A Flat Circle

The departmental meeting the next morning is already half full when Hakaze slips in, finding an empty seat next to someone from Marketing she vaguely knows. There’s a “Quarterly Artist Strategy Review” sign on the door, along with printed schedules of every group except—Hakaze flips through them—Neonite. Hm.

She sits, opens her prehistoric laptop to skim the agenda again. How many slides has the assistant already queued up for other groups? Had Neonite disbanded already, and nobody told her?

She hears a few murmurs echoing her thoughts and relaxes. So she wasn't the only one who missed the memo. 

The whispering dies down when the Finance director's PA steps up to present with a slick smile. 

Every time he flicks to a roadmap, Neonite’s name appears smaller, pushed lower, sometimes omitted entirely. New boy groups get green upward arrows. It’s like being in the twilight zone, like she’s watching Harua's funeral.

"For the next few quarters fiscal and personnel resources will be fixed on the survival show to debut a new rookie boy group, name and lineup still under review, who will have a concept similar to Neonite's, but a little more toned down to appeal to a broader audience. We have earmarked a few potential trainees for the position of center. Visually, we're looking for someone who matches the aesthetic standards of Astreon that were set by Ren Mikazuki."

As Hakaze struggles to keep her expression under control, someone raises their hand. It’s a VP from Sales—she remembers him talking about how much he loved Eclipse at the last holiday party with drunken fervor.

“These are all cost projections, right? Aren’t revenue projections still heavily skewed towards Neonite? What’s up with the mismatch?”

Hakaze exhales noisily. 

In response the big dog at Finance, Kirishima, smiles slightly and inclines his head at the VP who asked the question. His smile doesn't come anywhere close to touching his eyes. 

“This seems like a good time to jump ahead to the legacy risk categories,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. His PA starts and jumps ahead a few slides, where Neonite is highlighted in red in “High Risk Groups”.

Harua had been right. Neonite was dead in the water.

The VP who asked the question still looks confused. He has a broadly handsome face, looks intelligent—Hakaze wouldn’t have pegged a Sales guy to be the voice of reason. “If they’re at risk, wouldn’t it be more cost-efficient to try to get rid of those risks instead of investing in untested rookie groups and survival shows that aren’t polling exceptionally well yet?”

Kirishima adjusts his glasses again. Hakaze tries to keep her distance from him-- he was brought on during their scandal, and the company treats him as the messiah who got them out of financial hot water after Eclipse tanked their share prices. 

Being a savior must be hard work, Hakaze thinks. She also thinks that Kirishima Junpei is probably the coldest man she’s ever met. For Hakaze, Kirishima will always be the man who called the four of them to a sterile conference room one morning and told them they'd be disbanding. 

“A portfolio,” he says, every word precise as if he’s measured them with a scalpel. “Is maintained for the reason of diversifying risk. Astreon has historically thrown in all their chips in one group, and that has shamefully backfired. Our company’s strategy has adjusted accordingly. Wouldn’t you agree that’s for the best, Miss Shinomiya?”

Slowly, one by one, every head in the room turns to her.

Nao would have told her to play it cool. But this man dismantled her legacy, brick by brick, made them into a cautionary story. Made the few brief years of glory –the happiest years of Hakaze’s life-- the precedent for shame.

“Sounds good to me. Though I’m curious how you’d handle the fan backlash.”

Kirishima’s stone cold eyes don’t flicker, though the others in the Finance department around him blink rapidly. The Legal and PR teams appear to be sweating. 

“I’m sure you’ve adjusted your numbers for this, but speaking from personal experience, groups as big as Neonite tend to have…peculiar fans. Most of you are too new to remember this, but after our disbandment announcement, a fan hacked all our financial data. I hope we have planned for these kinds of anomalies as well.”

Kirishima says, smoothly, “Of course we have taken this into account,” but the faces around him remain uneasy, almost green.

“That’s good,” says Hakaze, nodding. Across the room, she can see Fuma trying to make eye contact with her. “Then I suppose I agree with you, Director. It’s truly inspiring to see such large forecasted achievable market sizes for the new boy group when Neonite’s still so popular, I wish them all well.”

Kirishima doesn't break eye contact. "I'm sure your juniors will appreciate the vote of faith, from someone so...distant in their history."

She smiles at him, idol-polished and bright. She's biting her tongue so hard she can taste iron. 

Not long after this pleasant exchange, the meeting breaks: people gathering laptops, slipping out of chairs. No one actually leaves, opting to mill about and exchange small talk. Hakaze closes her laptop carefully and stands.

She spots him immediately—the VP from Sales who was asking questions earlier. He's typing something into his phone, frowning in the corner. She can see Fuma headed towards her, too, but she brushes him off, making a beeline to the Sales guy.

“Hi,” she says brightly. “Got a minute?”

His smile and returning bow are automatic, before he visibly recognizes her and his mouth drops a little in shock. “Miss Shinomiya. It was inspiring to hear you talk. Truly the best leader of your generation. Let me introduce myself, my name's Mamoru Itou."

They exchange cards, bowing again. Hakaze gives him a bright smile.

“Thank you, thank you, that’s so kind of you to say. Ah, I’m so flustered, that meeting was so scary.”

He glances around quickly. Everyone’s rapt in their conversations, and they’re close enough to the door that no one’s really looking at them.

“It was strange that Director Kirishima put you on the spot like that. You must have been very surprised.”

“Of course,” Hakaze puts a hand on her heart. “I just spend my time quietly in the basement studio, I really didn’t expect to have to talk today! These meetings are the only way I hear about the things going on in the company, so I was very surprised to hear that we’re phasing out Neonite. I’m afraid I might have let my confusion show.”

“Of course not, you held up very well. I also shared your questions, since last quarter we sailed through the numbers just with Neonite having one comeback. I wish they communicated these things more,” and he briefly lets a flash of real frustration show on his face, before he blinks and flattens it out into a bland, professional smile. “Ah, but I’m sure they’re thinking so long term that the details aren’t worth sharing.”

“Of course,” says Hakaze warmly. “But that must mean that you’re going to be very busy promoting the new survival show for the new group for the next few months.”

His shoulders relax. “That’s how it’s looking, yes. It’s exciting work, we already have a major network ready to give us their 9pm slot. The marketing collateral throughline has been to brand it as Neonite but softer, and a lot of advertisers are already biting.” His eyes do a careful sweep of the room before he drops his voice. “You didn’t hear this from me, but most of the contracts specify that there has to be an appearance from Neonite themselves to boost views. Or just Ren or Harua, at the very least.”

She nods with that glossy enthusiasm she perfected as a trainee. “That’s still incredible! Do you think that they’re going to get that whole addressable market?”

He looks cagey, so Hakaze makes sure to give him her most idol-like smile, her eyes bright but serious. “I’m so curious, I’ve never seen a group launch through a survival show before. They weren’t really a thing back in my day, our lineup was just pure luck.”

“Ah, what are you talking about, all four of you were stars.” He’s smiling again. Once upon a time, maybe he came to their concerts. Even a few fansigns. She was still getting used to the idea of people knowing her without her knowing them. “And I’m not sure about the projections, they seemed to bank too hard on having no competitors, but wouldn't Harua's solo album take away a decent chunk of their audience? Neonite fans are seriously no joke, a group of them are camped outside the building every time I come in."

“That’s what I was wondering,” Hakaze taps her chin in thought. “We’ve been working pretty hard on the album, I hope it doesn’t get postponed again. Can you let me know if you hear anything?”

“Of course,” he says, warmly. After they bow and murmur their goodbyes, he holds the door open for her. Before she steps out, he says, “Forgive me for saying this, but you’re exactly like I imagined.”

She’s badly surprised, but gives him that slow, bright smile again. “And how is that?”

“Sharp. Decisive. A quick-thinker,” he says. “All of Eclipse had strong personalities, so everyone said their leader must be really something to keep them all in line. It’s nice to know it was true.”

She feels, suddenly, exhausted. “That’s kind of you to say. I’ll see you around.”