Takahashi’s words were an extremely dangerous fork in the road.
If she went along with the atmosphere and nodded, saying “Yes, he’s actually very considerate,” then the entire nature of the conversation would completely change—from a worker’s complaint straight into a pink-tinged public confession.
No, no, no, this direction is starting to get dangerous!
“Quietly giving? Mr. Takahashi, you’re thinking too highly of him.”
Haruka’s tone smoothly switched back to her initial complaining mode within a second, even carrying a hint of indignation.
“In my opinion, he just thinks that if I’m in a bad mood in the hospital and my recovery slows down, it’ll directly affect his subsequent schedule and delay his commission earnings. In short, that’s not called concern.”
Haruka seriously raised one finger.
“That’s called basic maintenance of production tools.”
“I’m that tool, and the pudding and fruit tea are probably just regular servicing.”
“HAHAHAHA!”
Takahashi across the table burst into hearty laughter, even slapping the table twice.
“Haruka, that analogy is perfect! Alright, alright, so the conclusion is that Mr. Ritsu is still that cold, emotionless work machine, except now he’s learned to oil the tools?”
“Exactly right.”
Haruka nodded firmly.
“There’s essentially no change.”
“Then does Haruka think he might ever become gentle in the future?”
“Absolutely impossible.”
Haruka answered without hesitation, resolute.
But the instant the words left her mouth, her gaze unconsciously flickered to the lower right.
“However…”
When Haruka spoke again, her pace was a beat slower than before.
“Although he has a venomous tongue, a sour face, and always sends messages at 3 AM…”
She gently bit her lower lip.
“But how should I put it… When I’m being managed by him, although I want to punch him every day, it seems… it’s not that annoying.”
As the words left her mouth, Haruka’s back stiffened.
She immediately realized the lingering, indescribable subtlety in that statement.
“I mean! This is a sense of security based on work! Because… ah, no!”
Her voice suddenly rose, her speech speed skyrocketing.
“His professional ability is really strong, freakishly so! It’s the kind where you can completely trust him with your back—no, that phrasing is also weird! Anyway, it’s the kind where—”
“You’re digging yourself deeper, Haruka.”
Takahashi rested his chin on one hand, smiling at her with a look that clearly said “this uncle understands everything.”
“No way! I’m describing a very pure, revolutionary camaraderie between superior and subordinate!”
Haruka was so flustered that a thin layer of sweat broke out on her forehead as she frantically tried to salvage the explanation.
But her flustered appearance only made the entire segment’s entertainment effect hit full marks.
Takahashi precisely hit the brakes at the peak of this emotion.
“HAHAHAHA, alright, alright, uncle won’t bully Haruka anymore.”
“Then for the final words, please say something to the listeners tuning into the program.”
Takahashi’s voice seamlessly switched back to that warm, composed closing mode.
Haruka took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the inexplicable panic in her chest.
“Good morning, everyone, and thank you for your hard work.”
Her voice became clear again, shedding the idol’s professional veneer and gaining a polished warmth of authenticity.
“Whether you’re on a crowded train, stuck on the Shuto Expressway, or drinking hot coffee outside a convenience store… please keep working hard today.”
“I’ll do my best too.”
“Let’s continue walking forward together.”
Behind the glass window, where Haruka’s line of sight could not reach.
Mizutagawa Ritsu had already turned around at some point.
He stood slightly sideways, presenting a cold, sharp silhouette to the other staff in the auxiliary control room.
No one noticed that his facial expression was extremely complex at that moment, and his hand movements had also paused.
As the indicator light went out, the taut air in the auxiliary booth seemed to have its plug pulled, instantly relaxing.
Takahashi took off his monitoring headphones, stood up, and stretched his stiff neck.
“Haruka, you performed brilliantly today.”
He patted Haruka’s shoulder, his eyes filled with sincere praise.
“Even more stable than half a year ago.”
“Thank you, Mr. Takahashi, and thank you for going easy on me.”
Haruka stood up respectfully and bowed.
“HAHAHA, next time you come, uncle won’t go easy on you.”
Takahashi waved his hand with a laugh and pushed open the door to leave the auxiliary booth.
The small recording studio was suddenly left with only Haruka.
She stood still, her shoulders slightly drooping, and let out a long, heavy sigh.
Nine seconds later, the soundproof door of the auxiliary booth opened again.
There was no knock.
She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
“Let’s go.”
Ritsu stood at the door, his voice as cold as usual, betraying no emotion.
“Oh.”
Haruka picked up the thermos on the table and quickly walked toward the door.
As they passed through the corridor, the air still carried the unique smell of coffee and paper from the TV station’s backstage.
Haruka, head down, followed behind Ritsu, but her mind uncontrollably replayed everything that had happened in front of the microphone.
Why, the moment Takahashi asked that question, had her brain’s first reaction been—”Here we go again”?
The person who dealt with Takahashi half a year ago was the original Hoshino Haruka.
That “again” didn’t belong to her memory at all.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part was the details about Ritsu she had said in front of the microphone today, those she thought were “perfect public relations performances for the sake of the show’s effect.”
In the moment she said “it’s not that annoying,” there had actually been a flicker of hesitation.
Was that the thought of “Hoshino Haruka,” or her own?
“I can’t tell. I really can’t tell…”
A new thought surged into her mind.
No.
Weren’t we supposed to stop pretending?
Since I’m unconsciously starting to agonize over this question, doesn’t that mean…
I see.
So that’s it.
Haruka lifted her head.
In front of her line of sight was Ritsu’s straight back.
The sharp dark suit, the crisp strides, as always, he didn’t look back at her even once.
Thump.
Thump.
Haruka suddenly realized that as she stared at that back, her heart began to thump for no reason again.
No.
She gritted her teeth firmly inside.
This is just heart palpitations from the high tension right after recording.
The adrenaline hasn’t fully subsided yet.
It has nothing to do with that block of wood in front of her.
Absolutely.
Haruka buried her chin deep into the soft scarf and quickened her pace to follow.
The corridor was crowded and noisy.
No one noticed that on the exquisitely beautiful face of this super-popular idol, a faint blush was quietly spreading.
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