Two days later.

The hospital confirmed that Yukiko Tanaka's account had received an "anonymous donation" covering all treatment costs through recovery. Her critical surgery was scheduled for the following week.


When Tanaka received this news from the hospital, he remained silent for a full minute before breaking down in tears like a child.

The moment had arrived.

I remained behind the scenes, deploying an experienced private investigator in my place.


That evening, in the hospital's designated smoking area, the investigator approached Tanaka, who stood smoking distractedly.

"Mr. Tanaka, congratulations." The investigator dispensed with pleasantries.


"Who the hell are you?" Tanaka eyed him warily.

"My identity is irrelevant." The investigator smiled thinly. "What matters is that your problem has been resolved, hasn't it? Your sister's substantial medical bills are no longer a concern."

Tanaka's expression shifted instantly: "It was you? Who are you really? What do you want?"

"As I said, who I am doesn't matter. Just know that a certain benefactor sympathizes deeply with your sister's plight. This person can continue funding her treatment indefinitely. They can even locate the most compatible kidney donor worldwide."

Tanaka's breathing quickened, his eyes reflecting a volatile mixture of desperate hope and suspicion.

"And the catch?" He wasn't naive. "What do you want from me?"

"It's simple." The investigator raised a single finger. "My employer doesn't want your money or your life. Just one small item: an audio recording you wisely backed up. The original version—unedited."

The blood drained from Tanaka's face.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he denied reflexively.

"Is that so?" The investigator shrugged with calculated indifference. "Very well. I'll inform my employer their generosity was misplaced. The funding will be discontinued tomorrow. After all, countless others need help—why focus on someone so... unappreciative?"

With that, he turned to leave.

"Wait!" Tanaka lunged forward in panic, clutching the investigator's sleeve. "I'll give it to you! I'll give you everything! Please—don't stop my sister's treatment!"

His resistance collapsed entirely when faced with his sister's survival.

That night, an audio file arrived in my inbox.

I played it for Mio.

Hana's voice—crisp, cold, and unmistakably authentic—filled the room:

"...It's straightforward. You burst in at the arranged time, create a scene, then produce this recorder I've given you and claim Mio orchestrated everything..."

"...Once it's done, this payment is yours. Don't worry about my sister—she's an absolute fool. She's no match for me..."

The recording was brief—barely a minute long.

When it ended, the room fell into profound silence.

Mio trembled slightly—not from fear, but from pure, undiluted rage.

"So it was all her..." Perhaps some part of Mio had still doubted Hana's capacity for such cruelty, but hearing the evidence, her pain was palpable. "Why? I truly believed she cared about me!"

I gently touched her head: "Your very existence threatened her. She's pathologically selfish—she needs to monopolize all affection. She couldn't bear to share even a fraction of our parents' love."

"Patience," I cautioned softly. "It's not yet time for their reckoning. Our strategy requires one more crucial element."

I gazed out the window at the frost-like moonlight.

"It's time to approach our friend whose love has turned to hatred—Saeki."

"Here's the footage we captured of Hana's exchange with Tanaka."

In my room, I imported the video into professional editing software while Mio watched anxiously over my shoulder.

"The raw footage lacks sufficient impact. We need to extract frames that will most effectively wound male pride." I explained, working efficiently through the timeline.

I selected several key moments, capturing them as high-resolution stills:

One showed Hana passing the thick envelope to Tanaka, but from an angle suggesting intimate exchange, like lovers sharing a secret note.
Another captured Tanaka leaning toward Hana, his face close to hers as he lit a cigarette, while she turned away—perfectly resembling a rebuffed romantic advance.
A third showed them standing close together in the shadowy factory, the poor lighting creating an unmistakably intimate atmosphere.

"But... will Saeki believe this?" Mio asked doubtfully. "He's completely infatuated with her."

"It's precisely because he worships her that he'll believe it," I replied, closing the software with finality. "A man like Saeki—who fancies himself her devoted champion—finds nothing more intolerable than his goddess's impurity. He can accept her rejection of him, but never her involvement with someone he considers beneath them both—especially someone he despises."

I located Saeki's contact information and, using an untraceable number, sent the photos with a simple message:

"You think you're special to her? Look closer. Behind your back, she's meeting with men like this. You're just another puppet on her string."

Message sent.

The bait was cast.

The following day at school, I immediately detected an unusual tension permeating the air.

Throughout the corridors, clusters of students huddled together, exchanging whispers with expressions of scandalized excitement. When Hana passed, conversations abruptly ceased, replaced by transparent attempts at casual discussion.

Hana's composure remained impeccable. Like a regal swan, she glided past with her gaze fixed forward, affecting obliviousness. But I noticed her white-knuckled grip on her bag strap—the only visible crack in her perfect façade.

Exactly as anticipated.

During lunch, Mio rushed to me, her phone clutched in her hand, her expression a mixture of shock and vindication.

"Sister, look at the school forum!"

I took her phone. Pinned at the top of the school's internal forum was a highlighted post with a provocative title:

【EXPOSED: The Real Face of Our School's Princess, Hana Ryuuji】

I opened it. The author remained anonymous.

The post, written in a tone of wounded adoration, chronicled a "knight's betrayal by his princess."

"...I believed she was an angel descended to earth—pure and virtuous. I would have done anything for her. When she asked me to 'teach a lesson' to that new transfer student who threatened her position, I complied without question, despite my misgivings..."

"...I believed she recognized my devotion. I thought I held some special place in her heart. Yesterday, I discovered I was merely another tool—summoned when useful, discarded when not..."

"...While accepting my protection, she was secretly meeting with unsavory characters off campus. I was blind to believe her performance. Her kindness was calculated, her goodness merely a weapon to manipulate others..."

The post concluded with the very photos I had sent to Saeki.

The forum had erupted into chaos.