Chapter Text
Being the CEO of a talent and entertainment agency on the verge of bankruptcy is no easy job.
Ukai Keishin is well aware of this fact. When his grandfather chose to retire and passed the position down to him, he should’ve declined it. He’s a music producer, for goodness’ sake; he doesn’t know shit about business apart from the few online classes his grandfather made him take. He should’ve had the hindsight of knowing that this “promotion” would do more good than harm, more to the company than to Keishin himself.
But he agreed to it anyways, mostly out of respect to his aged and sickly grandfather, who’d raised him ever since he was a toddler. It didn’t help that his grandfather’s assistant, despite looking like a harmless pushover with his oddly green tracksuit and thick-rimmed glasses, was also quite stubborn and persuasive.
So now here he is: a man in his mid-thirties, on his first day at his new job. His scalp is already tingling from the premature grey hair he’s growing, especially after leafing through the reports his new assistant had given him for the past few hours.
“Takeda,” he calls out tiredly, running a hand down his exhaustion-ridden face. Already he can feel a migraine knocking at his skull, and the lack of his much-needed daily shots of espresso certainly didn’t help.
A few seconds later, his trusted assistant— and unofficially appointed advisor— walks into his office. Takeda smiles at him sympathetically, most likely seeing the state he’s in. “Yes, Ukai-kun?”
Keishin gestures for the other man to sit on one of the chairs in front of his desk, which he does.
Keishin’s office, while relatively average in size, is well-decorated and spacious enough for him. Most of the furniture are old but sturdy, retaining its good quality despite the decades it’s been sitting there— the comfortable office chair, the dark wooden desk, the plush sofa. A few framed records and certificates are hung along the cream walls. There’s a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf in one corner, a half-empty trophy case in the other. All in all, everywhere Keishin looked, he could see the remnants of TOBE’s successful past. His grandfather’s hard-earned legacy.
The same legacy dangling over the edge of ruin.
With a sigh, Keishin leans back on his chair. “Last quarter’s budget report. Why are our expenses so damn high? There’s a—“ He grabs one of the files from the pile and skims through it— “36% increase from the previous quarter. Which is saying something, considering the competitions and new batch of trainees taken in around that time.”
Takeda grimaces, explaining in a soft tone, “We had to do some extensive damage control due to a scandal concerning one of our groups.”
Ah, right. It momentarily slipped Keishin’s mind. Of course he’d heard of it, the infamous “JEST-astrophe,” one of the reasons TOBE Ent. has been steadily declining the past year. He hasn’t personally met any of JESTER’s members yet, but from what he’d heard from his grandfather, their talent and capabilities were explosive— a double-edged ax.
Keishin stifles another sigh. Back in his day, something as simple as showing a bare shoulder in a live stage performance was enough to make you the topic of tabloids and articles for weeks. He doesn’t keep track of most modern-day drama, but he is aware that the scandals that broke out these days were infinitely worse than those from his time.
“I can retrieve a copy of the incident report, if you’d like, Sir,” Takeda adds, bringing Keishin back to the present.
“Another time,” the blond man replies, setting the folder down on an empty space on his desk. He glances at the other folders, feeling the energy drain out of him the more he looks at it. “But I take it things went well with JESTER? All issues were resolved?”
Takeda ponders on his questions for a few long seconds. “Things have certainly calmed down— there are still a lot of negativity circulating online, but it’s nothing our PR managers can’t handle. And the board prompted Ikkei-san to put JESTER on hiatus.”
It’s a true shame, knowing how much hard work his grandfather put into forming and training this particular group. Ikkei was a legend in his time, having even worked as a producer for great artists like Taki and K!NG. He was the one who built JESTER, despite the hesitance from TOBE’s board of directors, and they’d been one of the agency’s most successful artists. They’d been on the high-road to fame, having broken through to Western media— one of the only Japanese pop groups, a co-ed one at that, to do so. But it seemed the road went downhill for them the moment Ikkei retired.
Now the pressure Keishin is facing had tripled. There are always people eyeing his every move, whether they’re reporters or journalists or the general public, wondering if he would live up to his grandfather’s legacy. Or if he’d drive the company to ruins.
Safe to say, he’s not too thrilled with the current circumstances.
“Shin is retiring at the end of the year,” Takeda continues, seemingly taking it upon himself to update Keishin on the states their artists are in. “E.C. recently auditioned for a drama series and is waiting for a callback, so he hasn’t been able to work on music for a while now. K!NG is working on their disbandment album, but the board wants us to delay its release.”
Keishin didn’t bother asking why. He has an inkling of an idea.
“So basically, all of our artists are predisposed,” he summarizes, getting a sad nod from Takeda. “Great. Just great.”
What are they going to do? Willing investors are hard to find, they’re probably going to be forced to let go of a few staff members and trainees sometime soon, and the company’s stocks… Well, Keishin doesn’t bother bringing it all up. Talking won’t do anything; they need a course of action, and Keishin starts brain-storming, coming up with drafts and proposals to present to the board once the time comes.
Takeda visibly hesitates, bringing Keishin out of his brewing thoughts. “Your grandfather… Before he was hospitalized, he had a plan. Told me to relay it to you once you got here.”
Keishin furrows his eyebrows. It’s not entirely unlike his grandfather, but still… “What is it?”
Takeda tells him.
Gods, is the first thing he thinks when Takeda finishes. An incredulous laugh tumbles out of his mouth. “What, in the gods’ name, was he thinking? That’s too big of a gamble, even for me.”
“He said, in verbatim, go big or go home.”
Keishin snorts. “That certainly sounds like him.”
Takeda flashes him a half-smile, continuing, “You know, it might not be my place to say this, Sir, but Ikkei-san’s idea isn’t as bad as it seems.”
Keishin frowns, not quite agreeing with him. “It’d be a huge risk if we do it.”
“So is doing nothing,” Takeda counters, not unkindly. “Whether we follow through with this or not, we’ll be risking everything, not just our jobs, but the lives of every person under this agency. But with Ikkei-san’s plan, at least we’d have a bigger chance to turn things for the better.”
“What if it goes wrong?”
Takeda shakes his head. “What if it goes right?”
Keishin pauses. He didn’t really think of that. He was a born pessimist; it wasn’t in his blood to think of silver linings and positive outcomes out of dire situations. Still…
“I know them, Sir,” Takeda continues softly, not revealing any names, but Keishin has ideas of who he was referring to. “I knew your grandfather, too. He was stubborn and unpredictable, sometimes even reckless in his decision-making, if you’ll pardon me for saying so. But he wasn’t one to take a gamble if he didn’t fully believe he had the winning hand. And frankly… when it comes to this one, I have to agree with him.”
Takeda grabs the pile of files on the desk, shuffling through them before finding the one he was searching for. He slid it back across the table, in front of the silent thinking CEO.
“You don’t have to make a decision right away, Sir,” the assistant says, his voice a bit firmer now. “But it wouldn’t do any harm if you’d hear them out first. Give them a chance.”
Trust your grandfather, is the unsaid message hanging between the two men. And trust them to bring his vision to life.
Keishin ponders on his choices. The first is the safest route: wait for the remnants of the drama to die down, support Ennoshita in his TV debut, release K!NG’s comeback album as soon as possible, and hope for the best. That was the original plan, the one he’d hastily made before he found out about his grandfather’s own ideas.
Now he’s conflicted. No matter which option he chose, the future is uncertain and he’ll end up putting many things on the line— the only difference is, how much is he willing to sacrifice?
Ukai Keishin isn’t his grandfather. He’s cautious and calculative, not as much of a natural genius as Ikkei was. But he’s smart enough to know that Takeda made at least one point. It would be beneficial if he waited and fully, completely weighed and plotted out his paths. That means getting as much data as possible, using any means necessary, and considering even the smallest possible pro and con of each choice.
After what seems like centuries, Keishin finally relents. It seems his grandfather wasn’t kidding when he said that Takeda Ittetsu was one of the most clever and persistent people he’s ever met. Strangely, Keishin was neither irritated nor frustrated; instead he was grateful to have an advisor by his side. “I’ll give it a look.”
Takeda smiles, visibly pleased. Bowing his head, he excuses himself and exits the room, leaving the man alone with the files and his thoughts.
A few days later, Keishin calls Takeda back to his office.
“Schedule a meeting,” is the first thing the CEO says when the advisor enters. He notices Takeda’s eyes automatically scan the papers on his desk: trainee profiles. Keishin passes them to him, along with the USB drives he’d acquired a few days ago.
“I have a few ideas to pitch.”
Creating a new idol group.
It’s absolute madness, some would say, considering the mess the company was in. It’s likely that no one would expect this move from TOBE now that Ikkei has retired.
Meaning, Keishin is sure this would garner numerous news articles, possibly even reach the trending lists on various social media sites.
At this point in time, bad publicity is still publicity, and he’s willing to take any and every ounce of criticism thrown his way for now. As long as the boys they’d gotten did their jobs well, it would be very well worth it.
Keishin grabs one of the folders remaining on his desk, one at the very top of the stack. He flips it open, and a teenage boy with ash grey hair and a solemn look stares back at him.
“Semi Eita,” he reads the trainee’s name aloud. According to the paper, the trainee is set to be in a rap duo with another boy around his age. However, Keishin has other plans for him— for them. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”