Chapter 124: The Ultimate Test – Live Matchmaking on National TV
The broadcast studio was unlike anything Ava had ever experienced.
Bright spotlights bathed the stage in a golden glow, casting long beams through a haze of ticulously choreographed fog. Every corner glead—walls of LED panels shimred with soft pink hues, floor lights embedded beneath polished tiles blinked in gentle rhythm, and overhead, cranes moved with fluid grace as caras whirred on silent tracks.
Ava stood just behind the curtain, her heels clicking softly against the lacquered floor as she peered toward the stage. The curved rows of seating in front of her were filling fast. Studio staff guided Tokyo’s glittering elite to their places—celebrities, influencers, tech moguls, even politicians. The buzz of anticipation was tangible, vibrating under her skin like static.
Japanese and English voices mingled in a whirlwind of murmurs, laughter, and digital chatter. A massive screen hovered above the stage displaying the show’s logo in gold calligraphy: LOVE LIVE: TOKYO.
Ava tugged gently on the sleeve of her rose-gold silk blazer, adjusting the wireless earpiece nestled behind her hair. "Is it too late to fake a flu and run?"
Beside her, Ryan Kim looked sinfully good in a tailored charcoal suit. His sleeves were pushed up just enough to expose his strong forearms, and his expression? Pure focus. Eyes sharp, jaw tight. He scanned the crowd like a man preparing for battle.
His hand found the small of her back, grounding her. "If you run, I’m coming with you."
Ava gave a half-laugh, half-sigh. "Still think this was a good idea?"
"No." Ryan’s hand tightened. "But I think you’re going to burn the whole place down—in the best way."
She glanced toward the center of the stage. Two transparent chairs stood on either side of a lacquered red platform, flanked by cherry blossom arrangents and backed by a projection screen that currently displayed nothing but a countdown clock.
One chair for her.
One for Julian.
And speak of the devil.
Julian Ashcroft stepped into view like a man entering a red carpet premiere. His white suit was immaculate, his tie a shade of sapphire that matched his smug expression. He offered the caras a dazzling smile, his every movent practiced and designed for optics. Ryan muttered sothing under his breath—probably a curse.
The host entered next, a vision of poise in a cherry blossom-pink suit with matching heels and a smile that could rival a newscaster. She clutched a silver microphone and waved at the crowd.
"Welco to Love Live: Tokyo!" she called, her Japanese accent warm and lodic. "Where romance ets revelation!"
The crowd erupted with applause. The lights dimd. A pulsing countdown began on the massive overhead screen.
3. 2. 1.
Showti.
Julian took his seat with the grace of a man who thought he’d already won. Ava followed, every eye tracking her movent. She sat down, spine straight, gaze forward.
The host stepped into the spotlight. "Tonight, two world-renowned matchmakers will go head-to-head in a live demonstration. No filters. No retakes. Just instinct... or innovation."
The rules were simple.
Each matchmaker would et two new clients—strangers to each other—and guide them through an on-air experience designed to spark connection. The audience would observe. Reactions would be tracked. Chemistry—or lack thereof—would be judged.
Julian went first.
He gestured, and two assistants ushered in a man and a woman—both young, attractive, well-dressed. Caras zood in as they sat across from each other. The screen behind Julian ca to life, showing their nas, ages, occupations, and—most importantly—their real-ti compatibility score.
Lines of data appeared, scrolling beneath their photos. Micro-expressions. Heart rate. Pupil dilation. Even voice stress patterns.
"This," Julian said, turning toward the cara, "is the future. Our Perfect Match AI doesn’t guess. It knows."
The audience leaned in.
Colored bars on the screen adjusted with each interaction. The couple smiled politely. They answered Julian’s scripted questions. They complinted each other’s answers.
It was... fine.
But Ava could see it from her seat.
Too rehearsed.
Too polished.
No heat. No surprise.
Just data-fed mimicry.
Then the AI glitched.
Just a flicker. Barely a hesitation in the heart rate readout. Julian’s eye twitched. A technician offstage made a quick note on a tablet. The show went on.
Now it was her turn.
Ava rose and approached her pairing. Satoshi, a soft-spoken engineer with hesitant eyes. Hanae, a travel writer who wore a bright yellow dress and carried a nervous energy just beneath her practiced smile.
No algorithms. No graphs.
Just Ava.
She sat beside them, cross-legged and calm. "What makes you laugh when no one else is around?" she asked.
The audience chuckled softly.
Satoshi hesitated. Then: "My cat... once got stuck inside a vending machine. I still don’t know how."
Laughter rippled across the room.
Ava turned to Hanae. "When’s the last ti soone surprised you?"
"Three months ago," Hanae said, a little shakily. "My niece baked
cookies. They were horrible. But I cried."
And just like that—walls ca down.
They talked. About odd hobbies. About pandemic loneliness. About what they missed and what they hoped for.
They laughed.
They shared.
At one point, Hanae reached for Satoshi’s hand.
The audience leaned forward.
Julian’s screen blinked again.
Flickered.
Then—froze.
The crowd gasped.
The host, with years of live experience behind her, pivoted smoothly. "It appears our AI is having technical difficulties."
Laughter. Then applause.
Julian’s face turned to stone.
Ava didn’t even blink.
She just smiled.
Because across the stage, two people who had never t before were now looking at each other like they didn’t want the mont to end.
Not because a chart said so.
But because it felt right.
The host turned to the cara. "Ladies and gentlen, it seems instinct still has a place in love."
Cheers. Whistles. Even a standing ovation from the second row.
Off-stage, Ryan watched it unfold with the quiet satisfaction of a man who had never doubted her.
Julian stood abruptly. His jaw was tight, his eyes stormy.
Ava stood, too.
Their gazes locked across the glowing studio.
She didn’t smile.
She just bowed her head, the smallest gesture of respect—and victory.
Checkmate.
---
The mont the caras stopped rolling, applause erupted in the studio.
It started as polite—controlled, expected—but then it grew. Louder. Wilder. A few audience mbers even stood, clapping with genuine, wide-eyed enthusiasm. Producers in headsets exchanged frantic looks, trying to keep up as dia feeds and livestream comnts exploded on nearby screens.
One cara captured Julian’s frozen expression. His jaw clenched tight, a cold sheen of sweat on his brow as his AI system flashed red on the tech screens behind him: ERROR: DATA CONNECTION LOST. MATCH COMPATIBILITY INCOMPLETE.
Ava stood just offstage, her pulse still hamring. Her client couple—the ones she’d matched purely through instinct, empathy, and two cups of jasmine tea—were now on cara, laughing together like old friends. One reached for the other’s hand without hesitation.
Real chemistry. Not calculated. Not predicted. Just... human.
Ryan appeared at her side, eyes still sharp with protective tension, but the second he looked at her—really looked at her—his expression softened.
"You crushed it, Matchmaker," he murmured, sliding an arm around her waist.
Ava exhaled, her body finally beginning to co down from the high. "That was... terrifying."
"And you were brilliant."
Behind them, reporters were already shouting.
"Ms. Lee, how does it feel to win against Ashcroft’s AI?"
"Do you believe matchmaking is more art than science?"
"Is this the end for algorithmic romance?"
Julian had vanished. Ethan was nowhere to be seen.
But i?
i was standing directly in front of the caras, holding up a hand-drawn sign that read: MATCHMAKING IS AN ANCIENT ART, NOT A SPREADSHEET.
Harold stood beside her, calmly offering tea samples to confused reporters.
Ryan grinned. "Your family is terrifying."
Ava sighed. "Welco to my life."
---
Back at the venue lounge, Ava’s na was trending across social dia.
#AvaLeeUnplugged. #MatchmakerQueen. #RealLoveWins.
The summit moderators approached her to offer congratulations—and hints of a potential Global Contract Award.
Everything should have felt like a victory.
But it didn’t.
Not entirely.
As Ava moved toward the refreshnt table, she overheard two clients—ones she’d matched earlier in the week—arguing softly.
"I just don’t get it. They said we matched because of data."
"I thought she chose us for a reason, not just filled in so chart."
The words stung sharper than she expected.
Even after winning, Julian’s manipulation lingered. His tampering with match histories, with the digital logs, had cast doubt over matches Ava had genuinely worked for. The clients now questioned the authenticity of sothing she had poured her heart into.
Ryan caught the look on her face.
"What is it?"
Ava swallowed. "He made it personal. It’s not just sabotage—he made my clients think I’m like him. That I lied to them."
Ryan’s jaw ticked.
"I’m going to fix it," Ava said. Not for the points. Not even for the title. "For them."
She looked up, spine straightening.
Ryan took her hand.
"I know you will."
Ryan’s grip on her hand tightened—not in urgency, but in steadiness. A quiet kind of strength. One that tethered her even as her world tilted beneath her heels.
He drew her away from the center of the lounge, away from the press still loitering near the screens, away from the soft hum of celebratory chatter and the clink of champagne glasses. They stepped through a side door that led into a quieter corner of the venue—a dim corridor lined with velvet panels and vintage mirrors, a forgotten hallway that once connected to the hotel’s original banquet wing.
Ava didn’t realize how hard she was clenching her jaw until Ryan reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Hey," he said softly, his voice nothing like the polished sarcasm he used in public. "Look at ."
She did. Slowly. And what she found in his eyes wasn’t pity.
It was fire. And faith.
"I know what that bastard did," Ryan said. "I watched it unfold. I saw him seed doubt, manipulate logs, reroute his own team’s failures onto your na. And I also watched you stand on that stage, no cue cards, no algorithm, and create real magic between two strangers."
His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, catching the tension there.
"He thinks love is data. You make it sothing people can believe in again."
Ava looked away, her throat tightening.
"But what if it’s not enough?" she whispered. "What if that mont of doubt—the idea that I’m like him—sticks with them?"
Ryan tilted her chin back. "Then we keep showing them the truth. Over and over, until that doubt doesn’t stand a chance."
She blinked, breathing slowly.
Ryan leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against hers. "You didn’t just win a challenge tonight, Ava. You reminded a room full of cynics that vulnerability is strength. That awkward is beautiful. That connection can’t be coded."
Ava’s hands curled in the lapels of his jacket, gripping him like a lifeline.
Ryan’s voice dropped lower, more intimate. "Let him play his final card. Let him throw his algorithms and sabotage and fake PR at you."
He cupped her cheek.
"Because I’ve seen what happens when you play your first one. You change people."
Ava didn’t say anything at first.
She just exhaled.
And then she kissed him.
Not for comfort. Not even to feel grounded.
She kissed him like she rembered who she was.
When they finally broke apart, Ava rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
"Still think I should run?" she murmured.
Ryan smirked, kissing the top of her head. "Not unless I get to chase you."
She laughed softly, the ache easing in her chest.
He threaded their fingers together again. "Co on, Matchmaker Queen. Let’s go show them how real love fights back."
And together, hand-in-hand, they walked back into the chaos.
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