Before pushing open the heavy soundproof door with a perfunctory A4 paper taped to it, Haruka still held onto a faint last shred of hope.
That corridor outside was a mess—rivaling a shopping mall looted by zombies from Left 4 Dead.
According to procedure, once she pushed through a heavy fire door like this, even if there wasn’t a first aid kit and weapons scattered everywhere, at least there should’ve been a real leather sofa, a high-end coffee machine, and nine suited-up producers sipping Earl Grey while fussing over her.
And a message popping up in the upper-right corner of her vision:
[We’re safe. For now.]
Reality, however, mercilessly delivered another ground-shattering blow.
This so-called prep room didn’t just lack any trace of a “safe room”—it looked even shabbier than the hallway outside.
Anyone would’ve thought they’d wandered into some hastily dug trench.
In the nineteen-square-meter space, a long folding table that looked like it was borrowed from a school cultural festival sat dead center.
The tabletop was a disaster zone—a stack of rough sponsor flyers, a few old scripts with dog-eared pages, three or four half-drunk water bottles with caps left unscrewed, coffee stains, and an upside-down paper cup with a dried coffee ring at the bottom.
Several folding chairs were scattered around the table, most of their metal legs peeling paint.
Cheap things that would let out a pathetic groan the moment you sat on them.
Against the wall stood a whiteboard, covered in dense timelines drawn with red, blue, and black markers.
The handwriting was so sloppy and wild it looked like encrypted communication from some ancient civilization.
In the lower left corner, a crooked smiley face was drawn, with a caption next to it:
“Do your best today too! (Good luck today too!)”
Haruka stared at the smiley face, seriously suspecting it was a suicide note left behind by some staff member who had been pulling all-nighters for three days straight.
In the corner of the room, two staff members with ID cards hanging around their necks were typing furiously on laptops.
Hearing the door open, one of them reflexively lifted his head and mechanically blurted out:
“Thanks for your hard work.”
‘Figures—the catch-all workplace phrase. Did I used to brush people off like that too?’
The man’s vacant eyes glanced at her for a moment before dropping back to his screen.
The other person didn’t even move his neck the entire time.
Well, clearly no one here was treating her like some “super-popular top idol.”
Ritsu, on the other hand, remained completely unfazed, clearly used to this kind of hostile environment.
He closed the door behind him, set his briefcase down precisely in the only empty spot on the folding table not covered in junk, his movements as smooth as if he were back in his own office.
“Has Mr. Takahashi not arrived yet?”
Ritsu turned to ask the staff in the corner.
“Ah, Takahashi-san just stepped out to buy cof—”
Before he could finish, the heavy soundproof door behind them opened again.
“Ahaha, the corridor outside is as intense as ever today! My coffee almost met its heroic end out there.”
The voice preceded the man.
A middle-aged man walked in, holding a steaming convenience-store coffee, accompanied by a laugh that was a little too natural, a little too hearty.
He wore a comfortable-looking beige knit cardigan over a slightly faded plaid shirt, and dark casual pants on his lower half.
His hair was neatly combed, gray mixed with fine strands, and his face carried a harmless, warm smile with deep crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes.
His whole aura was like that friendly middle-aged neighbor who greets you with a smile every morning in the elevator.
If Haruka hadn’t done her homework last night, she might have fallen for that “kind-hearted middle-aged man” disguise.
But she knew that the man in front of her, whose eyes crinkled into slits when he smiled, was the same sly fox who, half a year ago on a radio show, had used the most innocent tone to methodically pry open Hoshino Haruka’s views on love, her private life, and even her grudges with her manager.
Takahashi Sakuya.
His Wikipedia entry read: Twenty-one years in the industry, a veteran of late-night, midday, and morning slots.
Widely regarded as the host who least looks like a host.
Industry insiders and guests who had been interviewed by him often described him like this—
By the time you realize what’s happening, you’ve already spilled everything you should and shouldn’t have said.
“Mr. Takahashi, long time no see.”
Ritsu turned and gave a slight bow.
“Oh! Shuiguchuan-kun!”
Takahashi walked up and patted Ritsu’s shoulder without the slightest formality.
“I heard you’ve been running yourself ragged over Haruka-chan lately. Good work! Have you lost weight? That suit of yours looks a bit looser than last time we met.”
Ritsu’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, as if he wanted to deny it.
But Takahashi didn’t give him a chance to answer.
He turned around and fixed his gaze on Haruka.
“Haruka-chan!”
His voice carried just the right amount of warmth—neither exaggerated enough to seem fake nor cold enough to feel dismissive.
“Welcome back! It was pretty cold outside this morning, wasn’t it? Dressed like that—you didn’t freeze, did you?”
As he spoke, his laughing eyes swept over Haruka’s face in a natural, almost unnoticeable glance.
“Good morning, Mr. Takahashi!”
Haruka instantly put on her perfect idol smile and gave a small bow.
“It’s fine! The minibus had the heater on full blast, so I wasn’t cold at all!”
Even though she didn’t exactly have warm feelings toward this man, she had to maintain her professional courtesy.
“That’s good, that’s good. Don’t catch a cold.”
Takahashi smiled and walked to the table with his coffee.
“Shuiguchuan-kun, why don’t you go coordinate with the director on the timing and today’s taboo list? I’ll chat with Haruka-chan for a bit, help her get comfortable.”
Ritsu nodded, giving Haruka a brief but heavily warning look—‘Stay sharp. Don’t say anything stupid.’
Then he turned and walked toward the staff in the corner.
Takahashi pulled out a folding chair and sat down across from Haruka.
Creak—
Predictably, the battered chair let out a painful groan.
Takahashi didn’t seem to care.
He crossed his legs leisurely and blew the steam off his coffee.
“Speaking of which, Haruka-chan, you look great.”
His tone was very casual.
“Did you sleep well last night? Young people just discharged from the hospital—the worst thing is tossing and turning all night.”
“I slept fine! I conked out until morning, didn’t even dream!”
Haruka’s smile was bright, her voice full of energy.
‘I was up until dawn transcribing your old shows—I couldn’t exactly tell you I barely woke up this morning and got a door-knocking warning from my manager.’
“Being able to sleep is a blessing.”
Takahashi nodded with a sigh, then, as if making small talk, added casually:
“By the way, Shuiguchuan told me you went back to your hometown this weekend. How’s your grandmother? People worry most about the health of their elders.”
“Grandma’s doing great! She even made my favorite grilled mackerel pike and tamagoyaki—her cooking hasn’t slipped at all!”
Haruka answered smoothly, even adding a little complaint.
“Honestly, the air at home is way better than Tokyo’s. Every time I take a breath here, I feel like I’m inhaling exhaust fumes.”
“Haha, Tokyo is just a giant concrete box.”
Takahashi laughed along, taking a leisurely sip of his coffee.
“But it’s good that you could go back and relax. Seems like your rehab is going well too? Your singing and stamina are pretty much back to normal, right?”
“Mm, my vocal coach said my condition is perfect! As for dance, I still need a bit more—”
Haruka’s voice cut off abruptly, her mouth still half-open mid-syllable.
She stared at the middle-aged man in front of her, who was sipping his coffee with a smile, as if they were just catching up.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
‘Something’s wrong.’
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