That was the evening of the fourth day after she woke up.
The door to the hospital room was pushed open, and the person who stepped inside wasn’t a nurse or a doctor, but someone completely unexpected.
Haruka had been lying there bored, staring at the ceiling and counting sheep.
When she heard the door open, she sat up, shifted her gaze from the ceiling to the doorway, and then her brain “tripped the breaker” for the second time.
The man standing in the doorway wore a dark blue shirt with his sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm.
There was an inconspicuous brownish stain on the shirt—she guessed it was spilled coffee that had been partially washed out.
His black hair was a little messier than she remembered.
One of the temples on his black-rimmed glasses was bent, and there was a tiny crack on the lens.
His face was pale, nearly translucent, and the dark circles under his eyes looked as if they had been painted on with brush ink.
Behind those lenses, his eyes were bloodshot.
Mizutagawa Ritsu stood there in silence for a moment.
“…You’re awake.”
Matsumoto Ei… no, Hoshino Haruka stared at this face that she would recognize even if it turned to ashes—the man she’d spent more than twenty years with.
The guy who liked to act deep and show off, the “few words, cold and ruthless” strong, silent type.
They’d worn the same pair of pants as kids, played in the mud together, been punished standing in the corner together, skipped class together… and as adults, they’d often joyfully cussed each other out over games, chatted about the latest seasonal anime, and when they were in a bad mood, hit up an izakaya for a few drinks to drown their sorrows.
Her good buddy, her ride-or-die, her frenemy—was now standing at the entrance of the hospital room, looking at “her” with an expression she had never seen on him before.
That expression held worry, exhaustion, relief, and something very deep—a kind of tenderness she had never seen in him before.
If this were Eitai, Ritsu’s expression should have been a roll of the eyes, followed by something like, “How the hell are you so lucky you didn’t die? Looks like the transmigration company already hit its quota so they didn’t send you over.”
That’s how they were—toxic banter, annoying each other, but both knowing that their brotherly bond was unbreakable.
But now, Ritsu was looking at “Haruka” like she was something incredibly precious that he had almost lost.
Haruka opened her mouth.
So many things wanted to burst out of her throat.
“Ritsu, it’s me!” “Hey, Ritsu, I’m Eitai!” “Ritsu, your best buddy didn’t die, I’m alive, but through transmigration, and I’m right here!”
Of course, what she really wanted to say was, “You sneaky water ghost—you called this ‘running errands at the agency’? Secretly being my oshi’s manager and making bank without telling me, huh?”
But when the words reached her lips, what came out of that unfamiliar vocal cord was a clear, sweet, slightly hoarse girl’s voice:
“…Manager-san?”
Even now, she couldn’t explain how those words slipped out.
Maybe it was muscle memory from the body.
Maybe it was her encyclopedic knowledge, as Haruka’s solo stan, of all of Haruka’s public words and actions, which let her deduce how Haruka would speak in this situation.
Maybe it was something deeper, something even she couldn’t explain—the body, upon sensing the presence of “Mizutagawa Ritsu,” automatically booted up a program called “Hoshino Haruka.”
When Ritsu heard those four words, he visibly relaxed, his shoulders that had been tensed dropping a little.
“…Yeah. I’m here.”
He walked into the room.
He sat down on the chair by the bed.
The chair was low, so once he sat, his eyes were level with Haruka’s.
“The agency has already issued a statement. All your activities are suspended. Variety shows, radio, endorsements… all postponed or canceled. The President is coordinating with all parties. There’s nothing you need to worry about right now. You just need to focus on recovering.”
Ritsu’s tone was unhurried.
Haruka knew this tone.
When he was handling official business, this was his temperature.
Calm, clear, logical.
But Haruka noticed one detail: as he spoke, his hands were on his knees.
They were trembling.
Eitai’s eyes—or rather, Eitai’s consciousness, now residing in Haruka’s body—knew Mizutagawa Ritsu’s habits better than anyone.
When Ritsu was nervous, it didn’t show on his face or in his voice, but his hands would betray him.
It had always been that way, since they were kids.
In elementary school, when he was daydreaming in class and the teacher called on him, his face would be completely calm as he answered, but his hands would be clenched into fists in his pockets, and the other hand would be shaking uncontrollably.
In high school, the first time he confessed and got rejected, he came back and told Eitai, “No big deal,” then during a game gripped the controller so hard it creaked.
And now, sitting here, saying “There’s nothing for you to worry about,” his fingers were trembling faintly.
—He was afraid.
Afraid of what? That “Haruka” wouldn’t get better?
A strong surge of emotion welled up in Haruka’s heart.
She wanted to reach out and take those hands.
To say, “Hey hey hey, yours are shaking again. Don’t be scared, I’m here.”
Or just roast him: “Okay okay, look at your hands, you’re scared out of your mind, just say it.”
She didn’t do that, because if Hoshino Haruka acted that way, it would obviously be “out of character.”
At the same time, she was afraid that revealing the truth would have irreversible consequences.
In all her years as a fan, she had watched countless videos, countless interviews, countless variety show clips of Haruka.
But all of that was “Haruka on stage.”
She didn’t know how Haruka talked to Ritsu in private, how she interacted with him, what expressions she would make or what she would say in a situation like this.
The only thing she knew was that in this moment, she couldn’t slip up.
“Um… Manager-san.”
“Yeah.”
After a brief moment of thought, she chose the safest opening: “I feel like… there are some things I can’t quite remember.”
Ritsu’s brow twitched.
Haruka watched his expression, worried about whether her universal amnesia gambit would work on him.
“What things?”
“Uh… a lot of things. For example—”
Haruka scratched the back of her head, putting on a face of someone trying hard to remember but failing.
“I know my name is Hoshino Haruka, I know I’m an idol, and I know you’re probably my manager… right? As for other, more specific things, a lot of them are fuzzy.”
That wasn’t entirely a lie.
She did “know” those things.
But the source wasn’t “memories as Hoshino Haruka”—it was “knowledge as a Hoshino Haruka fan.”
She hadn’t had any of Haruka’s memories when she woke up.
Ritsu looked at her.
His gaze shifted from worry to scrutiny, and then back to worry.
“…The doctor said this might happen. Your brain injury could cause memory loss and personality changes. He said… you might need time to recover, and some things might not come back.”
When Ritsu said that last sentence, his gaze drifted a little.
He wasn’t deliberately looking away, but he couldn’t look Haruka in the eye while saying “some things might not come back.”
“It’s okay.” She said.
Her voice was gentler than she expected.
Haruka wasn’t sure if she had deliberately made it that way, or if it was the automatic effect of Haruka’s vocal cords.
“One step at a time. If there’s anything I’ve forgotten, Manager-san can help me remember it. After all, I know the most important thing.”
“What’s the most important thing?”
“I’m Hoshino Haruka. Manager-san is Mizutagawa Ritsu.”
She gave him a smile.
“Isn’t that enough?”
When Ritsu saw her smile, the eyes behind those glasses flickered.
It was the kind of flicker that happens when something breaks and gets shoved back together.
“…Yeah.”
Ritsu stood up and walked toward the door of the room.
“Get some rest. The doctor will do another checkup tomorrow. If you need anything, the nurse’s station is the second door on the right down the hall.”
After saying that, he reached the door, put his hand on the handle, and was about to pull it open.
“Manager-san.”
Ritsu stopped.
He turned his head but didn’t speak.
“Thank you for coming to see me.”
“…It’s my job.”
The door closed.
After she heard his footsteps fading away, she dove under the covers and buried her head.
For that performance just now, on a scale of one to ten, she’d probably give herself an 8.6.
There was one thing that really bugged her—not only had she transmigrated into an idol, which she could probably handle by learning to be a perfect idol and faking it, but why did her manager have to be her own best buddy?
And on top of that, the hardware Hoshino Haruka left her seemed to have some extra feelings for Ritsu…
“What the hell is all this… This is so annoying…”