet vanilla bean lattes and one black Americano.

"You ordered an Americano?"

Manager Jeong looked at Suyun with surprise. Unlike when they first met, Suyun had recently developed a massive sweet tooth, so ordering a bitter Americano was highly unexpected.

"Lately, I feel like my soul is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠getting fat."

"What does that even mean, 'your soul is getting fat'?"

"Like I'm losing my hunger, so to speak. There's just this feeling. You know how they say some athletes won gold medals running on nothing but instant ramen?"

"Did someone actually do that?"

Suyun narrowed her eyes and stared at Manager Jeong. It was one thing for her teenage bandmates not to know, but for this guy to play dumb too?

Is he pretending not to know just to seem younger than he is?

Unaware of Suyun's internal monologue—which had begun projecting her own denial of her mental age onto others—Manager Jeong scratched his head and continued.

"Anyway, there is one thing I'm slightly worried about!"

"Worried about what?"

"About you, Suyun-nim."

"Me?"

Suyun tilted her head, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. What was there to worry about her? The contract was signed, and once their budget was allocated, all that was left was to make the album. The promotion and other logistics would be handled by the professionals anyway.

"If you're co-producing, won't the entire songwriting process be completely different from how you do things now?"

"Ah... so that's what you meant. Yes, that's true."

"Will you be okay?"

Suyun took a sip of her coffee. Whether in Korea or Japan, Starbucks coffee tasted remarkably similar. Was it because it was a global franchise, or was it just a coincidence?

"Well, that's why we'll have to establish dominance right from the start."

Ishimori Kota was a highly respected producer at Zenith Music. Whenever the label had an artist they wanted to push, his name was always the first to be brought up. Having produced for Zenith's flagship artists, Ishimori took immense pride in his skills. While production talent couldn't be quantified, he believed that if it could, he would rank near the very top in all of Japan. And that was precisely why he found this current assignment rather unpleasant.

"You want me to work on this?"

"You're currently between projects anyway."

"Even so. I mean, if I were the sole producer, that would be one thing. But co-producing?"

He recalled his meeting with his superior yesterday. He had been told to produce for a new artist scouted by the A&R team. Ishimori had been slightly disgruntled about producing for rookies, but he had accepted it. As a salaryman, he didn't have much of a choice.

"Have you heard of Group Sound?"

"Yes. They're pretty good, actually. Talented musicians... Wait. Don't tell me you want me to handle them?"

"Why? You just said they're talented."

"Well, recognizing talent is one thing, but me producing them is another. I'm past the point in my career where I should be handling rookies."

"It's precisely because of your experience that we're assigning you to them. Isn't that right?"

Driven by his boss's semi-coercive persuasion, he had agreed to take it on. However, the reality of the situation was far worse than he had anticipated.

"I mean, what kind of contract did they sign for rookies to get co-producing rights? Does this make any sense?"

"We actually scaled it back a lot. They originally requested sole production rights."

"That's utterly ridiculous."

He clicked his tongue in disbelief. Rookies producing their own music? No matter how much experience they had built up in Korea, they were still rookies debuting in Japan. Why not just let them write, compose, and arrange everything themselves while they were at it?

"For the record, they also plan to write all the songs themselves."

"Unbelievable. Is that even possible for them?"

"They claim they've been doing it that way from the very beginning."

The smoke rising from Deputy General Manager Watanabe's cigarette was acrid. Ishimori wrinkled his nose slightly at the smell, but Watanabe, oblivious, continued talking.

"Still, they're covering a portion of the recording costs, so you don't have to worry about that. The budgeting is actually quite generous."

"Well, that's a relief. But even so, if they're entering the Japanese market for the first time, they should focus on adapting to it. If they're just going to do whatever they want, why did they even come to Japan?"

"Who knows..."

"I think I need to teach them a lesson. Don't you agree?"

"I wouldn't know," Watanabe said, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. The way he extinguished the flame felt somewhat ambiguous.

The first day of the concept meeting. Producer Ishimori glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. Five minutes before the scheduled time. If they were diligent professionals, they should be showing up right about now.

If they're even a little late, I'll use that as an excuse to put them in their place.

But betraying his expectations, the conference room door swung open exactly one minute later. The first young woman to enter, guided by a staff member, greeted him with a bright smile. While he was momentarily struck by her appearance, a second young woman stepped into the room. And Ishimori froze in shock.

Wait, I came here to produce a band, didn't I?

Her appearance was so striking that he momentarily wondered if he had walked into the wrong room. But before the dumbfounded Ishimori could process it, she walked right up to him and introduced herself.

"I'm Ha Suyun."

Thoroughly thrown off, Ishimori could only nod and accept her handshake.

"I-I'm Ishimori."

"Yes, nice to meet you."

No, this won't do. I need to take control. If I lose the upper hand here... Ishimori, get a grip. She's just a green rookie who had the audacity to demand co-producing rights. I can't let myself be intimidated by a kid like her. I need to show her what Japanese production is all about, what real music is.

Repeating this mantra to himself, he neatly stacked his documents and cleared his throat. It was time to establish his dominance.

"You said today was the first day of the concept meeting, right? How was it? Think you can handle them?"

"Well..."

"Well, what? Finish your sentence."

"They... don't really seem to need me at all."