Click.
The moment her finger pressed down on the mouse, the coarse, slightly pixelated static image of the studio on the screen didn’t budge.
Only the progress bar at the bottom moved forward at a leisurely pace.
Haruka, of course, wasn’t about to torture herself by listening to the full half-hour traffic and weather report from the start.
She quickly scrolled to the comment section and found the precise timestamp left by the class representative: [35:02 Guest Appearance] .
With a light slide of the mouse, she dragged the progress bar and landed successfully.
The next second, the host’s signature voice—amped up like he’d been injected with adrenaline—exploded from her earphones.
“Whew! The long wait is finally over—
Today’s rare guest, who just last month completed a hugely successful, sold-out six-city national tour, and this month was named the youngest Muse for the major cosmetics brand ‘ALBION’—the supernova of the Japanese idol world, Hoshino Haruka!”
Haruka, sitting at the computer, couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.
She remembered it clearly.
In the original timeline before that car accident, it was a six-city solo national tour, completely sold out for every show.
It was because she hadn’t been able to get tickets for that tour that she’d missed her one chance to see her single-minded idol in person before the end.
But now, she got to see her every day.
This point six months ago was exactly the watershed moment when the name “Hoshino Haruka” had fully detonated in commercial value, officially crossing the threshold from a popular idol to a first-tier star.
No wonder the show had gone to such lengths to get her for a personal interview.
A topic of this magnitude in the broadcasting world was practically a walking ratings machine.
From the recording came an incredibly energetic, saccharine voice that seemed about to drip out of the earphones.
“Good morning! I’m Hoshino Haruka! Please take good care of me today too~”
“A professional idol voice. No wonder she’s ‘me.'”
Haruka leaned back in her chair and muttered her evaluation.
The interview officially began.
Just as Haruka expected, the first nine minutes were a polite back-and-forth.
The host tossed out nothing but lukewarm topics to warm up the audience.
“Was the tour tough? Running around different cities every day, have you been so busy lately you can’t even get time to sleep?”
“It’s definitely been busy. But every time I get to a new city and see the fans holding up support signs waiting for me outside the venue, I feel like all the hard work just evaporates in an instant!”
“Oh, well said! As expected of Haruka-chan! But as a solo idol, taking on a national tour of that scale all by yourself must have been really stressful, right?”
“I was really anxious at first, for sure. After all, I didn’t have any teammates to rely on. When I stood on stage, it was just me alone. But precisely because of that, I could feel everyone’s support more directly and clearly. That feeling of being surrounded by everyone is truly wonderful!”
Hearing this, Haruka’s finger was already hovering near the close button.
She’d heard these standard textbook answers so many times her ears were about to develop calluses—beautiful, polite, flawless, but also boring enough to make you yawn.
She muttered inside her head:
‘If the whole show is going to be in this “standard idol template” tone, how did it get such a massive number of views?’
Just as the progress bar hit just past the four-minute mark, the turning point finally arrived.
The host’s tone suddenly changed.
That enthusiastic, high-energy broadcast persona from before seemed to vanish, replaced by a more relaxed, casual tone that somehow sent a chill down the spine.
Haruka knew that tone all too well.
Back when she’d gone drinking at izakayas with Ritsu, they’d run into his old classmates a few times.
Those slick, worldly-wise types would sidle up, grinning as they poured a drink into your glass, then casually drop a line:
“By the way, there’s something I’ve been really curious about.”
“Speaking of which, Haruka-chan is only a high school freshman this year, right? What’s she like at school on a normal day?”
“With a face that even the gods would be jealous of, when you open your shoe locker every day at school, do love letters come tumbling out like an avalanche?”
His tone was light, like an innocent joke.
But Haruka snapped upright in her chair.
On the surface, the question was about school life, but every word stepped precisely on the biggest landmine in the idol industry: “romance.”
There it was.
The classic suicide question had finally arrived.
No matter the era, an idol asked this kind of question probably felt like tap-dancing on a tightrope.
For listeners, they were already tired of hearing the official artist spiel.
But for the media, digging up a love story from a highly famous artist was enough to feed the entire editorial department’s KPI for half a month.
If she went along and admitted, “There are indeed a lot of love letters,” the next day’s clickbait headlines would read, “Hoshino Haruka Reveals Rich School Life.”
But if she insisted, “None at all,” it would come across as too fake and too manufactured.
After all, with Hoshino Haruka’s looks, saying no one had a crush on her was something even a ghost wouldn’t believe.
Haruka rapidly simulated a PR plan in her mind.
If it were her, she’d probably dodge, using a line like “Everyone’s just studying hard for their deviation scores,” accompanied by an innocent smile, forcibly steering the topic toward academics.
But then, from the earphones came an extremely cheerful, unhesitating laugh, with an obvious hint of self-deprecation.
“Eh—? Love letters? How could I possibly get something like that at a school like mine?”
In the recording, Hoshino Haruka let out a slightly helpless laugh, her tone utterly candid.
After all, I go to one of those specialized entertainment high schools.
We see each other every single day.
The person sitting in the next classroom might be an actor who just won a Best Newcomer award; the person behind me could be the center of some popular boy band.
“Even though I was a bit more famous at the time, everyone’s mindset in a place like that was probably like, ‘Oh, it’s that Hoshino Haruka I saw on TV. Hmm, she looks about the same in person as on camera.'”
Then they’d take a look and go back to whatever they were doing.
“In an environment packed with entertainers, the status of ‘star’ is already old hat. There’s none of that mystery you get in a regular high school.”
“Besides, Mr. Takahashi, we’re all people in the industry. Who doesn’t know how devastating a ‘love scandal’ can be to a career? Messing around in a place like that is practically gambling with your future.”
“Plus, I was a bit too famous back then. A lot of people were intimidated by that aura and didn’t dare get close. And the ones who did try to get a little closer would quickly find out that behind the scenes, I have a really terrible personality. I’m willful, difficult, and just a pain.”
“So forget love letters—by the end, I didn’t even have a single friend at school I could have a proper conversation with.”
“Holy crap, that lung capacity. Talking that fast without taking a breath, and still so articulate.”
Haruka grumbled internally.
“Hahahaha, really?”
The host let out an exaggerated laugh.
In the recording, Hoshino Haruka’s tone grew even more relaxed, even taking on a slight whine like she was venting to a friend.
“For real!”
“Pfft.”
Haruka at her computer couldn’t help it and burst out laughing.
She had actively and personally torn off the “perfect idol” filter, using a kind of almost reckless honesty and self-deprecation to break down an extremely dangerous trap question into a lovable joke that no one could hate.
But the host was clearly no pushover.
A seasoned broadcaster’s instincts were razor-sharp.
He immediately caught the subtle “authenticity” in Hoshino Haruka’s words and pushed the scalpel a little deeper.
“So, setting aside school life, Haruka-chan is sixteen this year. At this age, most girls have at least some longing for romantic love, don’t they?”
The host’s tone remained warm, but the question had jumped from “objective circumstances” to subjective views on love.
Haruka stared at the screen, her brow furrowed.
Because this question had almost no safe exit.
If it were her, saying “I don’t want to” would be fake; saying “I do” would be self-destruction.
Ninety-nine percent of idols at this point would pull out the industry’s universally accepted trump card:
“My only work.”
“My fans are my lovers.”
“I’m focused on my career right now.”
Everyone on Earth knew those were just lip service, but they were safe, leaving no ammunition for the tabloids and paparazzi to twist out of context.
“I do! Of course I do!”
Haruka froze.
She hadn’t expected the Hoshino Haruka in this recording to be so bold.
“I really want to have a sweet love story just like in a shoujo manga too!
“Walk home together after school every day, chat by the riverbank until the sun sets; make handmade chocolates for Valentine’s Day…”
“Ah, I’m totally hopeless at making sweets, though.”
Her voice even carried a sincerity that bordered on excessive longing, as if she’d simply pulled out her pink, girlish heart and exhibited it publicly on the radio waves.
“But there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Like I said earlier, I’m bad-tempered and willful behind the scenes, plus my work keeps me insanely busy.”
“Forget about dating—even having a proper meal with a friend requires booking two weeks in advance. Even if someone actually worked up the courage to go out with me, I’d end up standing them up because of sudden work schedules…”
The recording paused for two seconds, as if leaving room for suspense.
“Hmm… within about three days, they’d probably get fed up with me and break up with me on their own initiative. So, I can only dream about it.”
That final sigh was as light as a feather, but Haruka could tell it was a deliberate variety show effect, full of comedic tension that screamed, “I’m helpless too, but there’s nothing I can do.”
The on-screen comments immediately erupted into a frenzy.
[LOL]
[So true WWWWW]
[Wait, she actually went for it?!]
[This is what a sixteen-year-old JK should say!]
[“Break up within three days,” I’m dead. What a loser comment.]
[My affection for you is skyrocketing.]
[This idol doesn’t play by any rules at all WWWW]
“So that’s it… This is why she became a legend.”
Haruka stared at the screen full of “LOL” and finally fully understood this episode.
Admitting straight up that she “wanted to fall in love” was practically self-destruction in the idol industry.
But Hoshino Haruka used an extremely clever tactic:
First, she offered a sincere longing that fit her age, creating strong resonance with the audience.
Then, she immediately used this “contrasting self-deprecation” as a safety net, dissolving the sensitive topic into a cute point of discussion: “I want to too, but reality won’t allow it.”
This overly frank authenticity made it hard for anyone to even harbor malicious suspicions.
The host’s two waves of attacks had been deflected, and his voice already carried an excitement that hinted at a fully ignited competitive spirit.
He cleared his throat with a smile and, in an innocent tone that said, “I’m just asking for the listeners,” fired off the ultimate finishing blow of the day.
“Since we’re on the topic, let me ask something spicy.”
“The man Haruka-chan interacts with most often should be her manager, right?”
“A girl in the prime of her adolescence, spending every day with a male manager, from morning till night, even staying at the same hotel on business trips.”
“To be honest… have you really never had even a single thought about it?”
“What a poisonous host. So this is what he was waiting for.”
Haruka gritted her teeth.
This question wasn’t digging a trap; it was pulling out a shovel and digging a grave right in front of her.
If she handled it badly, the front-page headlines of every gossip magazine in Japan the next morning would carry the same title:
“Hoshino Haruka × Male Manager: A Forbidden Relationship?”
The recording fell into a deathly silence at that moment.