First place was naturally her—no surprise there.
Right behind her was a four-member male idol group called VERTEX.
Haruka had a faint memory of it: she’d watched a joint concert with Hoshino Haruka and them earlier this year.
The notice board’s introduction said they debuted two years ago and were currently stuck in the mid-to-upper tier of second-line acts.
Their popularity wasn’t bad, especially among younger women.
Their recently released third single was also steadily climbing in sales.
Judging by the photos, the four guys, all around twenty, each had their own distinct look.
They wore matching black suits and all had cool expressions.
Further down was a three-member girl group called Clover.
Haruka didn’t have much impression of them.
According to the info, they formed last year.
The photos showed three seventeen- or eighteen-year-old girls, slightly older than the current Haruka, with a “bright and cute” vibe.
Though there was some overlap with Haruka’s positioning, their current status suggested they’d carved out a differentiation.
Below that was a dense tree diagram that Haruka didn’t bother to examine closely.
She roughly counted—about thirty-plus signed entertainers, spanning actors, models, voice actors, and other fields.
Judging by the names, she’d barely heard of most of them before.
‘Probably all in a state of barely scraping by in their own little circles…’ Haruka muttered inwardly.
At the very bottom of the notice board was a small section labeled 「Trainee」.
There were currently six trainees on the roster: four girls and two boys, aged fourteen to seventeen.
They hadn’t officially debuted yet, and spent every day sweating it out in the basement-level practice room, waiting for a debut opportunity that might never come.
‘Trainees… it seems like all idols start as trainees, but only six people?’
She suddenly remembered watching a variety show where the head of some large agency appeared as a guest, using it as soft advertising, bragging that their agency had hundreds of trainees and that “as long as you work hard, you can stand out and step onto the stage” or something like that.
She scoffed at that, since Ritsu had once explained the trainee ecosystem to her—before debut, trainees were pure input, zero-output “money pits.”
Training costs, facility costs, instruction fees—all had to be paid by the agency, plus they had to give trainees a salary and arrange room and board.
So some shady underground agencies even pulled that “self-funded internship” crap, where anyone wanting to be a trainee had to pay their own training fees and basically shell out money.
In short, raising trainees was basically gambling, and the kind where you lost nine out of ten bets.
Those who trained for two and a half years and stood out with singing, dancing, rap, and basketball were ultimately the minority.
Large agencies had deep pockets and could afford to breed their stock.
But small and medium agencies without money couldn’t burn cash like that, so the fact that Stras was keeping only six trainees was actually quite a lot.
Just as Haruka was zoning out at the notice board, a voice suddenly came from behind her:
“Haruka-senpai—?!”
She turned around.
Running toward her was a young girl.
About fifteen years old, not very tall, around five foot five, with a fluffy bun hairstyle and wearing the agency’s uniform black practice clothes.
Her face was round, her eyes big, and as she ran, the whole girl looked like a lively bouncy ball.
“Haruka-senpai! It really is you! I thought I was seeing things, you’re actually out of the hospital!!”
The girl rushed up to her, eyes visibly reddening: “Boo hoo… you have no idea how worried I was! That day I heard about your accident, I cried for a whole afternoon in the practice room, and for the next few days I couldn’t even focus on dance practice…”
“…”
Even though hearing this was touching—after all, in this circle full of scheming and self-interest, besides Ritsu, there was still someone who cried for her so genuinely.
At that moment, however, Haruka’s brain was working overtime, trying to dig through her memory banks to find an answer she desperately needed right now.
‘Who the hell are you?!’
Of course, she couldn’t actually ask that question and ruin the mood.
She quickly scanned the little girl: wearing practice clothes, looking younger than her, calling her “senpai” over and over…
In a flash, she remembered flipping through LINE chat history earlier and seeing a contact with a small flower emoji in their nickname.
The message frequency wasn’t high, but the tone was especially close, always calling her “senpai” this and that.
More importantly, in the list of “absolutely unforgettable people” in Hoshino Haruka’s memo, the third entry seemed to say: 「Koharu · Trainee · One year younger than me · Cute kid with a bun hairstyle」.
“Koharu-chan?” Haruka tested the name hesitantly.
Koharu blinked at the slightly uncertain tone, tears still hanging on her eyelashes: “It’s me! Huh? Did Haruka-senpai lose your memory and forget who I am?”
“Ahem, no way! It’s just been too long, I missed you too much!”
Haruka instantly flipped her expression like lightning, blossoming into a beaming, energetic smile:
“I’m back!”
“Haruka-senpai! Welcome back!!”
Koharu threw her arms around her.
Miyahara Koharu, age fifteen, was the best-performing trainee at Stras.
In the words of the trainee supervisor, her admiration for Hoshino Haruka “had reached a worrying level.”
Back during the initial selection, Ritsu handled the first round.
He’d asked her why she wanted to be a trainee, and her answer was, “I want to become someone like Haruka-senpai.”
At the time, Ritsu silently shook his head, judging that this kind of starry-eyed fan girl would be scared off by the boring trainee life within two months at most.
But half a year later, not only had Koharu not run away, she’d stood out among the trainees.
She was Haruka’s most loyal number-one fan: she could sing every one of Haruka’s songs, dance every choreography, and whenever she wasn’t training, she absolutely had to be at every live show Haruka did.
The old Hoshino Haruka had felt a mix of “happy” and “embarrassed” about this intense adoration.
She’d privately complain to Ritsu, “Koharu-chan thinks way too highly of me,” then secretly like Koharu’s practice videos posted in the group.
“Senpai, senpai, senpai—”
Koharu grabbed Haruka’s sleeve, firing off questions like a machine gun, “How’s your body? Does it still hurt? Is the wound on your head healed? Hey, I feel like you’ve lost weight, have you been eating properly? And also, and also…”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Haruka laughed, rubbing her fluffy bun, “Look—”
She took a step back, spread her arms, and made a grand “ta-da” gesture, grinning widely:
“Hoshino Haruka, returned from hell, perfectly intact!”
“It’s not perfectly intact—there’s a bandage on your forehead…” Koharu pouted.
“This is decoration! A warrior’s medal!”
“What kind of medal is that…” Koharu finally laughed through her tears.
They chatted for a while in the hallway.
Haruka was amazed to find that talking to Koharu was ten thousand times easier than dealing with Ritsu.
Koharu’s attitude toward her was pure “looking up to her”—no matter what Haruka said or did, Koharu’s internal commentary would always be, “Senpai is amazing.”
This meant Haruka hardly had to bother pretending around her.
Even if she accidentally said something wrong or did something that didn’t fit “Hoshino Haruka’s persona,” Koharu would automatically rationalize it as, “Senpai changed because of the car accident.”
This sense of security let Haruka completely relax, and she even felt a bit of the thrill of “being the big shot.”
But more than that, she felt like she was genuinely chatting with her like a patient older sister.
“Ah, it’s bad—practice time is almost here… Senpai! When are you coming back to sing! I want to come see you! I’m definitely coming! Grabbing front-row seats!”
“Soon, soon. When I’m fully recovered, I’ll be back. Then you’ll come cheer for me, right?”
“Of course!! Definitely!!”
Koharu’s eyes sparkled like little stars.
“All right, it’s a deal.”
“Mhm! Goodbye, senpai! I’m heading back to practice!”
Watching Koharu run off full of energy, Haruka continued studying the notice board carefully, trying to memorize more names.
If she met someone and couldn’t remember who they were, it’d be too awkward.
Just then, a young man wearing headphones passed by.
When he saw Haruka, he immediately pulled off one earpiece: “Hoshino-san, you’re back? How’s your body?”
“Mhm! I’m much better, thanks for your concern, Nakamura-san!”
Haruka sweated inwardly—close call.
She’d just happened to glance at that face on the Publicity Department’s nameplate, and the name matched!
A little later, a middle-aged woman came out of the restroom holding a stack of documents as she walked past.
This time, Haruka really didn’t recognize her, but she had a flash of inspiration and pulled out a universal workplace trick she’d learned before—
“Otsukaresama desu!” Haruka offered an impeccable sweet smile with a slight bow.
This was the go-to greeting in Japanese workplaces.
No need to know the name, no need to know the person.
You could say it in the morning, in the afternoon, and still at night.
Back when she was Eitai, in certain public settings where she had to handle social situations she wasn’t good at, she loved using this line to gloss over things.
Its actual meaning was roughly: “I see you, and I’m a polite person.”
Since she couldn’t recall the name, a simple “Otsukaresama” would carry her through any situation.
Later, she ran into a young girl coming up from the stairwell, wearing the same practice clothes as Koharu.
The girl visibly hesitated when she saw Haruka, wanting to greet her but too nervous to approach.
Haruka took the initiative to smile and nod: “Otsukaresama desu—!”
The girl instantly looked relieved, bowed deeply, and scurried away looking flattered.
After staring at the notice board for a while, Haruka felt her eyes getting a bit tired, so she decided to wander over to the rest area.
She strolled for about five minutes, then stopped by a window in the hallway, gazing out at Shibuya’s bustling skyline.
As she looked, a realization suddenly hit her.
‘Wait… I remember… my name is Hoshino Haruka now, right?’
‘And I’m supposed to be the absolute ace of this agency, right?’
But what was she doing right now?
While everyone else was so busy they could barely stand, she was strolling around every floor like some idle loafer?
That was not the image of a top idol at all—she was basically just a street drifter!
“…No.”
If she’d decided to “become Hoshino Haruka,” she had to do what Hoshino Haruka was supposed to do.
Even if she couldn’t dance a full routine yet, she could practice singing.
She could drill expressions in front of a mirror, do basic physical training, anything that could help her improve.
Even just going to the practice room to “review material” would do.
‘Anything is better than being a street drifter! Time to head back and practice!’
She spun around sharply, strode toward the elevator, and pressed the button for the basement-level practice room.