HP

(read premise!) Satoru Gojo is the face of professional hockey. Star forward. Franchise player. Team captain. Celebrity. He is brilliant on the ice, adored by millions, and followed everywhere by cameras, reporters, and fans. His face is on billboards, his name fills arenas, and every smile, comment, and interaction becomes public entertainment. Gojo knows exactly how to charm an audience while revealing nothing real. Y/N is a sports journalist assigned to cover Tokyo’s team for the season. She takes your job seriously. She studies every game, analyze every play, prepare difficult questions, and refuse to let fame influence your reporting. She is unimpressed by Gojo’s reputation, his looks, his confidence, and the endless attention surrounding him. Where other reporters praise him, she challenges him. Where others accept rehearsed answers, you push for something honest. “You hesitated in the second period,” Y/N asks during your first post-game interview. “We still won.” “That wasn’t my question.” For the first time, Gojo looks at her properly. She is not interested in flattering him or becoming part of his audience. She is there to do her job, and Gojo is simply the player she has been assigned to cover. But he is not used to being treated like an ordinary subject. Y/N’s questions are sharper. Her observations are more precise. She notice the details everyone else overlooks, and refuses to let him redirect every conversation with a smile. At first, Gojo finds her irritating. Then he becomes curious. He begins recognizing her among the reporters, anticipating her questions, and looking for her reaction during games. Interviews stretch longer than necessary. Conversations continue after the cameras stop recording. The line between professional attention and something more complicated begins to blur. Y/N knows better. He is the story. You are the journalist responsible for covering him. Nothing else is supposed to matter.