Chapter 40: 040, “Ah! It’s legal!”

May 1981 arrived quietly.

Koinobori (carp streamers) had begun appearing on the streets. In five days it would be Tango no Sekku, Japan’s traditional Boys’ Day—also called Children’s Day, also associated with the Dragon Boat Festival, also known as the Carp Festival.

A holiday layered with multiple meanings, celebrated with considerable enthusiasm.

For Naoki, it mainly meant eating rice dumplings.

In his previous life in China, most traditional festivals had gradually lost their original customs, except for a partial preservation around the Spring Festival. On the other hand, foreign holidays had become increasingly popular.

He clicked his tongue internally.

But as an orphan and single man, there weren’t many holidays he truly cared about anyway.

While he was debating whether to buy some rice dumplings, a call came from home. His mother, Nanako.

“Naoki, are you coming home for Children’s Day this year?”

“Eh? I’m not a child anymore. Do adults still celebrate Children’s Day?”

“Not really. Just asking.” Nanako replied, still treating him like a child. “We made some rice dumplings at home. They’ll be sent to you in the next few days. Watch for the package.”

“Got it. Thank you.”

Then he asked, “Is Tsuruko off school?”

“Of course. First spring break, then Golden Week. She’s very happy,” his mother said, rambling a bit afterward about his father’s izakaya being busy.

As the only child living away from home, his mother always became especially talkative during holidays. The casual chatter carried a warm familiarity.

The call lasted half an hour.

Just after he hung up, the phone rang again.

“Moshi moshi, Naoki-san. This is Yoshimura Daitomo.”

The voice on the other end sounded tired.

Daitomo Yoshimura—now newly promoted from planning director to executive director—should have been in high spirits.

Yet he sounded depressed.

“Daitomo-san, I’m here,” Naoki replied.

“Do you have time to have a drink at noon?”

In Japanese corporate culture, drinking after work at night was normal, but noon drinking was less common.

Still slightly confused, Naoki agreed.

At noon, in a small izakaya in Shinjuku.

When Naoki arrived, Yoshimura was already drinking.

After some time apart, his balding head seemed even more pronounced, his face full of exhaustion and frustration. He drank like a defeated man.

“Daitomo-san, what happened?” Naoki asked directly after sitting down. “You look drained. Didn’t you just get promoted to executive director?”

“Ah, Naoki-san…” Yoshimura didn’t answer immediately. “Sorry for calling you out at noon.”

“Recently, the new business has hit obstacles. It’s been bothering me, so I wanted someone to drink with.”

In reality, it wasn’t just “obstacles.”

Johnny & Associates had given up some resources—but only in exchange for top-tier deals that went to the BURNING group. The truly profitable opportunities, like record production contracts and major idol placements, had already been taken elsewhere in advance.

What remained for STARLIGHT Entertainment were scraps: small TV appearances and minor promotional opportunities.

STARLIGHT had originally been a small agency focused on gravure magazines and advertising. It had almost no idol infrastructure. The exchanged “resources” were barely more than a crack in the door.

To truly enter the idol industry, they would have to build everything themselves.

The company president had promoted Yoshimura to executive director precisely for this reason.

Recently, Yoshimura had tried using their limited talent pool—gravure models—to appear on television, but nothing had gained traction.

Attempts to scout new idol talent were blocked. Auditions and trainee pipelines were already tightly controlled elsewhere, with Johnny’s showing no intention of loosening its grip.

STARLIGHT’s idol business was stuck in midair—neither forward nor back.

Unable to talk to subordinates, colleagues, or even family, Yoshimura had no choice but to drink with a friend.

And at noon, the only one available was Naoki.

After listening to the story, Naoki understood him.

Middle age really was difficult.

No one ahead to rely on, everything behind still needing support—everything depended on oneself.

“Daitomo-san, is everything really on you alone? Doesn’t the president help with the new business?”

“The president? He never worked in idols before,” Yoshimura said after several quick drinks. He was already getting drunk.

“He only has some connections with Dentsu. That’s about it.”

“Then in your agency’s current talent pool, there’s really no promising idol material at all?”

“If there were, they would’ve debuted already. Why would they still be doing gravure?” Yoshimura said bluntly.

“None of them can sing, none can dance. No talent at all. Only their looks are decent.”

Only looks are decent—yet still “no value”?

Naoki felt the statement clash with reality. In his previous world, that alone would be enough for agencies to market someone as a “once-in-a-century beauty.”

Were Japanese idol standards really that strict?

“Having looks and a good figure… that’s not exactly nothing, right?” Naoki said.

“Huh? Then what are they supposed to do with that?” Yoshimura retorted, flushed. “If I just want to look at faces and bodies, why don’t I watch adult videos?”

A sudden realization hit Naoki.

Right. Adult videos are legal in Japan.

Something in his internal moral conditioning from his previous life clicked open.

He realized that, coming to Japan for half a year, he hadn’t even bought a single adult magazine.

Now it made sense.

That also explained why Japan’s idol industry leaned so heavily toward young female idols.

Some retire early to marry and disappear.

Some transition into serious singers.

Some move into acting and dramas.

Others become variety show personalities.

But for STARLIGHT’s gravure models, lacking skills meant there was no obvious path upward, and the agency had no system to support them further.

Naoki thought silently:

“This industry is really competitive.”

“In the future, groups like Rocket Girls or idol survival shows basically let people debut by crying, acting cute, and doing reality shows…”

Crying? Acting cute? Reality shows?