There was about three seconds of silence.
In a live radio show where every second counted, three seconds of dead air felt like an endless century-long disaster.
On the other side of the screen, Haruka felt her palms sweat without realizing it.
She even started to feel nervous on behalf of the “herself” in the recording.
But the next second, what came through her earphones wasn’t the awkward cover-up she’d expected—it was a retort dripping with disgust, laced with almost nine parts absurdity.
“Huh?! You’re saying… with Mr. Ritsu?!”
Hoshino Haruka’s voice shot up sharply.
The carefully maintained, honey-sweet professional vocal tone instantly crumbled, replaced by a disbelief so thick it nearly spilled out of the screen.
“Mr. Takahashi, do you have some kind of massive misunderstanding about the phrase ‘ideal type’?”
The host clearly hadn’t expected such a strong pushback.
He hesitated.
“Huh?”
But the Haruka in the recording had no intention of giving him any breathing room.
She took a deep breath, and then launched into an unstoppable, gunpowder-filled rant.
“In my ideal relationship, at the very least—well, at the bare minimum, it should be with a normal human being who actually cares about whether I ‘ate properly today’ and remembers to say ‘put on a coat, it’s getting cold’!”
“Does Mr. Ritsu have that? Does he possess even the most basic qualities of a living creature? In his eyes, I’m probably just a walking KPI!”
“He’s the kind of cold-blooded creature who sends me a LINE at 2:00 AM—yes, 2:00 AM!—that says neither ‘goodnight’ nor ‘get some rest,’ but ‘meet at the lobby at 5:00 AM tomorrow, one minute late and half a month’s appearance fee is deducted’!”
“And! Last time, the shoot ended close to 11:00 PM. I said I was about to pass out from hunger and wanted to hit the convenience store for a rice ball. Guess what he said? He said: ‘You haven’t submitted this month’s Weight Management Report yet.’ Weight Management Report! I was seeing double from low blood sugar, and he’s bringing up the Weight Management Report!”
“He even set up a dedicated ‘Alarm Clock Group’ just to supervise me. Every morning, without fail, five messages bombard me: wake up, confirm schedule, confirm outfit, confirm hair and makeup, leave. Five messages. If I miss even one reply, he calls me immediately to confirm I’m still alive!”
“A romantic relationship with a machine like that?! I’ll probably be treated as expendable supplies and scrapped before next spring!”
This long string of accusations came without a single pause.
The speed, the intensity, the depth of resentment—it almost materialized into visible black smoke from her voice, spilling out through the screen.
Haruka, watching, froze with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth.
She was completely dumbfounded.
The gritted-teeth disgust in the recording absolutely could not have been an act.
“This script is wrong…”
She muttered under her breath, and a terrifying thought suddenly flashed through her mind.
‘If the original Hoshino Haruka didn’t actually like Ritsu that much, maybe even hated him a little… then what were all those reactions where my heart kept racing for no reason? Wait… could it be… that the one who actually likes him is me?’
Before Haruka could sort through it, the host in the recording completely abandoned his professionalism and burst into a hearty, almost suffocating laugh that cut off her thoughts.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
The laugh was completely out of control, punctuated by a couple of violent coughs, as if he’d really choked on his own saliva.
“Hold on! Haruka, are you sure it’s okay to say that about your manager on live radio? HAHAHA! Mr. Ritsu is listening from the booth outside, right?!”
“Everything I said was ab-so-lute-ly true! Please don’t come after me later, Mr. Ritsu! Seriously!”
[LMAOOO, this is definitely a legendary episode WWWWWWWW]
[Mr. Ritsu’s massive reputation assassination scene. Brutal, so brutal!]
[HAHA! The 2:00 AM LINE is basically a Workplace Ghost Story lol!]
[Oh no, how are all the managers in Japan going to face their coworkers tomorrow?]
[“Weight Management Report” — the Voice of Hell (dying of laughter).]
[This isn’t an idol interview, it’s a worker’s blood-and-tears grievance meeting!]
[Help, Mr. Takahashi is laughing so hard he can’t even pick up the bit lol!]
[That Alarm Clock Group… I think I saw my damn boss in it.]
[Mr. Ritsu: Where am I? What did I do wrong?]
[That legendary episode gets a 88888888888 (clap clap clap)!]
The entire atmosphere of the show completely spiraled out of control at that moment.
In the conversation that followed, the host’s combativeness vanished entirely.
He had been completely derailed by Haruka’s unconventional rhythm, fully immersed in the joy of being a spectator at the drama.
The questions returned to a lighter track.
When asked about her day off, Haruka replied, “I binge-watched dramas at home until I passed out, only to be woken up by Mr. Ritsu’s urgent phone calls.”
When asked to recommend a song, she answered seriously, “Please, everyone, listen to my new single. Because if sales drop, the way Mr. Ritsu and everyone at the agency look at me will become terrifying.”
Every answer had the perfect amount of playful criticism, yet felt utterly natural, without a trace of pretense.
It was like a straightforward, even a little clumsy, young girl standing under the spotlight with a vivid, down-to-earth charm.
The segment ended with a few energetic goodbyes, and the progress bar finally reached its end.
Haruka casually closed the video.
The room fell silent.
She leaned back in her chair and let out a long sigh.
“So that’s how it is…”
Now she felt like a fake fan.
After supporting Hoshino Haruka for so many years, she had only focused on her face, her songs, her dances, and her stage presence.
She had never noticed that behind all the polished packaging, there was such an interesting, even slightly unhinged, side to her.
That recording, less than ten minutes long, allowed Haruka to glimpse something incredibly rare beneath the standard idol techniques.
Genuineness.
Faced with a trap full of malice, she hadn’t built a fortress out of flawless PR rhetoric, nor had she stood there helplessly.
The weapon she used was the most raw, the most simple, and the most disarming: a direct hit.
She had torn open the “perfect idol” wrapping with her own hands, revealing the real soul inside—one that complained, that poked fun, but still shone brightly.
“Sincerity really is the ultimate killer move…”
Haruka glanced at the time in the bottom right corner of her screen.
It was almost midnight.
She snapped her laptop shut with a clap, pushed it to the corner of the desk, stood up, and stretched with a big yawn.
Then she turned and walked toward the soft large bed, throwing herself onto it.
She rolled over and wrapped herself in the blanket, finding the most comfortable position.
“Tomorrow’s radio show… I’ll try this trick too…”
A muffled murmur came from under the covers.
“Good night.”