Chapter 48 — The World That Moves for Him
Hanma Studio in Full Power
The main conference room of Hanma Studio felt more like the control center of a global corporation than a modeling agency.
A massive glass table stretched across the center of the room, reflecting the soft blue glow of dozens of wall-sized screens. Live data streamed nonstop across them, numbers and graphs shifting every second.
Haruya Takahara's face was everywhere.
On one screen, his latest photo shoot scrolled by. On another, trending tags exploded upward. On a third, heat maps showed where his popularity was spiking across the country.
Women's voices filled the room.
Marketing directors, PR executives, image consultants, and security leads sat around the table, all staring at the same truth.
Haruya was no longer just a model.
He was an obsession.
"His winter hoodie shoot sold out in six hours," a woman from marketing said, tapping her tablet. "Not just online. Physical stores too. Girls were literally fighting over the last sizes."
A PR manager adjusted her glasses. "Fan engagement has tripled in a week. His name is being searched more than several major actresses right now."
Another screen shifted, showing social media reactions.
"I just want to protect him."
"He looks so gentle it hurts."
"I wish I could meet him once."
A security lead frowned. "We've had three attempted breaches this week. Fans trying to access restricted areas. One even pretended to be a delivery worker."
The room grew tense.
At the head of the table stood Hoshino Mikari, the studio's manager.
Elegant. Sharp-eyed. Calm.
She folded her arms and looked at Haruya's image on the screen.
"Haruya Takahara is no longer a model," she said quietly.
"He's a cultural phenomenon."
Everyone nodded.
"This isn't just beauty," Mikari continued. "It's projection. People aren't seeing him as a person anymore. They're seeing what they want him to be."
Another staff member scrolled to a different feed.
A viral gaming clip.
A Rune Swordsman named 'Haru'.
"That player's video has crossed three million views," the analyst said. "What's strange is… a lot of Haruya's fans are watching it."
The PR manager frowned. "They're connecting them?"
"Yes," the analyst replied. "Same name. Similar soft voice. Same gentle image. Fans are saying things like 'He feels just like Haruya.'"
Mikari's eyes narrowed slightly.
"A coincidence that became a fantasy," she said. "People are merging two separate figures into one."
"Which makes Haruya even more desirable," someone else muttered.
A marketing woman sighed. "They don't just want to admire him anymore. They want to claim him."
Another screen displayed comments under Haruya's photos.
"If I could just meet him once…"
"I would do anything for him."
Silence fell.
Then someone said it out loud.
"And Miyahara Yume's involvement is making it explode."
A few heads turned.
Yume Miyahara. A top actress. A powerful name.
"She didn't just support him," one PR woman said carefully. "She's emotionally invested."
Mikari didn't deny it.
"And that's why we must be careful," she said. "When powerful people become attached, the world changes around the target."
The meeting continued, shifting to next month's major shoot.
Bigger locations.
Higher security.
More controlled exposure.
But the truth sat heavy in the room.
Haruya Takahara was now the center of something far larger than anyone had planned.
---
Miyahara Yume Alone
Here, high above the city, everything was quiet.
Miyahara Yume's penthouse was wrapped in soft, golden evening light. Tall glass windows revealed the endless glow of the city below, a thousand tiny stars flickering against the darkness. But none of it held her attention.
She was sitting on her sofa, knees pulled slightly toward her chest, her phone resting in both hands.
On the screen was a single photo.
Haruya.
Not from a magazine shoot.
Not from a carefully edited poster.
Not from a promotional campaign.
Just a simple candid image someone from the studio had taken that day.
He was smiling.
Not the professional model smile he used in front of cameras. Not the practiced expression meant to charm an audience.
It was soft. A little shy. Almost tired.
The kind of smile someone gives when they're trying their best, even when they're exhausted.
Yume stared at it as if the world outside her windows didn't exist.
"…He looked tired that day," she murmured quietly.
Her voice was low, almost fragile, nothing like the confident actress the world knew.
She remembered that moment clearly.
Haruya had stood under bright lights, surrounded by staff, makeup artists, and cameras, yet he had still bowed politely to everyone. He had thanked people who were technically his subordinates. He had apologized when he felt he was taking too long.
Even when the crew had praised him, he had just smiled and said,
"I'll do better next time."
It had struck her then.
Someone like him didn't belong in this industry.
Not because he wasn't good enough.
But because he was too gentle.
Yume's thumb brushed lightly over the screen, tracing the outline of his face.
She wasn't thinking about his beauty. Or his value. Or how famous he was becoming.
She was thinking about how heavy the world must feel on someone like him.
"…You must get tired," she whispered.
For a long moment, she simply sat there, staring at him as though he could somehow hear her.
Then she exhaled softly and reached for the phone beside her.
"Could you come here for a moment?" she said into it.
A few minutes later, her secretary entered the room. A tall, professional woman with a tablet in her hand, her posture straight and efficient.
"You called, Ms. Miyahara?"
Yume hesitated.
It was rare for her to sound uncertain, but now she did.
"Um… I have a strange question."
The secretary tilted her head slightly. "Go ahead."
Yume glanced down at her phone again before asking softly,
"What… do boys usually like?"
The secretary blinked, then smiled confidently. "That's easy. Luxury watches. Sports cars. High-end accessories. Things that show status and wealth."
Yume's brows knit together just a little.
"…But Haruya didn't look interested in any of that."
The secretary continued smoothly. "Boys also like beautiful women. Attention. Fame. Being admired. It's how most of them are in this world."
Yume's gaze lowered.
"…He's not like that."
Her voice was quiet, but there was certainty in it.
The secretary hesitated, sensing something unusual. "Ms. Miyahara…?"
Yume didn't look at her.
She was remembering things.
The way Haruya had thanked her after the shoot, bowing slightly even though she was the bigger star.
The way he had averted his eyes when she stood too close, not out of disrespect, but because he seemed embarrassed.
The way he never tried to use her influence, even though he easily could have.
"He doesn't want to take," Yume said softly. "He just… wants to do his best."
She held her phone closer to her chest.
"For the first time in my life," she continued, "I don't want to impress someone."
The secretary watched her carefully.
"I want to understand him."
Outside, the city kept glowing.
Inside the penthouse, a famous actress sat alone, quietly falling for a boy who she even didn't know, He belong to another world.
---
The Gift Problem
Yume's penthouse was quiet again.
Not the empty kind of silence that feels lonely.
The kind that feels like someone is thinking too hard using her 200IQ power.
A long glass table stood in front of her, completely covered.
Jewelry boxes lay open, their velvet insides glowing under the soft lights.
Necklaces made of rare gems.
Bracelets worth more than a house.
Designer watches, each one precise and flawless.
Luxury clothes folded neatly in silk wrapping.
Anything anyone in this world would dream of receiving.
Miyahara Yume stood in front of it all, her arms folded lightly over her chest, her gaze drifting from item to item.
And slowly… her lips curved into a troubled smile.
"These don't feel right…" she murmured.
She picked up a watch, turning it in her hand. The metal was cool, heavy, perfect.
Too perfect.
Haruya's face flashed in her mind again. That gentle smile. That careful way he spoke. The way he bowed slightly even when no one demanded it.
Would he really smile like that for something like this?
"…You'd probably thank me," she said quietly, almost to herself. "But you wouldn't be happy, would you?"
Yume placed the watch back down.
In this world, boys were rare. And because of that, everyone assumed the same things about them.
They want luxury.
They want to be spoiled.
They want to be owned.
But Haruya didn't feel like that kind of boy.
Yume sat down slowly in front of the table, resting her chin on her hand.
"I know what you like," she whispered. "I've seen it. The way you look at simple things. The way you relax when no one is pushing you."
She remembered how he'd smiled more when someone thanked him than when someone praised him. How he looked more comfortable talking about small things than being complimented for his looks.
Yet that made the problem worse.
If she knew what he liked… then why did nothing here feel correct?
For the first time in a very long time, Miyahara Yume felt unsure.
Not helpless.
Just… small.
Not because of fear.
Because of love.
She leaned back in her chair, staring at the expensive pile of gifts as if they were all suddenly meaningless.
"This world doesn't know how to treat someone like you," she whispered. "And neither do I… not properly."
But she wanted to.
More than anything, she wanted to give him something that made him feel warm inside.
Just… cared for.
She reached for her phone again, opening that same photo of Haruya smiling softly.
Her gaze softened.
"Wait for me," she said quietly. "I'll find something that fits you."
Something that feels like you.
---
Hanma Studio was still alive with motion.
Screens glowed. Staff moved quickly. Data kept flowing.
Inside her office, Hoshino Mikari sat alone, Haruya Takahara's digital file open in front of her.
Images. Statistics. Popularity curves.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied it all.
"The more people who love him…" she murmured, "…the harder it will be to protect him."
Outside her office, the machine of fame kept turning.
Back in her penthouse, Yume held her phone close to her heart.
"I just want to make you smile again," she whispered.
Two women.
Two kinds of power.
Both quietly orbiting the same gentle boy.
—To Be Continued...
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Author note 🧾
I just forgot to upload yesterday 😅
no excuses, my brain simply went offline.
It wasn't intentional, so please don't throw slippers at me.
Thank you for waiting,
—king_fuzu.