Chapter Twelve: Apollo Records

Watching the crowd eagerly stuffing money into the guitar case, Yuki Ueda was somewhat astonished. Street singing, it seemed, could be so different—compared to the two hours she had just spent singing with nothing to show for it, the contrast was almost overwhelming. But surprise aside, Yuki Ueda understood well enough that there was no comparison between her own musical ability and the young man's.

Someone in the audience was the first to shout “Encore!” and those who had already dropped coins in but hadn't left joined in, clapping and chanting for more. Swept up in the atmosphere, Yuki Ueda found herself clapping along too.

Leaf Zhao had originally performed "Summer Colors" just to test its charm, and while he had received the expected acclaim, the enthusiasm of the crowd made him hesitate. This wasn't his usual stage in Shibuya, and it felt somewhat inappropriate to put on his own show on someone else's turf. But when he glanced over, he saw Natsumi Fujii and Yuki Ueda calling for an encore even more fervently than anyone else, and so he set aside his reservations. Changing the tune on his guitar, he began to play songs he used to sing while busking in Shibuya.

...

Because his wife was visiting family in Kagoshima, Kazushi Arakawa had to take his daughter Kana out for dinner. After their meal at the barbecue restaurant, they ran into an old colleague from his previous company. Arakawa handed Kana three hundred yen, told her to buy ice cream at a nearby dessert shop, and stayed to chat with his friend on the sidewalk.

Lost in conversation, Arakawa only realized after parting with his colleague that Kana was nowhere to be seen. Panic-stricken and blaming himself, he started searching for his daughter everywhere. Passing by a chain restaurant, he noticed a crowd of twenty or thirty people gathered, and, hoping Kana might be among them, he parted the crowd and stepped forward.

The focus of the gathering was a young boy singing, and there was Kana, sitting obediently at his feet, chin in hand, listening with rapt attention.

“Kana…” Arakawa began, then thought better of interrupting the boy’s performance. Since Kana was safe, there was no need to rush; with that in mind, he decided to join the audience for a while. As he listened, his background in music made him instantly recognize the boy’s remarkable talent.

Such a figure among street performers? Arakawa mused silently. His gaze shifted from casual to attentive.

After three more new songs, the crowd was growing so large it began to disrupt the restaurant’s business. Before the owner could erupt and start driving people away, Leaf Zhao quickly stopped playing.

“Thank you all, that’s the end of tonight’s performance!” As he announced the conclusion, the crowd gradually dispersed. Kana, still sitting at his feet, finally spotted Arakawa standing among the onlookers.

“Daddy!” Kana jumped up, ran over, and wrapped herself around Arakawa’s leg. Seeing the reproach on her father’s face, she realized she was about to be scolded and hurriedly changed the subject, pleading, “Daddy, this big brother sings so well! Kana forgot to go back because I was listening to his songs.”

Arakawa, seeing Kana’s attempt to curry favor, could only raise his hand and let it fall gently, issuing a few token scoldings and letting the matter drop. After all, if you looked at it closely, it was his own neglect as a father that was to blame.

Relieved, Kana cheered and dragged Arakawa over to Leaf Zhao, introducing him, “Big brother, this is my dad!”

“Young man, are these your original songs?” Arakawa asked.

“Yes,” Leaf Zhao nodded.

“Remarkable! All of these pieces are excellent. Are you a professional singer?”

“No, I’m just a street musician busking in Shibuya,” Leaf Zhao said, gesturing to Yuki Ueda. “Today, I borrowed this lady’s stage for an impromptu performance.”

“With your talent, I imagine signing with a record label wouldn’t be difficult?” Arakawa ventured.

At the mention of signing with a record company, Leaf Zhao gave a wry smile. “To be honest, I’ve sent demo tapes to Sony Records, but I’ve never heard back.”

“Sony Records, huh,” Arakawa nodded knowingly. “Big companies like Sony take a long time to review demos, and I’ve heard they’re currently pushing new music artists, so they might not be paying much attention to folk music. You should try submitting to more labels, like Universal or Avex. With music of your quality, you’ll find a path.”

Arakawa’s analysis was thorough, and Leaf Zhao couldn’t help but remark, “You certainly know a lot about record companies.”

“Kana’s dad is a department manager at a record company! He’s amazing!” Kana chimed in innocently.

“Well… it’s just an underground record company, and a small one at that,” Arakawa replied, a bit embarrassed. His age—barely forty—made it clear that in the hierarchical world of Japanese corporations, if it were a big company, someone as young as him wouldn’t be a department manager.

“An underground record company?” Leaf Zhao’s interest was piqued. “To be honest, I’m thinking of self-financing an indie single.”

“Is that so?” Arakawa took out his wallet, extracted a business card, and handed it over. “My phone number and the company address are on here. If you need anything, just contact me. With your musical level, I’ll make sure you get a big discount.”

Leaf Zhao accepted the card, which read: Deputy Manager, Sales Department, Apollo Records. “Thank you, I’ll definitely pay you a visit.” Finding a company willing to release indie records was an unexpected delight, and it lifted Leaf Zhao’s spirits.

After Arakawa and his daughter left, Natsumi Fujii approached Leaf Zhao and whispered, “Leaf, are you really planning to release an indie single?”

Leaf Zhao nodded. “I really have to thank you—if you hadn’t signed me up for the competition, I wouldn’t have won that prize money, and wouldn’t even be considering an indie single.”

“I see…” Natsumi Fujii’s expression was unreadable. At that moment, Yuki Ueda finished counting the tips in the guitar case and came over excitedly. “Do you know how much you just earned?”

“A hundred million?” Leaf Zhao teased.

“As if,” Yuki Ueda rolled her eyes.

“So how much is it?”

“Thirty-six thousand eight hundred and seventy yen!”

“That much? I’ve sung in Shibuya for ten days straight, and the most I ever earned was six or seven thousand yen. If I’d known the money in Nakano was this good, I wouldn’t have gone to Shibuya.”

“No way!” Yuki Ueda quickly dissuaded him. “You’re already at a professional level—don’t come and take the bread from us little fish.”

“I’m just joking,” Leaf Zhao replied. “It’s getting late, we should head out. Goodbye.”

“Take the money,” Yuki Ueda said, handing him the paper bag filled with cash.

“No, just consider it payment for venue rental and equipment use,” Leaf Zhao waved her off.

“That’s not right. I can’t accept what I haven’t earned. This is your money; it should go to you,” Yuki Ueda was adamant.

Leaf Zhao thought for a moment, took the bag, pulled out eighteen thousand yen, and handed the rest back to Yuki Ueda. “This is your rent. If not for your venue, I wouldn’t have made this money. The credit is half yours, so don’t refuse.”

With things settled so fairly, refusing further would have been petty. Yuki Ueda accepted the money with good grace. As they parted, she remembered the song that had nearly moved her to tears and pressed him, “By the way, what was the name of the first song you sang?”

“It’s called ‘Summer Colors.’”

“‘Summer Colors’…” Yuki Ueda repeated, then called after Leaf Zhao’s retreating figure, “If you really release that song as a single, I’ll buy it! No—actually, I’ll buy any song you put out!”

“Thanks. And my name’s Leaf Zhao, so don’t buy the wrong one.” Was this the birth of a fan?

Natsumi Fujii, originally from Nara, now shared an apartment with friends in Kichijoji. On the way to the station, she was uncharacteristically silent, a stark contrast to her cheerful mood earlier. At first, Leaf Zhao tried to liven things up with a few topics, but seeing her lack of response, he gave up. The walk quickly came to an end; the station was right ahead. After retrieving her ticket from the vending machine, the train toward Kichijoji hadn’t arrived yet, but the one bound for Ikebukuro was slowly pulling in.

Staring at the side of Leaf Zhao’s face, Natsumi Fujii finally summoned her courage. “Um, Leaf, did you notice today…”

“Sorry, the train’s here. I’m off. Goodbye, Natsumi!” Leaf Zhao interrupted, hurriedly said his farewells, and dashed into the train.

Watching his departing figure, Natsumi Fujii lifted her face, took a deep breath, and whispered, “…did you notice I put on makeup just for you today?”

The train began to move, leaving Natsumi Fujii far behind on the platform. Leaf Zhao silently apologized to her in his heart, without turning back. For him, if he didn’t like someone, he wouldn’t let them expect anything more.