Chapter 39: Album Teaser
The twenty-eighth floor of the Xini Entertainment headquarters, inside Takashi Kadomori's office. The room wasn't excessively large, but it was laid out with a warm, inviting touch. The walls were adorned with signed artist photographs and gold records, while the bookshelves groaned under the weight of various music- and film-related materials. The late-June rainy season was drawing to a close, and afternoon sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow across the dark, solid wood desk.
A month had flown by. The recording process for *A Poem Composed with You* was officially complete. All eleven tracks had been meticulously polished, achieving an elite, industry-standard audio quality. From mixing to mastering, every single phase had been supervised by Xini Entertainment's top-tier production team, ensuring a flawless presentation of the final product.
"Great work, Hoshino," Kadomori said, pulling a thick stack of proposal documents from a filing cabinet and placing them before Hikaru Hoshino. "This is the final distribution plan for the album."
Hikaru was currently slouched across Kadomori's ergonomic office chair like a salted fish.
For him, the most difficult part–the actual songwriting–wasn't an issue at all. However, repeatedly recording the tracks had proven to be utterly exhausting, especially since he had to constantly protect his vocal cords, meaning the recording pace couldn't be rushed.
Hikaru lazily flipped through the proposal, his eyes blurring slightly at the dense rows of metrics and analytical charts. "Looks remarkably detailed."
"First, we need to establish a baseline: you already possess an established fan base, and your popularity is enough to rival a few veteran vocalists. We can't view you strictly through the lens of a raw newcomer," Kadomori pushed up his glasses, his expression turning solemn. "Therefore, our absolute baseline is thirty thousand copies on the first day."
"Thirty thousand copies, huh," Hikaru nodded absentmindedly.
He couldn't help but feel... wasn't that a bit low?
In his memory, whenever top-tier idols released digital albums, their sales figures effortlessly climbed into the hundreds of thousands, if not millions. Megastars like Jay Chou could easily shatter the million-copy milestone on day one. Granted, physical and digital sales metrics in Japan were significantly lower, but top-tier local artists still didn't pull small numbers either–for instance, the first-day sales for artists like Hikaru Utada or Kenshi Yonezu usually hovered around two to three hundred thousand copies.
Noticing the faint trace of dissatisfaction on Hikaru's face, Kadomori suddenly asked, "Don't tell me you think that's low?"
"A little bit, yeah," Hikaru nodded honestly.
"How long has it even been since you debuted as a singer? Don't let your ambitions outpace reality," Kadomori felt that Hikaru was truly a handful to manage.
It was almost as if the kid wasn't a local; he frequently lacked basic industry common sense, constantly requiring Kadomori to give him crash courses on standard entertainment practices.
"Thirty thousand is the absolute baseline, but based on our predictive modeling–factoring in your fan core, the promotional resources deployed, and early market feedback–a conservative estimate for day-one sales sits at fifty thousand copies," Kadomori paused briefly. "This figure aggregates both physical and digital formats. Based on current market ratios, physical sales will account for roughly sixty percent, while digital covers the remaining forty."
*Oh, so it bumped up to fifty thousand copies. Excellent.*
Hikaru felt a wave of satisfaction.
At the end of the day, sales metrics translated directly into revenue. The larger the number, the fatter the paycheck, and it was safe to assume no one in their right mind would complain about making too much money.
Pushing up his glasses once more, Kadomori continued to elaborate, "First-day sales are almost always a reliable indicator for first-week metrics and lifetime totals. If day one hits fifty thousand, your first-week total will very likely breach a hundred and twenty thousand, and total sales might even cross the three hundred thousand milestone down the line."
"For a newcomer, that is already an astronomical achievement. To be completely blunt with you, I'm not even explicitly expecting you to hit that metric right out of the gate, given how volatile and unpredictable market dynamics can be. But if you actually pull it off, it means you will have effectively scaled the absolute peak of rookie vocalists."
"No, actually, once you reach that echelon, measuring your success against your debut timeline becomes entirely meaningless. You could comfortably be classified as a quasi-A-list artist," Kadomori marveled.
"But you must keep in mind that this isn't solely a reflection of your individual capability," Kadomori immediately clarified. "The corporation has deployed a massive amount of promotional resources for this launch. On the brick-and-mortar retail front, TSUTAYA has allocated golden-tier in-store advertising real estate across all 1,400 nationwide branches simultaneously, placing your album on the most prominent shelves reserved for new recommendations. HMV is extending a virtually identical treatment."
"The company went all out to clear the path, so when it comes to the revenue split..."
Kadomori held up his hand, gesturing an eight with his fingers.
"How is it only eighty percent?"
"Eighty percent goes to the company. The fact that you even get to pocket twenty percent is entirely because I leveraged my professional reputation for you."
"The fact that I get twenty percent is because of your reputation?" Hikaru grumbled in dissatisfaction. "Doesn't that just make me a beggar kneeling for scraps?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
Kadomori let out a dry chuckle. "A standard rookie typically only commands ten to fifteen percent. That is the universal baseline in this industry."
"I finally understand why Japanese entertainers have it so rough. Turns out the agencies just bleed them dry from the top down."
Hikaru didn't know whether to classify this structural reality as a positive or a negative.
Naturally, one's perspective is dictated by their position, so he naturally spoke from his own financial interests. "I toil away diligently day in and day out, writing tracks twenty-four hours a day, yet I only find myself growing poorer. I must have touched capital's piece of the pie. Fine, corporate greed, you win this round."
"Cut the theatrics," Kadomori lightly tapped Hikaru on the head with the rolled-up document. "It's not like your split can never scale up. Plenty of top-tier vocalists manage to command thirty to forty percent. Besides, you signed a creative partnership agreement, which means the intellectual property rights and copyrights to the music remain entirely in your hands."
"Well, that makes it somewhat acceptable then," Hikaru felt a fraction better.
While the systemic structure still felt distinctly annoying, he didn't possess the sheer leverage required to single-handedly dismantle the unwritten rules of the entire industry overnight. For now, he could only accept the status quo.
Kadomori continued, "The agency is putting in the legwork as well. For this album launch, Xini has funneled an immense amount of marketing capital. The digital version will drop simultaneously across major platforms like LINE MUSIC and Apple Music. We've already secured prime real estate on their respective homepages, locked into the most eye-catching banners."
Curious, Hikaru interjected, "Is the digital release scheduled for midnight?"
"Correct. That is explicitly timed to align with Oricon's weekly tracking cycle," Kadomori explained. "A standard tracking week runs from Tuesday through the following Monday. Dropping the album at midnight tonight ensures we capture a pristine, full opening week of tracking metrics, effectively maximizing your first-week sales data."
Hikaru nodded comprehendingly. "I see, that makes sense."
"Right, there's one more detail we need you to cooperate with."
"What is it?"
"Once you get back, remember to publish a status update across all your social media platforms. Inform your fans that the album drops precisely at midnight tonight so they can camp out for the release. This kind of grassroots hype is vital." Kadomori reminded him.
Hikaru flashed an OK gesture. "Understood."
Kadomori went over a handful of remaining operational details, including the subsequent promotional itinerary and potential logistics for upcoming album-signing events, before Hikaru finally clocked out and headed home.
Driving the aging Honda that Hikaru Kamiki had gifted him, Hikaru navigated the streets at a leisurely pace, eventually arriving back at his apartment in Chiyoda Ward.
With the album slated to officially go live in a mere four hours, his demeanor remained as entirely relaxed as if he were just returning home from an ordinary day of work. He threw together a simple dinner–a convenience store sandwich paired with a carton of milk–and pulled out his phone, drafting the social media update precisely as Kadomori had instructed.
*A Poem Composed with You* drops tonight at precisely 24:00. Thank you all so much for your unwavering support. ✨
I hope these tracks can accompany you through many beautiful moments. 🙏
#APoemComposedWithYou #Hikari
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