Under the Studio Lights

Masato Kirishima smiled at the camera. “I suppose most of you are hoping we start with Hayasaka‑san.”

Ryohei winked. “Would you even stick around till the end if we did that?”

The crowd laughed, tossing out half‑hearted promises to stay. On the couch, the two athletes looked increasingly out of their natural environment.

“I suppose we can give in,” Masato said, milking the moment, “but you all must remember your promises!”

“They have never kept their promises in the past, Masato,” Ryohei muttered, earning another wave of laughter.

Masato pressed on. “We can try to trust them one more time. What do you say, Ryohei?”

“Fine…” Ryohei sighed, as if he had agreed to something doomed from the start.

“Great!” Masato beamed. “Because I’m not sure I have enough questions prepared for Ayaka.”

Ryohei let out a short laugh, followed by a pointed smile as he leaned toward Ayaka’s direction. The camera followed his gaze. Ayaka resigned herself to her fate with a small, practiced smile; she knew exactly how this type of situation played out.

“Yep,” Ryohei added as he pulled back, “I cannot think of many either. There are only so many ways you can ask about failure.”

Kaito’s expression flashed with anger, brief but unmistakable. Ayaka did not react; she had heard every version of that line before. No matter how hard she worked, without an Olympic medal, she would never get real respect on a show like this.

The two hosts let the laughter die down before beginning the interview.

A replay of Kaito’s performance at Nationals sprang to life on the studio screen. The crowd erupted, thrilled to relive the gold‑medal moment. Kaito had cemented his place on the Olympic team for the coming year, and everyone in the room seemed to expect a repeat performance.

Masato and Ryohei turned back toward the couch where the two athletes sat, nodding with exaggerated approval. The crowd’s cheers tapered off all at once, making it obvious they had been cued to quiet down.

“Kaito‑san, may I call you Kaito?” Masato began.

Kaito shifted in his seat, trying to find some level of comfort under the spotlight.

“Of course, Kirishima‑san.”

“Masato,” the host corrected with practiced ease. “Please, call me Masato.”

“Masato‑san,” Kaito replied, dipping his head in acknowledgment.

Masato pressed on, ignoring the stiffness in Kaito’s posture.

“Congratulations on yet another gold medal. How does this one feel compared to your Olympic medal?”

Kaito answered with a slow, measured calm that clashed with the show’s frantic energy.

“I feel that each success is equally important,” he said, “and they define my career as a whole.”

“Come on, we have living proof right next to you,” Ryohei cut in. “Some success simply outweighs others.”

Ayaka masked her real thoughts behind a polite smile. “When you have success at various levels, they all feel important. It’s only when you fail that some become… memorable.”

Ryohei nodded. “This is coming from a real expert.”

The crowd laughed at Ryohei once again. His role on the show was cemented in stone just as much as the building they occupied.

Masato stepped in and moved the interview forward. “Ayaka‑san has a long history as a national‑level athlete. Kaito‑san, have you ever sought advice from her?”

Ayaka felt the shift immediately. They had asked Kaito for permission to use his given name. With her, they never bothered. They just defaulted to Ayaka‑san; polite, but impersonal, interchangeable. Another reminder of her place in this interview… and maybe in the national landscape of athletes as a whole.

“This is my first time meeting Fujimoto‑san,” he said, stealing a quick glance at Ayaka.

Ayaka picked up the thread with practiced ease. “Even though we all train at the same center, it’s rare for athletes in different sports to cross paths.”

Ryohei shot Masato a pointed look. “Why would Kaito‑san need advice from her? She should be asking him how to finally win.”

Kaito’s composure dimmed. “I’ve heard she’s extremely professional,” he said, voice firmer than before. “She works to perfect her craft as much as anyone. I would be honored if she ever offered me advice.”

Sensing the shift, Ayaka stepped in to steady the moment. “Athletes can learn from each other. I am sure his advice would be valuable as well.”

“Well said,” Masato agreed quickly. “I’m sure both of you have experiences that could benefit each other.”

Ryohei leaned back, smirking. “What not to do is advice too, I suppose…”

The crowd laughed on cue, the sound swelling exactly when the studio expected it to. Ayaka tilted her head side to side, trying to loosen the tension while the cameras were focused elsewhere.

Masato pointed to the screen again as the Nationals replay filled the studio. Kaito looked confident in the water; something Ayaka could not sense from him in person.

“Your split time in the final lap was incredible. Were you expecting to finish that strong?”

Kaito looked up, his shoulders easing for the first time since the interview began.

“That final lap felt really good,” he said. “If I can find that feeling again, I might be able to set a record.”

The last sentence slipped out softer, almost to himself, spoken to the screen rather than the hosts. When he finally dragged his gaze back to Masato, he suddenly felt flustered; he had not meant to admit that out loud.

Ryohei took the opportunity to push. “I cannot wait to see that record at the Olympics.”

Kaito offered a not‑so‑reassuring smile. “I will do my best.”

Masato glanced back at the screen; the image of Kaito rising from the water lingered like an echo of the commercial. The studio had clearly slowed it down on purpose.

“Wow, what a sight,” he said lightly. “I’m sure the women in our audience have to be wondering… are you dating anyone right now?”

Kaito’s expression went blank for a beat. He knew personal questions were part of the job, but the sudden shift caught him off guard.

“N… no,” he managed. “I’m focused on the Olympics at the moment.”

“Athletes rarely date when preparing for the Olympics,” Ayaka said, offering him a lifeline.

Kaito turned toward her, gratitude flickering in his eyes. He needed that. These situations always left him scrambling.

The hosts ignored her attempt to steer the topic back to sports. They leaned forward in unison, sensing the scent of entertainment gold the way only seasoned professionals could.

“I understand, Kaito‑san,” Masato said, voice brightening, “but I’m sure the whole nation would like to know: what, or who, is your type?”

Of course, they were going to push further. He had expected this question eventually; it was just the timing that threw him off. He had thought he was rescued earlier, but a second attack came. Still, he managed to gather himself.

“My type…” Kaito began, slipping into a practiced rhythm. “I would have to say someone who understands the difficulty of being an athlete. Someone who puts the same level of effort into their life as I do mine. And someone who never gives up.”

The hosts shared a knowing smile. They had been waiting for this opening; Kaito always used some version of that line in interviews. Together, they swiveled toward Ayaka.

Ryohei struck first. “Sounds like someone sitting right next to you, if you ask me.”

Masato jumped in immediately, delighted. “It does, doesn’t it?”

The camera swung fully toward Ayaka, missing the flash of panic on Kaito’s face. Caught mid‑blink, she recovered instantly, offering the practiced smile she had worn through years of interviews.

“I’m sure there are plenty of women who fit that description,” she said lightly, deflecting with surprising ease.

Inside, though, a small jolt of heat rose in her chest. She had not expected to be dragged into this, and she could only blame herself for stepping into his interview so often. Somehow, she had become part of the story.

The crowd was not holding back their excitement, their laughter and cheers rising with every jab. The two hosts fed off the energy, circling the athletes like they had found easy prey.