Smiles Made of Armor

Hayasaka Kaito burst from the depths of the pool in an exaggerated manner and sensually smoothed back his dripping hair. The camera focused on his muscular chest and followed a water droplet in slow motion as it slid down his arm. The shot tracked each flexing muscle until it reached the watch strapped on his wrist. The screen cut sharply to a glossy close‑up of the watch face, water splashing dramatically across it as an energetic male narrator broke the tension.

“Not even Hayasaka‑san could stay in the pool long enough to break the new AquaPulse Chrono; the watch built for champions!”

The music swelled. Kaito turned toward the camera with a smoldering expression he would never make in real life. A final shot showed him stepping out of the pool, water cascading down his torso as he lifted his wrist to view the time.

“AquaPulse Chrono. Time waits for no one.”

As the screen faded to black, both athletes winced at what they had just witnessed.

Fujimoto Ayaka shifted in her chair, turning slightly away from the man beside her. Sitting next to Kaito Hayasaka after that commercial felt uncomfortably intimate. A knot of secondhand embarrassment twisted in her stomach, mixed with a flicker of envy she did not want to acknowledge.

Kaito kept his eyes fixed on the floor, cheeks burning. He still could not believe he had agreed to film something so far from who he was. To make matters worse, they had overproduced it to a point he felt was inappropriate. Ever since the medal, people had been deciding his image for him, and he had been too overwhelmed to push back.

“Wow!” a man’s voice suddenly broke their awkward moment. “You looked like a movie star, Hayasaka‑san. Ever consider quitting and going into acting?”

The other host interrupted, “Let’s be honest, the water did all the acting. All he did was be himself.”

Kirishima Masato and Takada Ryohei turned toward each other and started laughing at their own introduction. Kaito and Ayaka tried to find their composure. They knew what they were in for theoretically; neither had been truly prepared.

Masato straightened his stack of cue cards with a crisp tap. “Welcome everybody, I am Kirishima Masato.”

“And I am Takada Ryohei,” the younger host added, giving a casual wave that bordered on smug.

“This is Sports Danshi Itadakimasu!” they announced together, voices bright and perfectly rehearsed.

Masato turned to the camera with a grin. “Today we have everyone’s favorite athlete to love, Hayasaka Kaito!”

The camera cut to Kaito. He lifted a hand in a shy, almost apologetic wave. His smile was textbook: polite, photogenic, practiced. But Ayaka, sitting just centimeters away, could see the stiffness in his jaw, the way his eyes did not quite match the curve of his mouth.

“Wow!” Masato continued, leaning forward. “So handsome. Seriously, once you give up the pool, the drama world awaits.”

Ryohei clicked his tongue. “Did you forget the athlete everyone loves to hate?” he said, tone playful but edged.

Masato laughed like this was all part of the script. “Of course not! Now, we also have the very talented Fujimoto Ayaka!”

He clapped again, a little too loudly.

The camera swung to Ayaka. She produced a smile, but it was thin, tight at the corners. Her eyes flicked sideways toward Ryohei instead of the lens; a silent Really? that only the audience at home and Kaito beside her would catch.

For a split second, the studio lights felt hotter. Kaito shifted in his seat. Ayaka straightened her posture.

Both of them knew the game. Neither of them liked playing it.

“You were beautiful too, Fujimoto‑san,” Masato said, turning his smile on her like a spotlight. “Ever consider doing a commercial of your own?”

Ryohei did not miss a beat. “They’d have to offer her one first.”

Ayaka’s smile froze for half a second; just long enough for the camera to catch it if the director thought it would boost ratings.

Masato tried to soften the blow, leaning forward with a sympathetic tilt of his head. “Ah, well… it might be a bit difficult at the moment. Maybe when you found your chance at success.”

“You’re too kind,” Ryohei cut in, grinning. “She already had her chance at success.”

Their laughter filled the studio; big, bright, and insensible.

Ayaka exhaled through her nose, the tiniest flicker of annoyance tightening her jaw. Kaito shifted beside her, eyes flicking toward her in a silent You okay? She answered with the smallest shrug; a shared acknowledgment of the absurdity they were trapped in.

For a moment, the two athletes met each other’s gaze; a quiet, resigned pact.

This was going to be a long interview.

Masato switched gears, his voice taking on that practiced, now the real show begins cadence.

“I don’t believe these two needed much of an introduction,” he said, gesturing broadly, “but we will give one anyways, for anyone who has been living under a rock this past decade.”

He turned toward the massive studio screen. Ryohei swiveled with him, hands clasped behind the back of his chair like this spectacle was just another day for him; of course, it was.

The lights dimmed slightly. A montage burst to life.

Kaito slicing through water with mechanical precision. Kaito on a podium, holding a gold medal high as confetti fell over him. Kaito in slow‑motion commercials, droplets clinging to his skin like they had been choreographed. Kaito smiling politely beside products he would never buy.

The hosts exchanged a synchronized, exaggerated silent wow, as if they were seeing it all for the first time. Kaito squirmed in discomfort at the propaganda‑like montage.

Masato spun back to the camera. “First, we have our golden boy of swimming, Kaito Hayasaka!”

Applause swelled. Kaito bowed his head slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting in that same polite, camera‑trained smile. Ayaka instinctively leaned away to stay out of the shot.

“He shocked the entire nation when he won gold in the two‑hundred meters at the last Summer Olympics,” Masato continued. “And in the past three years, he became a staple in commercials and TV shows like this one.”

Ryohei leaned in, smirking. “I swear, I can’t remember a single day I have not seen that body on screen. Makes me want to work out… if only I could find the time.”

The audience laughed. Kaito’s smile tightened by a millimeter; barely noticeable unless you were sitting right beside him.

Ayaka noticed.

She shifted in her seat, hands folding a little too neatly in her lap, as if bracing for her own turn under the microscope.

“And then we have the lovely and talented Ayaka Fujimoto!” The applause that followed was thin, polite, and over in two seconds; the kind of clapping people did because the cue light told them to.

Ryohei raised his eyebrows. “Whoa, come on, we need to support our athletes better than that,” he said, sounding almost sincere… until he added, “Even if they keep dropping the ball when it mattered most.”

A few audience members laughed. Ayaka shook her head with a practiced smile; the kind she had worn so many times it felt like armor. She had been the punchline for years; nothing about this surprised her.

Masato jumped in, voice bright. “Hey, third time is the charm, right, Fujimoto‑san? You will earn that applause next time.”

The studio erupted in laughter; not cruel, but the kind that said no one there actually believed that.

Masato gestured toward the screen behind them. “As most of you already know, she is our darling figure skater who seemed to falter at all the wrong moments. Two Olympics and no medals to show for it… yet.”

Ryohei tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Are we even sure she will get a third chance? My money was on Emiri Hoshino taking her spot this year.”

Ayaka’s lips tightened before she could stop them; a tiny, involuntary reaction at the mention of her arrogant young rival. Thankfully, every camera in the studio was pointed at the hosts, not her.

Kaito noticed anyway.