They clustered around Hana—the picture of righteous indignation—lavishing praise on her kindness and bravery. Meanwhile, Mio—the actual victim—stood forgotten at the periphery, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.

I leaned against the doorframe, watching this masterful one-woman performance with cold detachment.


That day, I accompanied Hana's crusade to confront the alleged bullies. She struck a heroic pose: "This is my sister. Stop harassing her, or you'll answer to me!"

The boys facing us looked oddly familiar. I studied them briefly before recognition clicked into place.

These were the same delinquents who had confronted me after school weeks ago!


They'd even hurled phrases like "who do you think you are" at me for no apparent reason.

Back then, Hana had also suggested I was being bullied. Our parents had concluded it must be due to my "difficult personality"—why else would someone target only me and not others? Clearly, I had provoked them somehow and needed to moderate my behavior.


Watching this familiar script unfold again, understanding dawned. Observing Hana's sanctimonious performance, I couldn't help but find it darkly amusing.

I chose not to expose Hana's charade. I wanted to see precisely what game she was playing.

From that day forward, Hana appointed herself Mio's protector.

She became Mio's devoted guardian, never leaving her side. During breaks, she'd link arms with Mio as they paraded down hallways; at lunch, she'd usher Mio into her glittering circle of privileged friends.

The troublemakers mysteriously vanished from the scene.

Day by day, Mio's gaze toward Hana grew more worshipful and dependent. She looked at her as one might regard a savior.

Meanwhile, I spent a single afternoon in the student council archives and found exactly what I sought. The ringleader who had pushed Mio down was Saeki—a student from the adjacent class and, notably, Hana's most ardent admirer.

Everything aligned perfectly with my suspicions.

I studied Saeki's profile on my phone, my fingers absently brushing the hair at my temple where a long-faded scar remained hidden.

I was ten; Hana was eight. We were playing hide-and-seek on the garden's stone terrace when she shoved me violently from behind to reach the "safe zone" first. My forehead struck a jagged rock, and blood cascaded down my face.

She was terrified—not because I was injured, but because she faced consequences. By the time the servants reached me, she was already on the ground, wailing more dramatically than I was.

"Sister... I'm so sorry... I didn't mean it... I was just playing..."

When our parents arrived, they found me bloodied and stoic, while Hana trembled with perfectly timed tears.

"Tsukiyo! What kind of elder sister are you? Can't you learn to yield to your younger sister occasionally?" Father's rebuke fell on me like a hammer.

"She pushed me," I stated flatly.

"Sister, please don't be mad, I really didn't mean to..." Hana's sobs intensified on cue.

"Enough!" Mother silenced me. "Look how terrified Hana is! What more do you want? The elder should always yield to the younger—can't you grasp such a simple concept?"

The incident concluded with my punishment—confinement to my room—while Hana received limited-edition chocolates as "emotional compensation." Only Grandfather acknowledged the injustice, sighing as he stroked my hair: "Our Tsukiyo has been wronged."

From that day forward, I understood the family's true dynamic: truth was irrelevant; tears and likability were the only currency that mattered.

That evening, I knocked on Mio's door.

She sat at her desk, reverently cradling an elegantly packaged box of macarons—Hana's gift from earlier that day.

"Sister Tsukiyo." She rose quickly at my entrance, clearly startled by the unexpected visit.

"How's your wrist?" I asked.

"Much better! Sister Hana applied this special ointment, and it barely hurts now." Her face shone with gratitude.

I pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down, meeting her gaze directly as I stated a simple fact:

"The boy who pushed you down yesterday is named Saeki. He's one of Hana's admirers."

All color drained from Mio's face. Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged.

"She orchestrated the entire incident," I concluded.

"No... that's impossible..." She finally managed, shaking her head frantically. "Sister Hana has been so good to me... she has no reason to do something like that..."

"Is that so?" I rose from my chair. "Then are you brave enough to accompany me somewhere right now?"

Thirty minutes later, in a shadowy alley behind the school gates, Mio covered her mouth in horror as she witnessed the scene unfolding before us.

Hana leaned casually against the wall, Saeki and his cronies orbiting her like satellites.

"So, has that transfer student been hassled lately?" Saeki asked eagerly. "I've ordered my guys to keep their distance, just like you wanted."

"Hmm, good work," Hana's tone carried patronizing approval. "Just remember—don't actually harm her again, just frighten her a bit. She is technically my sister, and if anything serious happened, I'd have some explaining to do at home."

"Got it, got it! Wouldn't dream of it!"

Mio swayed dangerously, her knees buckling. I steadied her and guided her silently away.

Surely now, I thought, she must see the truth.

Later that night, however, I encountered Mio in the hallway outside the kitchen. She clutched a carton of milk—her nightly ritual.

When she spotted me, she froze, her expression a tangle of emotions.

"What's on your mind?" I asked.

She remained silent for so long I thought she might never speak.

"Sister Tsukiyo," she finally whispered, "about what we saw today... could it be a misunderstanding?"

I regarded her silently.

"Sister Hana... perhaps she truly was protecting me by speaking with those boys. As she said, if she hadn't controlled them, they might have continued bullying me..." Her voice grew fainter with each word, as though trying to convince herself.

"Besides," she lifted her gaze, confusion and desperate sincerity warring in her eyes, "she's been nothing but kind to me. She buys me treats, takes me places, teaches me things... Growing up, no one... no one has ever shown me such kindness."

In that moment, my heart sank with a profound sadness.

So this was what happened when someone endured a decade of neglect and cruelty—their threshold for "kindness" became pathetically low. A few sweets, some pleasant words, a handful of material comforts—these were sufficient to blind her to the difference between truth and manipulation.

Hana, you truly understand the human heart.

I felt my lips twist into what might generously be called a "smile."

"Is that so? Then perhaps I've misunderstood."

With that, I broke eye contact and walked past her.

No matter. I could wait.

I would wait for Hana to personally grind that pitiful measure of trust she'd cultivated into dust.