Chapter 141: Refusing to Show My Face No Matter What

On August 18, three days before “Singer’s Love Song” went on sale, Ye Zhao received the completed single ahead of schedule.

Although “Inter, Again” had been a huge success, and he had subsequently teamed up with Masaharu Fukuyama to release two different versions of the same single, this time Ye Zhao abandoned the 12-centimeter format and returned once again to the mainstream 8-centimeter single.

After the victories of his first two singles, he could easily have continued working alongside his dear “brother”—or rather, close friend—Masaharu Fukuyama as a pioneer of the 12-centimeter format. Whenever a single was released, the sheer size of the package would let it occupy two spaces on a record-store shelf with perfect justification, allowing him to flaunt the domineering advantage of being “big.”

But after indulging in a little capriciousness, Ye Zhao ultimately chose to return to the mainstream. The reason was simple: although he had seized a sales record ahead of everyone else with a 12-centimeter single, deep down he still preferred the small 8-centimeter discs.

For one thing, he genuinely liked the slender, elegant appearance of an 8-centimeter single. Besides, if the blunt practical meaning of a single was simply to “make money,” then the 8-centimeter version was cheaper than the 12-centimeter one and easier to carry. Even if someone happened to pass a record store and suddenly felt like taking a look inside, they could conveniently pick up one or two.

Beyond these objective considerations, there was another reason: Ye Zhao hated shooting photographs for the interior pages of singles.

If it were an album, then considering that it contained so many songs and cost considerably more, taking a few photographs was acceptable. After all, an album carried greater significance. But making a single so elaborate merely for the sake of appearances struck him as dull and wasteful.

When all was said and done, a single only needed to be easy to carry and convenient to take out and listen to at any time or place. Making it excessively beautiful, only to lose sight of its original purpose, was putting the cart before the horse.

He felt that if a single occasionally contained a little extra—an additional song, perhaps, or a bonus music video—then using the larger format was perfectly reasonable. But if it contained only two songs and their instrumental versions, a 12-centimeter disc was simply overkill. Using the 8-centimeter format would reduce costs for the company while easing the burden on consumers’ wallets. It was a win-win situation.

As he had expected, the single’s cover featured a photograph of Yuko Takeuchi, rendered in black and white, holding an apple to her lips as though about to bite into it. The young girl’s youthful, vibrant face looked almost fierce from the effort of opening her mouth so wide, yet that utterly unguarded spontaneity made the photograph seem all the more full of youthful energy.

In Ye Zhao’s private opinion, Yuko Takeuchi was the only person who could produce a photograph that was both so youthful and so brimming with feminine charm. Even Ryoko Hirosue, known for her translucent, ethereal beauty, was no less youthful than Yuko Takeuchi—in fact, she might even have had the edge in that regard. But she possessed slightly less of that distinctly girlish charm. After all, though she was also fifteen, Ryoko Hirosue was still an unmistakable tomboy: overflowing with youthful boyishness, yet still rather far removed from anything truly girlish.

The front cover showed Yuko Takeuchi poised to bite into the apple. The back cover, meanwhile, used a candid photograph taken by the photographer after the shoot, capturing her taking a large bite. The girl’s blissful expression after finally getting to eat the apple was so infectious that merely looking at it made one want to smile.

If biting into that apple, the symbol of love, produced such a happy expression, then love truly was a wonderful thing.

“That smile is something you could treasure as a family heirloom.”

The photographer who had taken the picture was responsible for that assessment.

Ye Zhao gave a wry smile. “It is certainly adorable, but that’s a little too exaggerated.”

Exaggerated or not, the comment offered a glimpse of Yuko Takeuchi’s undeniable charm.

However, using photographs of Yuko Takeuchi on both the front and back covers also meant that Ye Zhao had once again failed to appear on the cover of his own single. If Maki Ohguro, who had yet to appear on television even now, was following a mysterious route, then Ye Zhao—who repeatedly put other people on his single covers—was pursuing the route of “never showing my face no matter what anyone says.”

“I want to ask in advance: you’ll appear on the cover of the album, right?” In the president’s office, Daikou Nagato looked deeply troubled. “Even if you answer no, I’ll ignore your opinion. Young Master Ye, there has to be a limit to your recklessness.”

“Please rest assured. I will absolutely appear on it.” Ye Zhao spoke with solemn conviction. Releasing three or four singles a year left room to play around a little, and if he wanted to try something unusual, he could. But when it came to an album, there could be no ambiguity whatsoever—especially since this would be his first album.

He merely enjoyed fooling around from time to time. He was not someone who failed to understand what mattered.

Still, he had heard the phrase “There has to be a limit to your recklessness” more than once lately...

As someone who had just acquired a proper girlfriend and escaped the ranks of the single-cat brigade, Ye Zhao naturally set aside one copy of the single for Yukie Nakama. The recipient herself, however, could hardly be called pleased. She merely nodded and said, “Thank you.”

Ye Zhao of course knew why, so he deliberately moved closer and pretended to sniff the air.

“That’s strange...”

“Hm?”

“For some reason, I can smell something unusual on you.”

“Something unusual?” Yukie Nakama immediately took the bait. Clearly bothered, she lowered her head and sniffed herself from several angles. “But I can’t smell anything... Brother Ye Zhao, what did you smell?”

Ye Zhao struggled to contain his laughter. “Why, obviously... the smell of something being scorched by the flames of jealousy.”

He had originally wanted to say that she smelled like aged vinegar, but the joke about jealousy probably did not exist in Japan... Did it? Surely it did not?

Realizing that he had tricked her, Yukie Nakama flushed and turned away with a pout, looking very much as though she intended to ignore him.

The Japanese-style private room contained only the two of them. Ye Zhao therefore crawled on his knees across the tatami with complete abandon until he was in front of her, then asked with a grin despite already knowing the answer, “Are you angry?”

Yukie Nakama gave a soft “Hmph” and turned her face away.

Ye Zhao continued teasing her. “Really angry?”

Yukie Nakama raised her head slightly and made a motion as though taking aim. Seeing this, Ye Zhao hurriedly retreated a little and covered his forehead with both hands.

“Let’s establish one thing first: violence is not the answer.”

That young girl’s headbutts were first-rate. The one she had given him on the rooftop had left him with a truly enormous psychological scar.

His exaggerated movements and expression instantly shattered Yukie Nakama’s composure, and she burst out laughing.

Seeing her smile, Ye Zhao began laughing as well for no particular reason. Kneeling on the tatami, he straightened his upper body and pulled Yukie Nakama into his arms, gently rubbing her hair and cheeks with both hands.

“You really are adorable.”