Chapter Sixty-Six: Let's Try a Double A

He pulled open the drawer, took out a gleaming silver paper knife, and carefully cut along the sealed edge. Upon opening the package, he found a thick kraft paper envelope inside. Spreading the envelope open, he tipped its contents into his hand: a stack of landscape photographs, a small glass necklace, and a sheet of letter paper written in neat handwriting.

“Hello, Ye Jun. Thank you for the local specialty you sent last time—it was the most unique ‘local gift’ I’ve ever received. This New Year, I traveled to Europe with my family. We saw all kinds of scenery, experienced many novel things, and tasted some truly delicious coffee. Traveling is truly a wondrous thing.”

“I really liked the gift you sent me last time, so as a token of my gratitude, please accept this small gesture from me. Also, congratulations on your new single reaching a million sales—what a delightful achievement.”

The letter was signed by Izumi Sakai.

While promoting his work and traveling in the north, Ye Zhao had purchased quite a few local specialties along the way. Upon returning to Tokyo, he had Tamura Yuki pack and deliver them to friends he was on good terms with in Tokyo, as well as to members of the BEER club.

But what he sent to Izumi Sakai was a rather special “local gift”—not a souvenir bought at a local specialty store, but rather dozens of landscape photographs. When he decided to visit Yuzawa, Ye Zhao had bought a camera at a department store in Akita City, and soon became enamored with the feeling of pressing the shutter and preserving a scene forever. Everywhere he went, if he had any free time to stroll around, he would always bring his camera and take countless pictures.

Once back in Tokyo, after developing the photos, a sudden idea struck him. Instead of sending her a typical local specialty, he selected over thirty of his favorite landscape pictures and mailed them to Izumi Sakai’s personal office, “giving” her the scenery he had seen with his own eyes.

In return, Izumi Sakai sent back her own travel photographs—a charming exchange of mementos.

Ye Zhao flipped through the photos. Unlike his own amateur efforts, Izumi Sakai, who traveled the world constantly, had quite impressive photography skills. Whether in lighting or composition, her shots had a certain flair and nuance.

Ye Zhao put the photos back into the envelope, planning to have Uemura Yuki buy an album to store them later. Though officially a manager, Uemura Yuki had always handled assistant duties, as Take that Jun was responsible for arranging appearances.

Having settled the photos, Ye Zhao picked up the small necklace, holding it in his palm to examine it. To be honest, its craftsmanship was rather poor. While not outright ugly, its awkwardness was evident—it must have been made by a novice.

Speaking of novices, a thought flashed through Ye Zhao’s mind... Could it be?

After some hesitation, Ye Zhao took out his phone, found Izumi Sakai’s number, and, after a moment’s pause, dialed. This was, in fact, the first time he had ever called her. Though he had managed to get her number, their relationship was at best that of colleagues in the same company who often crossed paths—hardly even friends. Ye Zhao never bothered to call without reason, not wanting to be a nuisance. Izumi Sakai, for her part, would never have contacted him first, and he had been so busy with his new single that he hadn’t had the chance to use her number.

But this time was different. At the very least, he should thank her for the gift—especially since it was likely handmade.

After a few rings, the call was answered.

“Hello, Ye Jun.”

“Hello, Izumi-san. I’ve received the package—thank you for your gift.”

“You’re welcome. Um...” She hesitated, as if there was something she wanted to say but couldn’t quite get out.

Sensing this, Ye Zhao asked, “Is there something you want to say, Izumi-san?”

Izumi Sakai was silent for a moment, then asked, a bit embarrassed, “Ye Jun, did you find a necklace in the package?”

“There’s a glass necklace,” Ye Zhao replied, looking at the necklace in his hand. “In fact, that’s why I’m calling—you made this yourself, didn’t you, Izumi-san?”

Izumi Sakai’s apology deepened. “Yes, but, Ye Jun, I’m really sorry to say this, but that necklace wasn’t actually meant for you...” Her voice trailed off until it was barely audible.

“What?!” Wait, wait, wait—

Reality could be this harsh?

“But please don’t misunderstand,” Izumi Sakai rushed to explain. “I made that necklace at a local workshop in Italy, learning from a master there. I made four in total, and only this one turned out halfway decent, so I meant to keep it as a memento, and, um...”

“I see,” Ye Zhao sighed in relief. “In that case, I’ll find time to return it to you, Izumi-san.”

“Thank you so much, Ye Jun. And I’m truly sorry.”

“It’s fine. The landscape photos alone are more than enough—they’re a real luxury. Since the necklace is a keepsake for you, of course I can’t keep something so precious. But I’ll be busy preparing my new song these next few days, so it might be a bit before I can get it back to you—is that alright?”

“Of course, just call me when you’re ready. I’ll make time to meet you.”

After hanging up, Ye Zhao looked at the necklace once more, shook his head, then opened the drawer and carefully put it away.

...

He had agreed to meet Masaharu Fukuyama that evening at eight, at a recording studio in Shibuya.

Upon entering, Ye Zhao was surprised to see someone he hadn’t expected.

“Miss Uchida?”

Seeing Ye Zhao’s astonished expression, Masaharu Fukuyama smiled, slipped an arm around Yuki Uchida’s shoulders, and said, “Let me introduce you—this is my girlfriend, Yuki Uchida.”

By now, it was practically public knowledge that Fukuyama and Uchida were dating, so he brought her to the studio without any hesitation.

Yuki Uchida shyly slipped out of Fukuyama’s embrace and offered a polite bow. “Hello, I’m Yuki Uchida.”

Hiccup~ I didn’t even eat much tonight, so why do I suddenly feel so full?

...

Masaharu Fukuyama and Yuki Uchida had come straight from a yakiniku restaurant in Shibuya. Hearing that both men would be unveiling new songs for a “showdown,” Uchida was quite interested.

Fukuyama and Uchida took over a long sofa; Ye Zhao grabbed a swivel chair and sat down. Each man picked up an acoustic guitar, ready to duel in song.

“Fukuyama-san, you’re the senior here—please, go first,” Ye Zhao said, covering the sound hole with his right hand in a gesture of invitation.

Fukuyama didn’t stand on ceremony. He took the pick from his guitar’s neck, tuned the strings, strummed lightly, and began to play with a cool flair.

The song he performed was called “Beautiful Flower.”

In terms of vocal prowess, Fukuyama wasn’t the type to astonish an audience, but his voice made up for any technical shortcomings. As a singer-songwriter, he had always been keenly aware of his own limits, rarely composing pieces beyond his range.

“Beautiful Flower” was no exception, carrying on his distinct personal style. Upon closer listening, the chord progressions were exquisitely matched, a testament to his solid musical foundation.

When he finished, Ye Zhao applauded softly. “Such a smooth and flowing tune. As expected from you, Fukuyama-san.”

Fukuyama had always been confident in his music. Hearing Ye Zhao’s praise, he accepted it with an assured smile, making no attempt at false modesty. Uchida, sitting beside him, was utterly enraptured; her eyes, later famously dubbed “pregnancy eyes,” sparkled as if filled with stars.

That too-full feeling welled up again.

Fukuyama set his guitar on the stand. “Your turn, Ye Jun.”

“Alright!” Ye Zhao rubbed his palm across the strings. “Fukuyama-san, Uchida-san, please listen—this one’s called ‘Sakura.’”

...

When Ye Zhao finally muted the guitar, both Fukuyama and Uchida applauded. “What a wonderful song!”

In truth, both men had taken a similar approach to their spring-themed songs—they hadn’t simply chosen titles like “Spring This” or “Spring That,” but rather used the imagery of flowers to subtly express their chosen theme.

“Ay, this is tough,” Fukuyama sighed. “I hate to admit defeat, but your song is every bit as good as mine. This will be a hard choice.”

“Not necessarily. I actually think your track would make a stronger impression as the featured single,” Ye Zhao admitted. In terms of catchiness, “Beautiful Flower” was indeed more suited to be the lead.

“The record company will probably feel the same way, so I have no problem with my song being the B-side,” Ye Zhao offered.

Fukuyama hesitated. “But your song is too good to be just a B-side.”

As a newcomer to the recording industry, Uchida’s thoughts were much simpler. Naturally she wanted to support her boyfriend, but in her heart, she rated “Sakura” very highly.

With just the three of them in the studio, Uchida voiced her thoughts freely. “Why not just do a double A-side single?”

Ordinary singles typically featured one main track (the A-side) and one or two B-sides, with only the main track promoted, given a music video, and included in albums.

A double A-side single, however, meant both songs on the release would be promoted as main tracks. This practice dated back to the seventies, so it wasn’t unheard of, though it was a bit more troublesome.

Releasing two lead tracks meant more than just a change in labeling; tie-ins, music videos, promotional choices—even the cover art—would all need to be adapted. After all, if both songs were main tracks, it wouldn’t do to give only one the full treatment.

The single was being handled primarily by AMUSE and BMG, so it wouldn’t have been appropriate for Ye Zhao to raise the issue himself. Uchida’s forthright suggestion, however, made things much easier.

Fukuyama’s eyes lit up at the idea. “You’re right, Ye Jun—let’s do that!”