The elevator doors opened.
There was already someone waiting in the fourth floor hallway—a woman around thirty, wearing a simple black suit and holding a file folder.
The moment she saw Haruka, she broke into a smile.
“Hoshino! Long time no see! I’m so glad to see you’ve recovered!”
“Thank you for your concern—!” Haruka smiled and bowed slightly.
Her mind raced: ‘Wait, who is she? What’s her name? Am I supposed to know her?’
As if reading her thoughts, Ritsu leaned in slightly behind her and whispered just loud enough for her to hear:
“Editor Sato. She was in charge of your fashion feature last fall.”
“Sato! I’m so happy to work with you again!”
Haruka followed up smoothly, her tone as natural as if she had remembered the person all along.
Editor Sato was clearly pleased and led them toward the studio.
Haruka breathed a silent sigh of relief and mentally thanked Ritsu.
On the way, Editor Sato gave a brief overview of the day’s schedule—
“The plan today goes like this: first hair and makeup, about forty minutes. Then the shoot, with the theme of ‘Return,’ styled warm and soft—should take around an hour. After that, an interview for thirty to forty minutes. Altogether, about three hours, so we should wrap up by 4:30.”
Haruka quickly compared this with the schedule she had checked that morning.
‘Yeah, it matches the guide article I read. Makeup first, then shoot, then interview.’
When the studio door opened, people were already setting up inside.
A man in his forties was adjusting a camera mounted on a tripod, while a younger guy who looked to be in his twenties was fiddling with a huge reflector.
These two were presumably the photographer and his assistant.
Four or five softbox lights were positioned around the studio.
Two faced a white backdrop directly, while the others lit from the sides and above.
To the right of the entrance was a makeup table with blinding bulbs around the mirror, covered in cosmetics and tools.
A young woman was already waiting there, likely the makeup artist for the day.
“Hoshino, right this way.”
Haruka sat down at the makeup table.
The makeup artist was a woman in her mid-twenties with short dyed auburn hair.
“Hoshino, today’s shoot theme is ‘Return,’ so the makeup direction is translucent and natural with warm tones. Foundation will be light, with emphasis on the eyes and lips.”
Haruka cooperated fully as the makeup artist brought out various bottles and jars and began preparation.
She felt the artist’s fingers gently work across her face.
The foundation was cool, spreading over her skin with a strange sensation.
Then concealer—the artist carefully removed the gauze from her forehead and used a small brush to cover the bruise there, hiding most of the mark until it was nearly invisible.
Next came eyeshadow, brows, mascara, blush, lipstick…
Each step had its own tool and technique.
The artist’s movements were quick and precise, like an artist painting on a canvas, every stroke purposeful.
About thirty-five minutes later, the makeup artist put down the last brush.
“Done. Take a look?”
Haruka looked up at the mirror and parted her lips slightly.
To be honest, she was stunned by the reflection.
It wasn’t that her face had become “more beautiful” after makeup—Haruka’s bare face was already very pretty; makeup only enhanced the key features.
Rather, it was because the person in the mirror finally looked like “Hoshino Haruka.”
Previously, looking in the mirror at the hospital or at home, she had seen a confused face that had “woken up as someone else.”
But now, with professional makeup, professional lighting, and a professional setting—all these layers acted like filters, covering up that confusion and leaving only “Hoshino Haruka’s radiance.”
In short, this made-up face was the Hoshino Haruka she remembered.
“So pretty—!”
She blurted out without thinking.
Then she realized she was praising herself, shut her mouth immediately, and blushed slightly.
The makeup artist seemed pleased.
“Hehe, Hoshino really has a good foundation to work with. It was a pleasure.”
Next came the outfit selection.
Editor Sato brought over two sets: one was a white lace top with a light-colored long skirt, the other a beige turtleneck with a pleated skirt.
Both leaned toward warm tones.
Ritsu stood nearby and glanced at both outfits.
“The first one.”
Editor Sato nodded.
“I agree the first one fits better. White matches the ‘Return’ imagery more.”
Haruka thought for a moment and also liked the first set, so that was settled.
Haruka took the clothes and went into the changing room.
“Need help?”
The makeup artist asked casually.
“I can manage myself.”
When Ritsu heard that, the corner of his mouth twitched, probably thinking, ‘You used to have the stylist zip you up.’
After she changed, the shoot officially began.
The photographer was a man in his forties named Otsuka.
He had a loud voice and boundless energy that made him seem younger than her.
When he saw Haruka, he gave her a thumbs-up.
“Haruka! Long time no see! You’ve lost a bit of weight, but you look great! Ready?”
“Ready—!”
Haruka smiled back.
Otsuka raised the camera.
“Okay, let’s start with something natural. Just like usual, relax, and give me a smile.”
Haruka faced the camera and paused for two seconds.
In that span, she suddenly remembered watching a famous esports match where a legendary Korean mid-laner, when backed into a corner, would “close his eyes and invoke the gods.”
At that moment, a famous commentator had said, “He prayed to the gods, and only his former self answered.”
Thinking of that, she closed her eyes and silently said to herself, ‘Please.’
Whether it was to this body or to someone who didn’t exist.
Then, her body took over.
The photographer saw Haruka close her eyes as if lost in thought.
He assumed she hadn’t fully recovered and was nervous.
So he gave another instruction, “Don’t be tense, smile, relax.”
The moment that command was given, Haruka opened her eyes.
The corners of her mouth naturally lifted, her eyes curved, her chin tucked slightly inward, her shoulders relaxed but not slouched.
Her right hand rested lightly on her left wrist—all movements she hadn’t consciously planned; her body chose them automatically.
Click.
“Great! That’s the feel! One more—turn your angle—yes—head slightly to the right—good—”
Click.
Click.
Click.
The shutter sounds were like a special metronome, each click signaling her to make a tiny adjustment—angle, expression, hand position, gaze direction.
She didn’t need to think about how to change; her body adjusted itself, like a well-calibrated instrument, automatically outputting the corresponding reaction when it received a signal.
“Give me a sweet smile—yes—then switch to a serious expression—look at the camera—good—”
The transition from “sweet smile” to “serious” was almost instantaneous, as smooth as dimming a light.
The tail of the sweet smile still lingered at the corners of her mouth, but her eyes had already changed, from warm to focused, as if saying ‘I have something to tell you.’
Click.
“Beautiful!”
Otsuka shouted from behind the camera.
“Haruka is in great form today! You really have recovered well.”
The assistant nodded too.
Haruka breathed a sigh of relief.
‘That “Invoking the Gods” trick actually worked. My body just moved on its own.’
‘Is what I’m doing now matching the photos I’ve seen of Haruka in magazines? Are my expressions unnatural? Ritsu is watching—has he noticed anything?’
She muttered inwardly.
Even though the staff’s reactions seemed fine, she still felt uneasy.
So she glanced in Ritsu’s direction.
Ritsu was standing in a corner outside the studio, holding his phone in one hand and a coffee cup in the other.
His expression was casual, with no sign of wanting to stop the shoot.
Haruka nodded slightly.
‘Alright, just keep going like this.’
—
The shoot lasted about fifty minutes.
Midway, they switched the backdrop from white to a warm yellow tone, adding dried flowers and warm lights as props.
Under Otsuka’s guidance, Haruka changed through seven or eight poses and expressions—standing, sitting, half-turned, close-ups.
She handled almost all of them smoothly, with only a few stops or corrections.
Her body’s muscle memory performed far beyond her expectations.
‘I guess this is what they mean by “Camera Sense”… so this is what it feels like.’
Now Haruka understood the media’s praise of Hoshino Haruka’s camera sense.
It was awareness of light positions, intuitive judgment of lens focal lengths, fine-tuning of body balance, and making the right move at the right time.
All she had to do was “not interrupt the program”—let her body do what it knew how to do, while her mind only monitored to “prevent any missteps.”
After the shoot ended, Otsuka flipped through the camera screen and gave Editor Sato an OK gesture.
“No issues. Enough material. Haruka’s condition today was much better than I expected.”
Editor Sato smiled at Haruka.
“Take a ten-minute break, then we’ll start the interview.”
“Okay—!”
During the ten-minute break, Haruka sat at the makeup table drinking water.
Ritsu walked over, holding an A4 sheet.
“The interview question list, final version.”
‘Here it comes.’