As it turns out, no matter how strong a person’s willpower, no one can resist the ultimate temptation in human civilization—scrolling through your phone in a warm comforter on a freezing winter morning.
Back when she scrolled through X late at night, she only looked at two things: cute animal videos and various photos from those kinds of bloggers, and she especially liked the big ones.
As for the reason, she could dress it up with Maslow’s hierarchy of needs—emotional healing and physical comfort—but frankly, that was her former spiritual necessity.
Now, though… she still watched the animal videos, but she really couldn’t find a legitimate excuse to keep watching the other kinds of videos and photos.
She tried to convince herself: As an active idol, it’s perfectly reasonable to study these people’s composition and photography techniques.
If someone questioned, “Aren’t you a top-tier beauty yourself? Why do you need to look at other pretty girls?”
She would probably retort without hesitation, “How is that the same?”
Well, she was simply a lecher.
Anyway, when she finally couldn’t fight off the drowsiness and her phone fell with a slap onto her face, she had no idea what time it was anymore.
Beep beep beep beep—beep…
6:10 AM.
The alarm she had purposely set twenty minutes early went off right on time.
A fair arm slowly emerged from the comforter.
That hand fumbled in the air drowsily for a moment, then accurately touched the “slide to turn off” button on the phone screen.
With a single gentle swipe, the world returned to silence.
In an instant, arm and hand retracted back into the comforter, like a snail startled into its shell.
“Five more minutes… just five… after five minutes I’ll definitely get up…”
A mumble so vague it was barely audible came from under the covers.
And then, nothing.
Buzz—
After an unknown amount of time, a phone vibration like a death knell exploded, and at the same time, extremely violent knocking came from the entrance.
Bang bang bang—
The two sounds, like a pair of well-coordinated demons, dragged Haruka up from the depths of deep sleep.
Haruka’s eyes snapped open.
Before her pupils could even focus, her body had already made a survival reaction.
She scrambled out of bed, grabbed the phone from the nightstand, and answered without even looking at the caller ID.
“Open the door.”
The voice from the earpiece was three times colder than the winter morning wind of December.
Haruka’s gaze instinctively drifted to the upper right corner of the screen.
[06:45]
“Crap, crap, crap, crap!”
Startled, she sprang straight out of bed, barefoot on the cold floor, stumbled to the entrance, and yanked open the apartment door.
Outside the door, Mizutagawa Ritsu, wearing a sharply tailored dark suit, briefcase in hand, still had his other hand raised in a knocking position.
Ritsu stared into her eyes expressionlessly.
“What, hiding in bed again to binge-watch shows and scroll videos? Until what time?”
“N-no, I wasn’t!”
Haruka’s voice instantly pitched higher, trying to use volume to compensate for her severe lack of confidence.
“I was doing serious work background research last night! Very serious, diligent, extremely helpful preliminary study for today’s schedule!”
“Is that so?”
Ritsu’s expression didn’t waver.
He just flipped his wrist and glanced at his watch.
“You now have three minutes.”
“Finish washing up, change clothes, grab what you need, and get out the door.”
“Three minutes?! Do you have some misunderstanding about the time unit ‘three minutes’—“
“Two minutes and fifty-five seconds.”
Haruka let out a strange shriek, turned around, and dashed straight into the bathroom.
Behind her came Ritsu’s unhurried addition:
“Don’t squeeze out too much toothpaste again.”
…
Fifteen minutes later.
Inside the agency’s dressing room.
“Haruka, did you go thieving last night with those dark circles?”
Makeup artist Miss Sato sighed, furiously dabbing concealer under Haruka’s eyes with a brush.
Haruka obediently kept her eyes closed, letting herself be handled, not daring to make a sound.
“Good thing you’ve got an early morning radio gig today, not a high-def TV camera.”
Miss Sato pressed the foundation firmly with a sponge.
“If it were one of those close-up morning news shows, you’d have to go on air with foundation as thick as two layers of wall paint. Listen to Mr. Ritsu—don’t stay up late again. That face is your meal ticket.”
“I know, I know… I just accidentally stayed up…”
Haruka mumbled vaguely.
After the base makeup and basic styling were done, the two quickly moved on and headed out to Odaiba.
The minibus cruised smoothly on the morning Shuto Expressway.
Outside the window, Tokyo’s skyline was still bathed in a grayish darkness, and the streets were sparsely populated.
Haruka sat in the back, curled up in her oversized coat, head resting against the window.
The cold sensation from her temple only made her drowsier, and her eyelids kept fighting.
“Just… close my eyes for a bit… wake me when we arrive…”
She muttered vaguely, and then her consciousness snapped off like someone had pulled the plug.
After an unknown amount of time, she was woken by the faint sound of pages turning.
She opened her eyes dazedly and realized the car had already left the expressway and was driving on regular roads.
Through the window, the sky was faintly bright, and in the distance, the silhouette of Odaiba’s iconic giant Ferris wheel was just visible in the dawn light.
Only the reading lamp above the passenger seat was on, casting a dim yellowish light.
Ritsu sat in the front passenger seat, looking down at the documents in his hands under that small light.
His movements were precise and mechanical, his expression wooden and stern, like a machine that never tired.
Haruka rubbed her eyes, propped herself up slightly, and studied his profile for a moment.
Thinking of his eternally unchanging poker face when he blocked her door that morning, she felt a little annoyed.
She was about to look away and go back to sleep, but just then, an extremely dangerous idea popped into the depths of her mind.
She stared at the back of Ritsu’s head, her eyes slowly narrowing.
‘This block of wood…’
Haruka calculated silently in her mind.
‘Men, when faced with a beautiful woman, no matter how indifferent and icy they appear on the surface, always have a defense line deep inside. That line might be strong, but it’s never impenetrable.’
‘This blockhead always has that expressionless look like a mountain crumbling before his eyes doesn’t faze him. He was like that when I was his bro, and now that I’m a top-tier beauty, he’s still the same. What if I…’
A slow, mischievous smile curled at the corner of Haruka’s mouth.
She sat up straight, cleared her throat softly, and deliberately kept her voice carrying that just-woken-up quality—a bit husky and languid—mixed with a faint nasal tone, as if she hadn’t fully emerged from her dream.
“Hey… Mr. Ritsu.”
The page-turning motion in the front seat paused for a beat, but Ritsu didn’t turn around, still using that businesslike tone.
“Awake? There’s water in the cup holder. Take a sip to moisten your throat. Don’t crack your voice in front of the mic later.”
Haruka ignored his instructions.
She leaned forward slightly, wrapped her arms around the back of the passenger seat, and rested her chin on the edge of the seatback.
At this distance, if Ritsu turned his head now, their noses would definitely be less than eight inches apart.
“Let me ask you something.”
“What?”
“Look at me.”
“Just say what it is.”
“Look at me first.”
Ritsu seemed to sense something off, because Haruka’s head was way too close.
Out of some biological instinct to avoid danger, before turning his head slightly, he first awkwardly leaned his own body forward, creating a bit of safe distance, and then turned around.
And then, he saw Haruka holding her cheek with one hand, tilting her head, quietly looking at him.
Her face, freshly base-made-up, seemed to have its own soft glow in the dim car.
Her long lashes cast fine, gentle shadows under the reading lamp’s halo.
Her eyes still held traces of sleepiness, moist and sparkling, and as Ritsu turned, they were as alluring as if soaked in morning mist.
She asked in a slow, soft voice:
“Do I look pretty today?”
The hand holding the document twitched violently twice.
His Adam’s apple bobbed extremely noticeably.
“Hmm? Mr. Ritsu?”
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