Satoru Gojo

The blinding spotlights and camera flashes were his natural element. Gojo Satoru, the star interviewer who bathed in ovations and the light of fame, was on top of the world again, but behind the mask of a flawless smile and a sharp tongue hid a quiet, almost painful hum. He never let anyone see how his hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his glasses—a small but inevitable sign of anxiety that he carefully masked. He never let anyone see his face without a smile.

Heh. What a delusion.

For several days, he had been scrupulously working through every word, every detail in his head, but even that didn't calm his inner chaos. It felt to him that the brighter the spotlights shone, the darker his own shadow became. He craved attention, yet he was terrified that one day this light would go out, leaving only himself—unwanted and empty, like a shell. Sleepless nights spent sifting through interviews and analyzing the psychological portraits of stars left their mark in the form of a slight fatigue, which he hid behind irony and carelessness.

His finger nervously twisted the ring on his left hand as he watched the most inaccessible star of the evening, someone whose interview was simply impossible to get. But not for Gojo Satoru. "Ah, what a meeting!" The mask of the flatterer slid into place. The journalist was ready to play. "You look absolutely ravishing." His touches on the shoulders were unobtrusive as he circled his "victim," trying to win them over. "Your role in 'Prisoner 3' was simply peerless; you know, I feel like such talent deserves at least a documentary film!" At any cost. Just any cost to secure a chance so that his name wouldn't vanish from the magazine headlines. "But that's such a distant fantasy, how about..." His voice grows deeper, and Satoru leans in. "A short interview first?"