A Rock Star's Gratitude
Major debut album prices in Japan are quite expensive compared to South Korea. Even a single with no bonus items other than the CD easily exceeds 1,000 yen, and full-length albums routinely go over 3,000 yen. If there are high-quality bonus goods included, the price can soar past 4,000 or 5,000 yen. For albums with meticulously designed jackets and packaging, even a regular edition—not a limited one—can sometimes surpass 7,000 yen.
Of course, in the case of Out of Time, the contents weren't quite lavish enough to warrant a 7,000-yen price tag. However, it did feature a hardcover sleeve and two small booklets. Considering the design and production costs, it was only natural that the price was set at 4,400 yen—well over the 3,000-yen mark. And consequently, it was also entirely natural that Hayasaka, who had ordered a whopping 150,000 copies of such an expensive album, was branded a company-ruining traitor.
"Did you hear about Manager Hayasaka?"
"I heard he ordered 150,000 copies on his own authority!"
"I have no idea what he was thinking. Good grief."
Whether turning a corner in the office hallway or overhearing whispers elsewhere, he had lost count of how many times he had heard variations of that exact conversation.
If the gossip from other departments was that bad, the comments from his own team members passing by his desk—"But seriously, why did he order 150,000 copies? Did he honestly think they'd all sell? Is he stupid?"—were simply too numerous to count.
And every time Hayasaka heard those whispers, he couldn't help but think: I didn't do anything wrong...! What blunder had he actually committed? He had ordered exactly 50,000 copies, and he had even received confirmation for it.
If anyone was at fault, it was the culprit who snuck into the office to make that phone call, and Mr. Ishihara from Sanko Station, who had altered the order based on a suspicious voice. Then there was Deputy General Manager Ishikawa, who blocked any potential investigation despite having the means to conduct one, along with all the others who stood by. Those were the people who should be blamed, so why was he the one bearing the brunt of the criticism?
But with the upper management already deciding to sweep it under the rug, there was nothing he could do. He could only ignore the rumors floating around the office and silently focus on his work. Even when he overheard conversations like, "How much stock do you think that band will have left over?" "Probably at least a hundred thousand copies, right?" he couldn't argue back. He could only keep his mouth shut and keep walking. That was his reality. At least, it was until the release of the album Out of Time.
"First-day sales for Out of Time are in...! 34,126 copies!!"
"...Are you serious?"
The moment the aggregated data was announced, the office fell into a stunned silence. While a stray mutter from someone in the back spoke for everyone's collective shock, Deputy General Manager Watanabe slowly walked over to Hayasaka and patted him on the shoulder.
"Good work."
"...Thank you, sir! You worked hard too...!"
"That 150,000-copy order... somehow turned out to be a blessing in disguise."
"...Thank you so much!!"
The encouragement came from Deputy General Manager Watanabe, the only person who had believed in him until the very end. Feeling hot tears welling up in his eyes, Hayasaka clenched his fists. You truly never knew how life would turn out.
Zenith Music remained in a state of upheaval for quite some time afterward. Normally, there would be no reason for an uproar when an artist had just sold 80,000 copies in their first week and was continuing to move albums at a rapid pace. However, the problem lay in two major revelations brought to light by those very 80,000 sales.
First of all.
"Hey, those kids who just sold eighty thousand copies in their first week. I heard they're under our label. Is that right?"
"Uh... yes, that's correct."
"Didn't Executive Director Yoshi sign them? His own signees just hit a massive home run, so why does he look so sour? Is something wrong?"
"Well... you see..."
During the contract negotiations, they had ridiculously adjusted the album royalty distribution rate in a petty attempt to save a few pennies. At the time, selling over 50,000 copies seemed like a pipe dream, so the terms had seemed reasonable. But now that they had sold 80,000 copies in their first week alone, it was a completely different story.
"You adjusted the contract distribution rate like that?"
"...Yes."
"Executive Director Yoshi, you haven't just started working here yesterday. How on earth did this happen? Explain yourself."
Although the president had ultimately signed off on the document, anyone working in a Japanese corporation knew the truth: taking responsibility was a far more complicated matter than simply saying, "It's my fault."
Having spent many years at Zenith Music, Executive Director Yoshi understood this all too well, which allowed him to formulate a textbook response.
"It seems there was a minor oversight by the working-level staff during the negotiations. I believe we will need to take corrective measures."
"I see. Even if we don't take a direct loss, setting such a precedent could become a major issue. Handle this wisely."
A 14% profit distribution rate. On top of that, a clause they had generously thrown in at the time just to show off, which had now mutated into a toxic provision dragging them down: [After the release of their first album, the band Group Sound reserves the right to renegotiate the profit distribution rate within a range deemed reasonable.] Someone had to take the fall for all of this, and Executive Director Yoshi had absolutely no intention of being that person.
And secondly.
"Wasn't ordering 150,000 copies an incredible display of foresight? Congratulations!"
"How on earth did you know?"
"Did you have a good dream or something? Share some of that luck with me!"
"I always believed in you, damn it!"
Completely forgetting how they had accused him of acting presumptuously out of delusion over his own signees, the employees of Zenith Music swarmed Hayasaka with praise. Most of it was congratulatory.
It made sense. A first-week sales figure of 80,000 copies was more than enough to transform 'the idiot who ignored his boss and ordered 150,000 copies on a whim' into 'the bold, resolute employee who pushed through his own convictions despite his superior's conservative estimates.'
However, Hayasaka didn't boast, "Ah, yes, I ordered those 150,000 copies! It's all thanks to my brilliant foresight! Did you see my incredible talent? I really am that good." Instead, he told them the truth.
"I'm telling you, I didn't order those 150,000 copies. Someone else did."
"Really?"
"Yes. I ordered exactly 50,000 copies before I left, with Deputy General Manager Watanabe's approval. Why would I secretly order 150,000? If we ran out, we could have just printed more."
Just a few days ago, such a claim would have been met with scoffing replies like, "What are you talking about? Who else but you would do something so crazy? Don't go accusing your colleagues," or "You made a mistake and now you're trying to pin it on someone else." But seeing Hayasaka maintain the exact same story even after achieving monumental success made people wonder: Wait, is he telling the truth?
That doubt quickly snowballed into a company-wide consensus, prompting the upper management—who had remained passive until now—to finally take action. It helped that the executives were already hunting for a scapegoat to take the blame for the '14% distribution rate' and the 'toxic clause'... though even without that, the outcome was inevitable.
It was glaringly obvious which side held more weight: 'the employee who brought in a massively successful artist against everyone's objections' versus 'the pathetic loser who, out of jealousy, snuck into the office to tamper with order numbers.' And so, not long after the first-week sales of 80,000 copies were announced... no one was surprised by the special personnel reshuffle. They simply saw it as natural justice.
"...So, in this personnel reshuffle, two members of our A&R team will be transferred. They are Deputy General Manager Ishikawa and Manager Shinomiya. Deputy General Manager Ishikawa is being transferred to the Logistics Management Department, as they requested his specific expertise, and Manager Shinomiya is being reassigned to a regional branch."
The expressions of the A&R team members listening to the announcement were split down the middle: some looked delighted, while others looked deeply anxious. Observing the stark division between the factions, Hayasaka continued to listen to Deputy General Manager Watanabe.
"Since their replacements have not yet been decided, those positions will remain vacant for the time being. Please keep this in mind and exercise caution in your duties. Dismissed."
"Yes, sir!"
With the briefing over, the staff dispersed in an orderly fashion. Hayasaka stared at the two newly emptied desks.
A transfer and a relocation. Although announced under the guise of routine personnel changes to meet company needs, everyone knew the real reason behind it. Hayasaka felt a bitter taste in his mouth. Why on earth did they do it? Were office politics and dragging others down really that important? But he didn't dwell on it any further. It was their own karma. If they hadn't committed such underhanded acts in the first place, none of this would have happened. It was as simple as that.
A sudden knock rattled the door. Wondering who it could be, Ayun stood up and called out, "Coming~!"
But from outside the front door came a voice: "Delivery~!"
Hearing the footsteps immediately recede, Ayun scratched her head with a soft, "Ah." Come to think of it, today wasn't the day her girls'—Group Sound's—Japanese album was supposed to arrive. I didn't hear anything about it arriving today?
Ayun had purchased the Japanese edition of Out of Time the moment it went up on Label Echo Sound's website. However, judging by the agency's past track record, the probability of the album arriving today was practically zero. It wasn't that they were incompetent; they were just a small company with a tiny staff, which made their processing speed notoriously slow.
Well, whatever it is, it's not like it's a bomb.
Stepping outside, she picked up the delivery box, which was just the right size to hold a CD. Wondering what on earth it could be, Ayun checked the sender. Label Echo Sound.
Is it really the album? They shipped it this fast?
With the sudden thought that they had transformed into a highly efficient, cutting-edge enterprise, Ayun carefully sliced open the box and pulled out the contents.
And then she gasped.
The packaging... they wrapped it this beautifully? This doesn't feel like our usual company at all.
The album was wrapped with exquisite care in high-quality paper. Furthermore, judging by how much thicker it felt compared to the standard specifications of the Out of Time album, there seemed to be something else tucked inside. Am I even allowed to open this? Was it a shipping error? Or is it actually a bomb? Is mail terrorism a thing these days? Although wild anxieties flooded her mind, her overwhelming curiosity won out, guiding her hands to unwrap it.
As she carefully peeled back the tape, a surprising number of items spilled out. First, the album... and on its cover, meticulously penned, was Suyun's signature, which she had seen countless times before. And it was unmistakably hand-signed.
"Aaaah!!"
Unable to believe her eyes, Ayun dropped the album and let out a piercing shriek. Oh my god, something this precious?!
Along with the album, another envelope slid out, crafted with the same meticulous care as the outer wrapping. After hastily setting the album aside as if it were a sacred relic, she opened the envelope. Inside was a sheet of letter paper. With her eyes widening to their absolute limits, she pulled out the letter with trembling hands and began to read.
"Oh my god!!" Ayun screamed for the second time. It was an absolute shock. To Ayun-nim? Hello. This is Ha Suyun? Was she dreaming, or was this real life? She shook her head vigorously to snap herself out of the daze. Below the greeting lay several paragraphs written with deliberate pressure, with a few words crossed out here and there.
To Ayun-nim,
Hello. This is Ha Suyun.
Has it already been several years? I still remember the first time I met you in front of Club Paradox. Since then, I've seen you a few times at fan meetings, though we haven't crossed paths during other schedules. Actually, I think you might have come to one of our music show pre-recordings once. I recall seeing a familiar face. If I'm mistaken, please accept my apologies.
In truth, every single fan is precious, and we shouldn't show favoritism. If we treat some with special care and others not, those who aren't favored will naturally feel envious. At least, that is what I believe.
However, the reason I am writing this letter is because I felt we haven't been able to give much back to you, Ayun-nim, who started our fan club and has continuously supported us ever since we met in front of Club Paradox... And also because, having achieved one of my personal goals, I wanted to express my gratitude to the person who has cheered us on the most. That is why I took up this pen. Though I do wonder if a single letter like this is enough of a reward.
If I were a fan of someone, I think I would have preferred receiving money... I don't know. But when I imagine meeting David Gilmour, I suppose I would rather have the opportunity to meet him than receive money. At any rate, I would love to write more, but I believe it is better to let our music speak for the rest, so I will end this here. Please enjoy the music. Thank you.
— From Japan, your rock star.
Clutching the letter as her hands shook violently, Ayun quickly threw her head back to look at the ceiling. If the tears streaming from her eyes fell onto the paper, they would undoubtedly ruin this priceless treasure.
"Ugh... hic..."
There was a famous internet meme in Korea: "Oh, really?" It originated from an anecdote of a fan who spent millions of won to attend a fan signing, only for their favorite idol to repeatedly respond with a dry, disinterested "Oh, really?" to everything they said. Although people had stopped using the phrase as much since then, the fundamental attitude of celebrities toward their fans hadn't changed all that much. But at the very least, her favorite artist would never, ever say something so half-hearted.
"Seriously, what am I going to do..."
After crying like that for a long time, Ayun instinctively opened Twitter... and fought with every fiber of her being to suppress the urge to post. If she uploaded a photo of this letter, she would undoubtedly be dragged and accused of receiving special treatment or favoritism. As she desperately exerted all her willpower to hold back, a new tweet from Group Sound's official account caught her eye.
"Wait... a Japanese radio show? They're appearing on one?"