We followed Ai toward [Ichigo Production]. She wore a bewildered expression, but we are men who follow through on our word once it's spoken.
Since we require zero training costs and planned to set the agency's profit share incredibly low, the amount of money we would bring in would be on a completely different level than the underground idols of B-Komachi. It was certain they would welcome us with open arms.
"Leader? What are you setting the profit ratio at?"
"How about a generous 9:1?"
Of course, the '9' belonged to us, Enfants Terribles. Honestly, even giving a 10% cut was a massive concession from a band. Bands don't cost much to manage, yet the money they pull in compared to their overhead is staggering.
'I recall Bono, the frontman of U2 in my past life, had a net worth of about 2 trillion won after taxes.'
The reason bands rake in so much profit is that every part of the process is an 'in-house operation.' Unlike idols, who are manufactured by gathering industry elites and splitting the equity among them, a band keeps 100% of the earnings for themselves.
In other words, there are no middleman fees. Even for album sales, because the band handles their own producing, they don't lose cuts to external producers; the money flows straight into their bank accounts.
To be honest, the settlement royalties from next month alone for our tracks currently charting on the Billboard Japan Hot 100 would easily surpass the 1 billion won prize money Enfants Terribles won from ASAYAN.
'Why? Because "Viva la Vida" is all I hear on the streets even now.'
Bands can live comfortably off being a one-hit wonder, and I had already pumped out several hits. Truthfully, money concerns? I didn't need them anymore. It meant I could finally live a life solely dedicated to music.
While I was lost in those thoughts, Ai looked at me with a questioning gaze.
"Hide, are you really coming to our agency...? Can't you go somewhere better...?"
Of course, as Ai said, we could go to a much larger agency. Even though I'd already given one major agency the middle finger, they would welcome us more than anyone if we actually stepped into their arms.
'Though they'd discard us like tools once our popularity waned.'
An even bigger problem was that those agencies didn't yet realize how much money band music could actually make. They would surely act high and mighty during negotiations and offer unfavorable terms. From our perspective—not needing any actual 'management'—there was no reason to go.
It was more advantageous for us to go to an agency that had nothing but where we could build a relationship of trust, signing a contract with relatively generous terms.
'There's no reason to go to a place that does nothing for us. Life is give and take.'
Essentially, the only thing an agency can do for a band is marketing at the start of their career. Unlike idol groups, a band doesn't have much practical need for an agency.
Connections with distribution companies? You just walk in with a CD and negotiate the deal on the spot. If they get cocky during the split negotiations? Then you move to a different distributor. Accounting? Bands usually handle their settlements through their own hired accountants rather than the agency's.
There's little difference between an agency accountant and a personal one. In fact, a personal accountant you can consult with on a detailed level is far more convenient for a band.
Gigs aren't planned by the agency anyway; they're planned by event promoters. Since the band connects directly with the promoters to iron out the technicalities, the agency has nothing to plan.
Honestly, an agency provides nothing to a band.
'Especially since I, having spent a lifetime as a session musician, have nothing left to learn about the business side anyway.'
We just needed a face for the organization—something to move our equipment and stand at the forefront as a legal entity if legal trouble arose. However, that explanation was too realistic and cold for a young girl like her to hear.
"To be your shield."
"Whoa! Well said!"
"Big bro, that's a damn fine way to put it."
And it wasn't a lie. Even in my past life, large agencies tended to look down on small agencies or independent indie groups. But this world crossed a line.
'Rigging the competition on a show that's becoming a literal syndrome.'
Since I viewed Ai as a daughter, I felt extremely uneasy. We were able to crush the rigging with pure skill, but could Ai do the same?
What kind of parent could stand by and watch their child's wings be clipped by someone else's hand? That was who Ai was to me. She was a fragile child who had already been wounded too many times and was only just beginning to heal; I hoped she would at least no longer suffer from the storms of the world.
'Someone has to play the role of the shield.'
That was the resolution I made after the incident during the ASAYAN semi-finals.
"Ai... is this really the [Ichigo Production] building...?"
It was an incredibly meager building to be called an agency headquarters. And the door was locked...?
"Ah! President Sato must have gone somewhere..=͟͟͞͞( ‧̣̥̇ᴖ◡ᴖ)"
If this agency turned out to be too sketchy, I felt like we should be the ones rescuing Ai from it. If necessary, I would just start my own agency.
"Big bro, this door is way too flimsy, isn't it?"
Yokishi, our muscular mixed-race drummer, was rattling the door, his massive biceps and triceps bulging. Wait, isn't he going to break it at this rate?
"Ah, he actually broke it."
"Hey!! You muscle-brain! What are you doing!!!"
"..."
Shuji was fuming, his bald head practically glowing with rage, while Ai looked completely stunned by the bizarre scene. Just then, a man with blonde hair and a rough beard watching the scene from behind let out a roar!!
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU GUYS DOING!!!!"
It feels like we've completely blown the first impression.