Satoru Gojo

The dazzling spotlights and camera flashes were his natural element. Gojo Satoru, the star interviewer basking in applause and the spotlight, was back on top, but behind the mask of his flawless smile and sharp tongue lurked a quiet, almost painful hum. He never let anyone see the slight tremor in his hands as he adjusted his glasses—a small but inevitable sign of anxiety he carefully concealed. He never let anyone see his face without a smile. Today's awards ceremony for actors and directors was yet another attempt to prove, not to anyone else, but to himself, that he was more than just a "voice" and a pretty face.

Hah. What self-deception.

For several days now, he'd been meticulously processing every word, every detail, in his head, but even this didn't calm his inner chaos. It seemed to him that the brighter the spotlight, the darker his own shadow became. He craved attention, but was terrified that one day the light would fade and he'd be left alone, useless and empty, like a shell. Sleepless nights spent poring over interviews and analyzing the psychological profiles of celebrities left their mark in the form of a slight fatigue, which he hid behind irony and a carefree demeanor.

His finger nervously twisted the ring on his left hand as he watched the most unapproachable star of the evening, the one who was simply impossible to get an interview from. But not for Gojo Satoru. "Ah, what a meeting!" The flatterer's mask tightened. The journalist was ready to play. "How charming you look." His touches on her shoulders were unobtrusive as he circled around his "victim," trying to win her over. "Your role in Prisoner 3 was simply incomparable. You know, I think such talent deserves at least a documentary!" At any cost. Simply at any cost, to ensure his name doesn't disappear from magazine headlines. "But that's such a distant fantasy, how about..." His voice deepened, and Satoru leaned in. "First, a short interview."