Something was very wrong.
Haruka quickly replayed the conversation from the past few minutes in her mind.
From the moment Takahashi pushed the door open and greeted her cheerfully, smoothly sending Ritsu away, to pulling out a chair and sitting down for a “casual chat”—it had only been three minutes total, at most.
But in those short three minutes, her sleep quality, her grandmother’s health condition, and the real progress of her rehabilitation had all been completely dug up by him!
If she had reacted even one second slower just now and followed up on that “dance-related” thread he’d thrown out, she would have spilled her entire true situation.
What sent chills down her spine the most was that, throughout the whole process, her brain hadn’t generated even a single second’s worth of warning signal that she was being interviewed.
Every word Takahashi said was wrapped in the skin of “elderly relative small talk.”
Sleep, family, rehab…
Each question on its own was ordinary.
But by the time she came to her senses, it felt like she had almost laid out her real state completely.
Haruka closed her mouth and silently watched Takahashi sitting across from her.
Takahashi was still smiling, his eyes as gentle as an ordinary middle-aged man.
But now, looking at that smiling face, her back inexplicably felt a little cold.
“Mr. Takahashi.”
Haruka took a soft breath, keeping her smile on her face, but her tone subtly pulled back.
“I suddenly feel a little tired. Could I rest for a bit first?”
Takahashi’s hand holding the coffee cup paused midair for a beat.
Then he let out a clear laugh.
He looked at her, the smile in his eyes seeming even deeper than before.
He set down the coffee cup and leaned back comfortably in his chair.
Actually, before today’s episode started recording, not only the producer but even he, the seasoned host, had been sweating inwardly.
Hoshino Haruka, sixteen years old, a top-tier national-level solo idol.
She had been in a serious car accident a month ago, and rumors had once widely spread ridiculous gossip like “resuscitation failed, dead on the spot.”
Now, she had miraculously returned, and the topic heat was absolutely nuclear-level, but no one could say for sure what her real psychological state was.
A sixteen-year-old minor who had narrowly escaped death from such a terrible accident.
Even if her body had fully recovered, what about her mental state?
Would she be extremely sensitive?
Would she shatter at the slightest touch?
If the Hoshino Haruka sitting in front of the microphone today had turned into an untouchable “porcelain doll”—tense when the accident was mentioned, erecting a high wall as soon as private life came up, every sentence wrapped in three layers of pre-approved public relations cotton from her agency…
Then all the spicy and interesting questions he had prepared would be completely useless.
He would have no choice but to grit his teeth and do a perfectly steady, deadly boring special called Moved Japan: Miraculous Recovery, Wishing for the Future with her.
He could guarantee that if that kind of boring show aired, it would absolutely make all the office workers stuck on the Shuto Expressway yawn collectively and frantically hit the channel switch button.
So he had to personally confirm one thing before the show officially started—what was this girl’s state right now?
Could she still “play” or not?
Facing the three clearly targeted questions he had just asked, the answer had become completely clear in those three short minutes.
She didn’t avoid the accident, her attitude was natural when talking about her family, and she even took the initiative to follow up on rehabilitation.
But none of that was what surprised him the most.
The most critical signal was—she noticed.
Not only did she notice she was being tested, but she handled it extremely well.
She didn’t panic like a little girl because of this slightly rude probing, nor did she get furious and burn bridges.
Instead, with a flawless idol smile, she elegantly and firmly closed the door.
This meant that the interesting soul from half a year ago was not only alive and well but had become even sharper and more composed.
It seemed he could talk about something more interesting today.
Takahashi made his final judgment happily in his mind.
Then he waved his hand and resumed the non-aggressive host demeanor.
“Ha ha ha ha, Haruka, don’t stare at me like I’m a kidnapper!”
He laughed with an innocent look, even adding a hint of pleading in his tone.
“Young people—can’t help but chat a little more. You know, it’s pure occupational hazard for an old guy like me. Us old broadcasters have lived our whole lives depending on this mouth for a living. Sometimes this mouth just runs off on its own and can’t be reined in.”
Haruka rolled her eyes fiercely in her mind, but kept her dignified and graceful smile on her face.
“But don’t worry.”
Takahashi changed the subject, his tone turning slightly more serious.
“Today’s five-minute special interview segment with you will be pre-recorded.”
“Pre-recorded?”
Haruka was momentarily stunned.
“Aren’t morning info shows always live?”
“The main show is live, of course, but your guest segment will be recorded in advance in the sub-studio, then inserted into the prime time broadcast.”
Takahashi explained patiently.
“This is also considering that you’ve just made a comeback. After all, you’ve been through such a big accident. If you happened to get nervous and freeze up in front of the mic, it wouldn’t look good for anyone, right?”
He winked playfully at her and added.
“So, even if you get nervous and bite your tongue in front of the microphone later, or accidentally let slip something bad about that young Mizuguchi guy, or even about me, the post-production editors can cut it all out cleanly.”
“Just think of it as drinking tea and chatting with an old uncle in your own living room—whatever makes you comfortable.”
“I see. That’s reassuring.”
Haruka smiled.
As soon as she heard that it would be edited, her tightly tensed shoulders finally relaxed.
Seeing Haruka let her guard down, Takahashi nodded with a beaming smile on the surface, but inside he was already laughing his head off.
Editing?
In his twenty-one-year career, no matter what the recording format, he had always had only one requirement for his own shows—the sound that went out must carry that raw, bloody, live sensation.
Pre-recorded, of course it could be edited.
But on his shows, unless it was a real broadcast incident, he never edited.
Hah, a perfectly steady dialogue that had been edited? That could hardly be called authentic radio anymore!
At that moment, there was a knock on the door of the prep room, and a female staff member with a work badge poked her head in.
“Mr. Takahashi, Miss Hoshino, excuse us. Please move to the makeup room for final pre-recording camera checks and touch-ups.”
Haruka froze when she heard that.
“Huh?”
She reflexively pointed at her own face, then at the radio logo for Morning Check on the wall.
“Wait, why do I need a touch-up?”
Haruka’s face was full of confusion.
“Isn’t this a radio show? No TV cameras, so what’s the makeup for?”
She had thought the light base makeup Ritsu had yanked her out of bed for at six in the morning was purely for anti-paparazzi purposes on the way and inside the TV station.
“Haruka, times have changed! It’s not the thirty-years-ago era of ‘closed doors, relying only on a mouth’ for radio anymore.”
Takahashi stood up and casually pointed at a show promotion schedule posted next to the whiteboard.
“Our show’s official SNS accounts will be simultaneously updating various behind-the-scenes photos and short videos during the guest recording.”
“The way you look talking in front of the microphone, the big laughs when you interact with me—they’ll be posted to Twitter and Instagram in just a few minutes.”
“Also—”
Takahashi lowered his voice, as if sharing some major trade secret.
“There’s a feature called VECAM (Studio Panoramic Camera) in our radio app, exclusively available to paying members.”
“Simply put, a fixed camera is set up in the studio. Subscribers can watch our recording in real time.”
“The image quality… to be honest, it’s pretty touching—probably about the level of a street surveillance camera from ten years ago. But guess what?”
Takahashi spread his hands.
“Your die-hard fans have actually paid real money to subscribe to this service, just to see you ‘alive and moving’ in front of the microphone.”
His tone carried a helpless “It’s not my fault, it’s the times” vibe as he patted Haruka’s shoulder.
“So, going in with dark circles—that’s probably not a good idea, right? It would be unfair to the fans’ wallets.”
Haruka opened her mouth, a thousand words stuck in her throat, and finally had no choice but to swallow them back down.
Damned capitalism.
She cursed viciously in her heart, then resignedly sighed, stood up, and smoothed the wrinkles on her dress.
“Let’s go.”
Takahashi made a “please” gesture, smiled cheerfully, and led the way toward the sub-studio.
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