When the Smile Became a Weapon

The screen cut abruptly to Ayaka Fujimoto holding up the silver medal from her most recent international competition, her smile bright under the podium lights. Some highlights of her jumps played as Masato looked away from the screen.

“Moments like this used to feel like greatness,” Masato said. “You’ve racked up golds and silvers in international competitions.”

The phrase hung in the air like a stain. Ayaka felt the shift immediately; the implication that her victories were somehow lesser now, that her accomplishments had lost their value due to her Olympic blemish. She kept her expression neutral, but inside, she was fuming. She was proud of every medal she had earned. She was one of the most decorated figure skaters in the world.

“They still have their value to me,” Ayaka replied carefully. “And I hope to have further success as well.”

She kept her tone even, but the resistance was there; a small, deliberate pushback against the implication that her victories were somehow lesser now. Still, she was painfully aware of the cameras. As a national athlete, every syllable she spoke could be twisted, dissected, or turned into a headline. One wrong inflection and the narrative would shift against her again.

As Ryohei leaned in with his own brand of questioning, Ayaka drew a slow breath and closed her eyes for half a second, steadying herself.

“Now they feel more like highlights of your wasted potential at the higher levels of competition.”

Ayaka suddenly exhaled with the force of a raging bull, the sound cutting through the studio and catching everyone off guard.

“Wasted potential is an interesting way to describe a career full of podiums,” she said, her voice sharp and steady. “Tell me, how many international awards have you won?”

The silence that followed was brief but electric.

Then she slipped back into her practiced smile, the sweet expression she had worn for most of the interview settling neatly into place.

“I’ve won more medals than any other active skater in the country,” she continued lightly. “I think I’m allowed to be proud of that, while still acknowledging I have room to improve.”

Kaito turned toward Ayaka and gave her a small, approving nod. Something warm flickered in his chest: admiration, and envy. He wished he could speak with that kind of certainty, that calm precision that cut through the noise without ever sounding harsh. Watching her reclaim the moment so cleanly made him feel both steadier and painfully aware of his own hesitations.

Masato tried to recover, but the surprise at her sudden sharpness was still visible around his eyes.

“Of course you are, we’re proud of them as well,” he said quickly, glancing toward the audience for support. “We just have high expectations, and sometimes that makes us overlook that pride.”

The room began to buzz with agreement. The audience was clearly on the hosts’ side, not hers. Ayaka felt the shift, but she refused to let it rattle her. Instead, she twisted the noise into something she could live with; a thought that they were proud of her accomplishments too, even if they did not say it the way she wished they would.

“I appreciate that everyone believes in me,” Ayaka said, trying to calm the room. “I’ll turn that belief into an Olympic medal for them in 20XX.”

The crowd offered her a polite wave of applause in exchange for her promise, but real or not, their eyes told her the truth. They did not believe in her anymore. Ayaka felt the weight of it, a familiar ache she had long learned to carry in silence.

“Ryohei mentioned this earlier, Ayaka‑san,” Masato said as he leaned forward. “Emiri Hoshino.”

He paused deliberately, giving the cameras time to catch her reaction. Ayaka did not repeat her earlier slip. Instead, she seized the opening and shifted the momentum towards her favor.

“Hoshino‑san is a talented young skater,” she said smoothly. “I believe she’ll be someone to watch in the future.”

Ryohei, unsatisfied with how the momentum had slipped away from him, pushed harder.

“Do you feel the pressure?” he pressed. “She’s someone who’s poised to take your spot on the national team.”

Ayaka smiled at him, a calm, deliberate expression that made Ryohei shift back in his seat.

“She was a great junior skater,” Ayaka said, her tone aimed more at him than at Emiri Hoshino. “I am sure her talent will shine one day. But for now, no. I do not feel any pressure.”

“Whoa!” Masato said loudly. “Confidence; that’s what we like to see in our athletes.”

Kaito nodded along, trying to back Masato’s attempt to smooth things over. Ayaka shot Masato a look, sharp and knowing. Her expression said everything: I know what you are doing. There is no fire here for you to fan.

Looking for support, Masato turned to Kaito. “You’ve been awfully quiet since we shifted to Ayaka‑san.”

“I just haven’t found a place to interject,” Kaito replied, adding a small, awkward smile.

Ryohei jumped in before the moment could settle. “Yes, Fujimoto‑san has really taken over the show.”

The sudden return to her family name, that deliberate step back, warmed Ayaka in a way she did not expect. It was not kindness. It was an acknowledgment. Respect.

“Based on our conversation,” Masato continued, trying to keep the show on its rails, “I guess the rumors of you possibly retiring are just that… rumors.”

Ayaka laughed outright at the idea. “I am still at the top of my game. Why would I retire?”

Masato joined her laughter. “So true.”

Ryohei cut in, unwilling to let the moment drift away from him. “Your ups and downs have remained steady. If I were a betting man, I could have made a fortune off your consistent winning and losing.”

The crowd laughed, but thinner than usual. Ryohei felt the difference immediately.

Ayaka did not miss it either. “My steadiness is nothing compared to yours,” she shot back. “If I were a viewer, I would’ve tuned you out by now.”

A ripple of surprise moved through the room. Ryohei blinked, then forced a grin. “You could always retire and come take my job.”

Ayaka did not hesitate and looked toward Masato. “Do not worry, Masato‑san. I will win a medal at the next Olympics and then come save your show afterward.”

Kaito burst into laughter before he could stop himself, and the audience followed; fuller, warmer, unmistakably genuine. Ryohei dropped his head with a dismissive smile, knowing he had been outplayed.

Masato, for once riding the flow instead of steering it, added, “Definitely a visual improvement. I would not reject it.”

Ayaka gave Kaito a satisfied wink before turning her smile back to the crowd. Kaito felt an appreciation wash over him; she had taken over the show not just to defend herself, but to pull him out of the discomfort he had been drowning in. He returned her smile, silently thanking her.

Ryohei gathered himself, professionalism snapping back into place. “Anyone need a co‑host out there?” he called toward the cameras. “I might need a new job soon.”

The plea was framed as a joke, but something in his voice made it feel almost genuine.