Seven and a Half to Two and a Half
The editor finished his call and came toward me with a faintly embarrassed face. Then, careful as a man confessing a crime, he opened his mouth.
"Th-the president... I'm told he has stepped out for an important meeting."
"So I won't be able to see him?"
"By my estimate... well, if we allow plenty of time, perhaps around dinner?"
For someone as impatient as I am, nothing is a greater ordeal than waiting on another person. He must have read the displeasure in my eyes. His back bent lower and lower, until before long he was all but bowing his head.
"Th-then how about Tokyo's finest restaurant? They don't take ordinary guests... it's a house that receives only private clients. The chef has stood at a sushi counter for thirty years, so his skill is..."
"I don't know about that."
"Ah—if the menu doesn't suit you, Western cuisine at a first-class hotel... There's a fashion these days they call Japanese touch, classic French with a Japanese sensibility laid over the menu..."
"I came to talk business, not to fill my stomach."
"I-I'm sorry."
By nature I am a long way from prickly. I suffered enough in my previous life, and I haven't the faintest desire to throw my weight around just because I've come into a little money. So why keep up an attitude this stiff?
Take Dragon Planet alone. It was a work the editor's hand had pressed into hard.
He's the very man who built that famous format—the tournament to crown the greatest fighter under heaven. Probably.
He is, without question, a person optimized for the serialization market. But that peculiar style of his, meddling so deeply in the work, would later have an enormous influence on the end of Buzzer Beater's run.
In other words—
If I can just keep this man under control, Buzzer Beater will never have to die at the Sanwoong arc!
It was an impulse balled tight with a fan's devotion to Buzzer Beater.
Even so! I want to watch Buksan basketball for a long, long time!
I looked at the editor with what I chose to consider profound intent. Having no way to read me, he arrived at a troubled expression all on his own. It was still morning, and the president would not return until evening. He shifted from foot to foot, terrified I might shove back my chair and walk out.
Good. While I was at it, I might as well get the lanes in order.
I had just settled on that when a noisy rush of footsteps came pounding from far off. Greetings spilled in from beyond the door, and then an urgent knock.
"Perhaps they've brought something to drink..." the editor said, watching my face.
"If it wouldn't be rude, may I check for a moment...?"
"Go ahead."
He had barely turned the knob when a voice lunged through.
"Is he still in there?"
Instead of answering, the editor ducked his head at once.
"I'm asking if he's in there!"
"Ah, yes. But... what about your meeting...?"
"Is a meeting the problem right now?"
Through the narrow crack of the door I saw a middle-aged man setting his clothes to rights. A moment later, having hastily combed his hair as well, he stepped into the room at the most dignified pace he could manage.
"A pleasure to meet you. I am Noma, president of Mideumsa."
The negotiation went very simply.
In a capitalist market, money is ammunition. Who turns down a large investment when they are desperate for cash?
The broad terms were already settled. Only the details remained. But letting one's guard down at the very end is forbidden, and the other side clearly felt the same.
"An investment of that size... ordinarily it would allow a say in management, but we leave everything to professional managers."
Meaning: leave management, personnel, and the rest to the specialists. In plain words, they wanted the present system to go on exactly as it was, with no particular change.
"My, my. I wondered why a dragon appeared in my dream last night. It must have been so I could meet a partner as fine as you."
If it had ended there, the mood would have been excellent. When you are pouring money into one side alone, a sour atmosphere would be the stranger thing. But I am not a man to be taken lightly.
"I won't involve myself in the management at all. But let us be clear about one thing."
Noma blinked, waiting.
"These... secondary rights."
"And who receives eighty percent of the revenue...?"
"I do, of course."
His eyes went wide.
"You needn't think it unfair. Every work made from the secondary rights will be produced with my own money."
"Then not a single yen of Mideumsa's capital goes in. Is that what you're saying?"
Lend out the IP with no risk of loss? Thought of that way, even a twenty percent share might look acceptable. But you have to hear a sentence all the way to the end.
"However, the royalties that go to the creators must be paid out of Mideumsa's revenue."
"I beg your pardon? We take only twenty percent... and you want us to peel the royalties out of that as well?"
At that point the president looked as if the words had stuck in his throat. Of course he had assumed an American firm would be the partner, and that he would have to split the income with them too.
"But it would not have been eight to two."
"Of course not. They didn't invest five billion yen in Mideumsa."
Driven this logically, what answer could he possibly give? All that remained was to tap a calculator and weigh profit against loss.
"Would you wait just a moment?"
"It would be best if you decided as quickly as possible."
He stared.
"If you refuse us here, we'll have to look for somewhere else to invest."
"S-somewhere else...?"
"That would most likely be Gangonsa."
Notice, the instant they refused, that he would go to the rival publisher. However cool-headed a man might be, he was bound to waver.
And sure enough—
"Sev... wouldn't seven to three do?"
"It will not."
President Noma's eyes narrowed and trembled.
"Then seven and a half to two and a half..."
I said nothing.
"We have to have something left over as well..."
"The condition is that Mideumsa pays the royalties in full."
"O-of course."
"Very well. Seven and a half to two and a half. We'll proceed on those terms."
The moment the answer fell, the president let out the long breath he had been holding.
"Haaah..."
Noma and I took turns signing the contract. The war with Gangonsa must not have been an easy one. Looking down at the papers, his face seemed light. He must have judged the match already unfolding with Gangonsa more urgent than secondary rights that might or might not ever become money.
President Noma soon held out his hand.
"I could not be happier to have met so precious a partner."
"Likewise."
"It's nearly lunch. Would you care to eat with us?"
At that I gave a small shake of my head. He looked puzzled, and I turned, at that moment, to the editor. Naturally President Noma's gaze followed mine and fixed on him.
By now, well—a quick-witted editor was not about to sit still.
"Ah, if it's that contact information you mentioned, I can give it to you right away..."
"Editor."
"Yes?"
"My proposal?"
The editor flicked a glance at President Noma, asking without words what he ought to do. They had just signed the contract. The president's answer was obvious. Under a look that said grant him anything, the editor soon turned back to me.
"Please, speak."
"Bring Suzuki here."
"Not... giving you the contact...?"
"You want me to... go myself..."
"You'd rather not?"
"N-not at all! If it's to sign an author, I ought to leap into a furnace and come back with the contract."
"Then I'll count on you by tomorrow."
"Ah, but... I'm sorry to say this..."
I waited.
"That friend keeps so thoroughly to himself, I can't promise it will be certain by tomorrow..."
It was exactly then that President Noma, who had been listening in silence, cut in.
"Department Head Kazuhiro."
"Yes, President."
Kazuhiro hesitated. "Yes?"
"If you truly cannot manage it, then at least show the sincerity to split the sky in two."
With even the president like that, what could the editor do?
"I-I'll go this very moment."
Kazuhiro drove a Toyota Corolla, the plainest of compact cars. Being single, he always had this and that piled in the passenger seat.
Today he was hauling the largest load in the car's history.
"Let me introduce myself first. Jo Sudeok."
Only that morning Kazuhiro had been shouting himself hoarse at Jo Sudeok. Half a day later, who held the upper hand had reversed. Strictly speaking it was not a chain of command. Still—this was the right hand of a major investor. How could the drive be anything but uncomfortable?
"I'm sorry about this morning. Deadline season leaves me terribly high-strung."
"It's quite all right. I was the one who came to ask a shameless favor."
Kazuhiro had nothing to say to that.
"You do keep personal information remarkably well, though."
"On that point... I can only say again how sorry I am..."
"I'm not needling you. I mean it."
A cushion of thorns might have been more comfortable than this. He had known the air would be exactly so, and had badly wanted to come alone. Then President Park Jihoon had gone and slipped Jo Sudeok in beside him, telling him to teach the man a little of the work! And so, well—even clearing a single speed bump demanded every nerve he had.
They reached Suzuki's house after that heroic effort, and of course it was just as he had feared. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. He pressed the bell and got no answer at all.
"Do you suppose he's gone out?"
At Jo Sudeok's question, Kazuhiro answered with care.
"He's an awfully lazy fellow. There's no chance he went out."
"...Then?"
"He may be pretending the place is empty because he doesn't feel like working."
"How would he know anyone was coming...?"
"Among authors, this type turns up more often than you'd think."
Finishing the sentence, Kazuhiro rolled up his sleeves.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'll only check whether he's inside, and come back."
Jo Sudeok stared.
"Five minutes will do."
Having said that much, Kazuhiro sprang. In an instant he was over the wall.
The same man who had made such a fuss about being unable to hand over a phone number, hopping another man's fence without a second thought. The irony of it.
Enduring that irony is precisely an editor's real work!
The rationalization did not even hold. Thud. All the same, Kazuhiro succeeded at last in the climb.