[Trouble.]
Her mind began to race.
In that suffocating silence, Haruka stared at the silver pop filter in front of her.
She used those few seconds of breathing room to re-evaluate the three nasty comments she had just read.
And then, it suddenly clicked.
That’s right.
As a “transmigrator,” relying on the psychic power of her soul, she had repaired this dying body in a month to the point where it could run and jump.
In her own eyes, this was perfectly normal.
After all, since something as bizarre as spirit possession had happened, it didn’t seem unacceptable that her body would recover a little faster as a side effect.
But those ordinary netizens and enthusiastic viewers outside, who knew nothing, had no idea that Hoshino Haruka’s shell was carrying someone else’s soul.
A car accident that had been reported as a life-or-death situation, yet she had been discharged in just a month and returned to normal activities.
From a common-sense perspective, their suspicions were completely reasonable.
Besides, she was a public figure.
Every move a public figure makes is scrutinized.
And as a public figure, you have to have the awareness that comes with it.
Understanding this, the little spark of resentment that had flared up in Haruka’s heart from being maliciously guessed at vanished without a trace.
If she used those condescending PR platitudes to deal with this reasonable suspicion based on common sense, it would only backfire.
Haruka took a deep breath, then let out a soft sigh.
“Mr. Takahashi.”
When Haruka spoke again, her voice had completely changed.
The sweet, high-pitched, energetic girl’s voice from before vanished instantly.
Her voice frequency dropped, as if she had actively shed a layer of disguised shell, revealing a timbre closer to her true nature—a slightly lower, magnetic, darker tone.
“If I had a choice, I really wouldn’t want to be remembered like this.”
“Car accidents aren’t fun at all. Really.”
“Every day I opened my eyes, all I saw was the hospital ceiling. My nose was filled with the smell of disinfectant. When I fell asleep at night, just rolling over would wake me up from the pain.”
“During that time, I thought every day about whether I could ever stand on stage again, whether I could ever bring smiles to people’s faces again.”
Haruka’s voice was very soft, calmly recounting those cold, specific details.
“In this world, who would gamble with their own life just for hype?”
Across from her, Takahashi sat behind his microphone.
The expression on his face didn’t change, but something in his eyes was different.
Haruka sensed the subtle shift in the air.
She knew the pendulum of emotion had begun to swing back.
“But, Mr. Takahashi.”
Her tone suddenly became lighter, even carrying a faint hint of a smile at the end.
“Actually, after hearing those messages just now, I feel like I want to thank those nine listeners.”
Takahashi raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly in surprise.
“Thank them?”
“Yeah.”
Haruka nodded, speaking as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Mr. Takahashi, you’ve been in this industry for so many years, you should know better than I do. For an idol, or for anyone in the spotlight, what is the scariest thing?”
She didn’t give Takahashi a chance to interject and take control.
She answered her own question first.
“The thing I’m least afraid of is being hated. In this world, the thing I’m most afraid of… is being forgotten.”
“Uh-huh?”
Takahashi raised his eyebrow, the amusement in his eyes growing even stronger.
“Think about it. If a person were truly completely uninterested in me, if the name ‘Hoshino Haruka’ meant nothing to them, why would they bother to spend time writing such a long message just to curse me out?”
Haruka tilted her head slightly, staring straight at the microphone in front of her, as if she could see through it to the countless listeners on the other side of the airwaves.
“Being angry, being disappointed, being critical… at the very least, it means they’re still watching me.”
Takahashi squinted, his smile finally spilling out uncontrollably.
“Whether that attention is love or hate, at this very moment, their eyes are still on me. And as long as someone is watching me, I have the confidence that someday, I can make them like me again. Right?”
Takahashi looked at the young girl across from him.
The seasoned, evaluating look in his eyes had been completely replaced by admiration.
Haruka paused for a moment, then sat up a little straighter.
She shifted her gaze to the camera in the corner, its tiny red light glowing.
“So, I chose to stand up again, not to make people feel sorry for me and gain their sympathy. And certainly not to steal anyone’s position or get in their way.”
“Mr. Takahashi, during those days in the hospital when I couldn’t do anything, I actually received many, many handwritten letters.”
“Some of the paper had drawings on them. They were a little messy, but you could tell they had been erased and redrawn many times. Some were several pages long, and the last page was completely blurred by tears.”
“In their letters, they told me: ‘Haruka, we’ll wait for you to come back. The stage is so lonely without you.'”
“‘No matter how long it takes, we will definitely wait for you.'”
Haruka sniffled softly.
“As long as there are still so many people waiting for me, then as an idol, I have to come back.”
“It’s that simple.”
The auxiliary control room was silent for a few seconds, filled only by the faint electrical hum in the director’s headphones.
Clap, clap.
Takahashi Sakuya put down his coffee cup, raised his hands to his chest, and clapped slowly, deliberately.
“Well said.”
Takahashi’s voice was filled with undisguised admiration.
“Well said indeed, Haruka-chan. That was a perfect answer.”
Through the thick, double-layered glass window, Mizutagawa Ritsu in the auxiliary control room finally let his shoulders, tense for the entire segment, slowly slump down.
He loosened his clenched fist, only then realizing his palms were covered in cold sweat.
After finishing his applause, Takahashi naturally picked up his cup and took a sip of water.
Haruka’s speech just now was of extremely high quality.
When it was broadcast later, the effect would definitely be excellent.
But Takahashi knew in his heart that the emotional curve of a radio show couldn’t stay at such a heavy, high point.
Otherwise, listeners would feel a bit down after listening.
The special segment was about to end.
He had to, in the final minute, drag the atmosphere back from the touching depth of “Touching Japan” to the light, fun tradition of “Easy and Fun.”
And what was the most immediate comedic material currently available on Hoshino Haruka, or on any entertainer for that matter?
Takahashi’s fox-like eyes, without a trace of movement, passed through the double-layer glass and precisely pinned down Ritsu in the auxiliary control room.
A mischievous smile curled at the corner of Takahashi’s mouth.
He leaned back into the microphone.
“Alright, alright. Let’s stop the heavy topics here. Uncle’s eyes are about to get red from your story.”
Takahashi waved his hand, instantly switching his tone back to a light-hearted, teasing frequency.
“Speaking of which, Haruka-chan, it’s been half a year since your last visit to our show, hasn’t it?”
“Huh? Oh… yes.”
Haruka was stunned, not understanding why the topic had shifted so fast.
“That episode left a deep impression on me, you know.”
The laugh lines on Takahashi’s face deepened immediately, filled with the eager glee of someone who loves watching the world burn.
“Haruka-chan, you were sitting in that exact same spot, tearing your manager-san to shreds. ‘The life-chasing demon of 2 AM,’ ‘KPI harvester with no human emotions.’ Thanks to you, the replay viewership for that episode is still the highest in our show’s history.”
Hearing this, Haruka’s heart skipped half a beat.
She instinctively looked across the glass, and sure enough, she met Ritsu’s cold glare, which had instantly switched to a “You’d better think carefully before you speak” look.
“So then—”
Takahashi deliberately dragged out his tone, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“After going through life and death together like this, after getting through the toughest time together… tell me, has that cold, heartless manager-san become even a little bit gentler?”
Here we go again.
Haruka let out a silent wail in her heart.
But then, an extremely subtle, contradictory question emerged from the depths of her brain without warning.
Wait.
The person who sat in this chair six months ago, who dealt with Takahashi’s pestering, handled these killer radio questions, and brutally roasted Ritsu… was, from start to finish, the original, the real Hoshino Haruka.
So, why, the moment she heard Takahashi ask this question, had the very first reaction from her cerebral cortex been…
“[Trouble.]”