After that incident, Mio's trust in Hana evolved into blind devotion.

When Hana said east, Mio wouldn't dream of going west. When Hana declared a dress flattering, Mio wore it with joy. When Hana proclaimed a patisserie's offerings superior, Mio would anticipate the visit all day.


This belated "sisterly bond"—arriving sixteen years too late—Mio treasured with desperate intensity, yet approached with painful humility.

The garden sunlight was perfect for afternoon tea. Delicate bone china gleamed beside fragrant Earl Grey and towering pastries flown in from France that very morning.

"More tea, sisters?" Mio carefully refilled our cups, her movements betraying an awkward eagerness to please.


I lifted my cup silently while Hana bestowed an approving smile.

"Mio is so attentive," she murmured. "You're becoming more like a proper Ryuuji lady every day."


At this praise, Mio's face flushed with shy pleasure.

Hana's gaze wandered with calculated casualness toward the nearby glass greenhouse. Inside, several orchids bloomed like something from a dream—rare specimens Mother had spent a fortune to source from deep within the Amazon rainforest. Called "Moon Goddess," each petal was delicate as a cicada's wing, gleaming with an ethereal golden luminescence in the sunlight.

"How exquisite..." Hana sighed with convincing sincerity, setting down her cup and taking Mio's hand. "Come, let's get a closer look."

Mio allowed herself to be led, rising obediently to follow.

"Look, Mio," Hana indicated the most stunning bloom. "Isn't that color like captured moonlight? If we picked one for your hair, it would outshine any diamond."

"Pick... one of these?" Mio recoiled instinctively. "But... they look incredibly valuable. Mother would..."

"What about Mother?" Hana cut her off with indulgent affection that allowed no debate. "Mother adores you. Remember what she said? All your past suffering will be doubly compensated. If you asked for stars from the sky—let alone a mere flower—Mother and Father would find a way to deliver them."

She cradled Mio's face between her palms, gazing into her eyes with manufactured earnestness.

"Mio, you must remember that you are the rightful daughter of this house. Stop behaving like a timid outsider. Show the confidence befitting a Ryuuji, won't you?"

These words worked like a potent elixir. The fear and uncertainty in Mio's eyes gradually yielded to a fragile, artificially induced confidence.

"...I understand... Sister."

She inhaled deeply, as though steeling herself for some momentous act, and with trembling fingers, plucked the "Moon Goddess" bloom.

"Miss! What... what are you doing?!"

A horrified cry came from behind us. Mrs. Zhang, the elderly housekeeper, stood frozen with a plate of freshly cut fruit. She stared at the flower in Mio's hand as though witnessing sacrilege.

"That—that is Madam's prized 'Moon Goddess'! She tends it personally every day and values it above all else!"

Mio trembled at the outburst, her newfound confidence evaporating instantly. She turned to Hana with a look of helpless panic.

Hana immediately stepped in front of Mio, addressing Mrs. Zhang with practiced indignation:

"Mrs. Zhang, why are you shouting? You're frightening Mio."

"But Miss, this orchid..."

"It's just a flower—what's the fuss?" Hana cut her off righteously. "Mother loves Mio deeply. Would she truly care about a mere plant? My sister's happiness matters more than anything, doesn't it?"

She took the orchid from Mio's trembling fingers, tucked it gently into her hair, and smiled reassuringly. "See how lovely. Don't worry—I'm here. Mother won't be angry."

Bolstered by Hana's commanding presence and apparent protection, Mio seemed to regain her footing. She straightened her spine and addressed Mrs. Zhang in a quiet but resolute voice: "...Yes, Mother... surely won't mind."

Mrs. Zhang stared at us, mouth opening then closing, before finally releasing a long-suffering sigh and walking away, head shaking in resignation.

I stood by the window, lowering my phone. On the screen, a five-minute video had just completed recording.

When Mother spotted the orchid in Mio's hair, her smile froze momentarily.

"...How lovely." Mother approached and delicately touched the fragile petals. She regarded Mio with a carefully neutral expression. "It suits you. It's fine—consider this... part of our compensation to you."

Mio missed the coldness beneath those words. She naively believed she'd been forgiven and happily embraced Mother's arm: "Thank you, Mother! I knew you were the most generous!"

Mother's body stiffened momentarily.

I caught Hana's expression—a cold, triumphant smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

After that success, Hana's audacity visibly increased. She seemed determined to transform Mio fully into the "problem child."

Several evenings later, after dinner, Hana drew Mio aside with conspiratorial air: "Mio, you've never been to a club, have you? A friend's celebrating their birthday at one tonight. I'll take you—it'll be amazing!"

"A c-club?" Mio's face drained of color as she shook her head frantically. "No, no, Sister Hana... that sort of place... I couldn't possibly..."

"Oh, don't be such a baby. What's there to fear? I'll be right beside you."

"I really can't... I'm sorry, Sister..." Mio's voice quavered, nearly breaking.

Hana studied her for several seconds, visibly displeased, before quickly donning her understanding mask again: "Fine, fine. If you're that frightened, we'll forget it. Pity—I'd hoped to introduce you to some new friends. You should get some sleep, then."

With that, she departed alone, dressed in clubwear.

That night, Hana didn't return.

Our parents were roused by the butler in the small hours, and upon hearing the news, fell into frantic worry. They called repeatedly, but received no answer. The atmosphere in the living room grew so oppressive it seemed to thicken the air.

Mio stood on the stairs in her pajamas, barefoot, her face a mask of fear and guilt. She sobbed to Mother: "It's all my fault... Sister invited me along, but I was too scared... What if she went somewhere dangerous because she was angry with me..."

"Stop that crying! What good does this do now?" Father snapped irritably.

Just then, the doorbell chimed.

The butler opened the door, and everyone froze.

Hana stood in the doorway, her hair in disarray, her expensive dress torn, tears streaking her makeup. A man's jacket—clearly not her own—hung from her shoulders. Behind her stood two stern-faced police officers and a stranger.