"Ryo is a talentless child. Compared to Aki, it makes me wonder if he's even my real son."
Although Ryo had forgotten most of his childhood, this one sentence continued to appear in his dreams like a haunting echo.
A vague, towering father figure loomed over him, speaking with disdain.
Ryo's biological father had once been a leading actor in a local theater troupe. Although neither Ryo nor Aki had ever seen him perform, he would recount his glory days on stage under the spotlight as bedtime stories.
"I hope you two can become actors—preferably just as excellent as I was."
He always ended his stories with that line.
Following their father's expectations, the two siblings began theater training at a young age.
"Then, Ryo, let's become the best actors together."
Amid the harsh, day-in and day-out training, the two naturally grew closer. Having a partner to empathize with was a small mercy.
"Which of Shakespeare's four great tragedies do you like best, Ryo?"
They read old scripts once used by their father, filled with handwritten notes. After Ryo had gone through a few, Aki began discussing plays with him.
"I still like Hamlet the most. Why do you like Macbeth? Lady Macbeth isn't nearly as good as Ophelia."
"Even if both characters express love, a girl's romantic longing is more beautiful."
Aki, even in elementary school, had a personality as lively as her appearance. She would smile innocently at Ryo while holding flowers in her hand, twirling in her white dress:
"You should like Hamlet too, Ryo."
"Because if we like the same things, we'll seem more like true siblings."
"I want people to look at us and immediately know we're related."
So Aki and Ryo wore matching pajamas, the same style of slippers, ate the same breakfasts, and walked to school hand in hand with matching backpacks.
Hotaru, often sick, would frequently miss school, so she could only wave from the window as her siblings left.
"Ryo, recite Act III ten more times with more emotion. I'll check back in an hour! No slacking!"
But once home, Ryo would be subjected to his father's "guidance" in the soundproof training room.
There was no denying their father was handsome—even in his late 30s, he had the charm of a dashing actor. But his toxic personality made him like a polished apple rotting from the inside.
When he became violent, his expression would contort grotesquely, resembling a demon.
Ryo struggled with his training, frequently spacing out or losing focus. Whenever his father caught on, he would administer brutal corporal punishment.
Ryo convinced himself, "If I do well enough, maybe things will change."
So he worked desperately, but remained stagnant.
Aki, in contrast, showed immense natural talent.
"Aki is just like me. Her progress is remarkable. At this rate, she's almost on par with a professional actor."
Father often praised her like that.
"Ryo doesn't seem like my child. If he wants to keep up with Aki, he needs to train harder."
Every day, the two were compared and rewarded or punished accordingly.
"Aki will be a famous actress. Ah, my daughter will one day shine brighter than anyone in this city!"
"Ryo! Why are you spacing out again? You've rehearsed Act II so many times, why can't you memorize it yet? Your feet! Your movements—stop standing like a stump! Your eyes! Where are you even looking?!"
Their father, as if with two faces, delighted in this predatory dynamic. He encouraged zero-sum competition between his children and sat atop the pedestal, dishing out praise and punishment.
Their mother dared not oppose him; she merely observed.
"F-Father..."
"Your sister passed the audition. She debuts tomorrow as a professional actress."
Smiling proudly, their father raised a ruler and struck Ryo's right calf.
The pain sent sparks through Ryo's vision.
"Tch. Fathers don't always forgive their children."
He replaced the ruler with a bat, pinned Ryo down with his foot, and continued:
"Don't worry. I won't damage your face. But learning requires pain."
Bang!
A sharp, burning pain exploded in Ryo's back.
His thoughts went blank. He hallucinated, felt something warm trickle. Screams echoed, maybe his own.
He was kicked in the stomach and rolled meters across the floor until he hit a wall.
Couldn't breathe. Pain throbbed in every organ.
How long did this last?
After what felt like eternity, their father calmly fetched medical supplies and treated Ryo's wounds with surprising gentleness.
"You're a good kid, Ryo. You worked hard."
Like praising a child for good grades.
"Ryo...?"
Still dressed in her stage costume, Aki stepped in.
"This is the punishment for failure."
"If you can't join the troupe and earn money, why should I support you?"
Turning to Aki, he asked:
"Does seeing your brother like this hurt?"
"Ah... um..."
Aki mumbled, too young to comprehend the situation.
"Then remember this feeling! When you perform Ophelia seeing Hamlet go mad, recall this exact emotion!"
Their father roared like a madman. He then pulled the dazed Ryo to his feet.
"You've never won against Aki. Why haven't you improved? Don't you share the same blood? Don't you both bear the name Kitagawa?!"
For the next six months, Aki rose as a child star, even headlining a main-stage play.
Each of her successes marked another step in Ryo's descent.
After failing several auditions, their father gave up on him.
As Aki's fame grew, the Kitagawa family moved into a grand home. Father bought luxury cars, mother wore fine jewelry.
Visitors flocked to the house. Ryo and Hotaru, now sidelined, became glorified doormen.
"Thank you! We appreciate your interest in the Kitagawa family. For collaborations, please call the number on this card."
Some guests asked about Ryo, knowing the siblings once trained together.
If the sister was a prodigy, surely the brother had potential?
Ryo tried his best in auditions, but due to his lineage, expectations were absurdly high.
Even when he performed well, his efforts were dismissed as mediocre.
Maybe if he worked ten more years, he could catch up to Aki's current level. But by then, she would have advanced even further.
Doing the same thing as a ten-year-old versus a twenty-year-old? Not the same.
From that point, Ryo was trapped in the shadow of the "prodigy."
He looked up and saw only Aki's distant silhouette.
He naturally idolized his sister, chasing her in vain.
Young and naive, he pushed forward simply to surpass her. Maybe, initially, it was just to gain recognition.
But as time went on, he forgot the original reason.
"I want to surpass her. Catch up to her."
Then what?
He didn't know.
So why set that goal?
Maybe because deep down, he already knew—
He would never surpass her.
Walking someone else's path, even if you catch up, you can never truly overtake them.
Because when they stop, you'll stop too.
Following in their footsteps becomes a twisted comfort zone.
Eventually, you forget how to walk on your own.
It wasn't until Aki took her own life on stage that Ryo finally understood all of this.
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As the city's most famous child star, Aki's signature role was Ophelia from "Hamlet." Every audience member who had seen her performance would marvel at her portrayal of death. The image of her drowning in a river of flowers always left a lasting impression.
So when she truly swallowed poison and lay there without moving for a long time, most of the audience simply believed it was part of the act.
"Hey, Ryo, where did my Aki go?"
Ever since Aki's death, their father had become increasingly unhinged. He spent his days and nights drinking at home or squandering money at gambling dens.
"Where did that child go? My pride, my masterpiece, my life's work—where did she go?"
He drank heavily, letting the alcohol spill down his lips and onto the floor. He seemed to have aged overnight, his face now etched with deep wrinkles. Gone was the suave, refined man he once appeared to be. Though only in his early forties, he now resembled a dying old man, awaiting the end.
"Father..."
Ryo quietly spoke up while cleaning the vomit and trash from the floor.
Their mother and Hotaru hid inside the bedroom, too afraid to come out.
At the sound of Ryo's voice, his father irritably flung an empty bottle to the ground. Thanks to the carpet, the bottle rolled a few times and then disappeared under the sofa.
"Ah, why couldn't it have been you instead of Aki? Why couldn't you have died in her place?"
"Hey, Ryo, do you even realize how terrible your acting is compared to your sister's? It's unbearable."
"I knew it from the beginning. That's why, during your childhood training, you were only ever good enough to be her supporting role. Ha, a supporting role."
Their father would hurl insults at Ryo while reminiscing about the days when Aki was still alive—the peak of the Kitagawa family's fame, and the height of his own prestige.
"Sob... It was my guidance that made her who she was."
"Why? Why, why, why, why, why?!"
Drunk and disoriented, he would cry and laugh, going on until he finally collapsed into a deep sleep, snoring thunderously.
Two months later, in the midst of a heavy snowfall, their mother left the Kitagawa household.
Less than two years after that, their father disappeared without a trace, abandoning both Ryo and Hotaru.
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"Oh, I remember now, it was that old grandpa with the long beard, right? I recall he used to come to our house a lot."
At the hospital bedside, Ryo was carefully peeling an apple for Hotaru, while she clapped her hands, finally recalling the memory.
"But that was a long time ago... back when onee-chan was still around."
As soon as she said it, Hotaru suddenly realized she might have touched on a sensitive topic. She quickly covered her mouth and glanced at her brother, worried.
"Yeah, it really was a long time ago. Here, eat."
Ryo didn't show any noticeable change in expression. He handed over the neatly peeled apple to Hotaru, then casually tossed the apple peel into his mouth and began chewing. Fruit wasn't exactly cheap, after all.
"Oh."
Like a little hamster, Hotaru nibbled at the apple in small bites while sneaking glances at Ryo's profile.
"The past is already in the past, onii-chan. You don't have to hold onto it."
Hearing his younger sister, who was two years younger than him, speak in such a mature tone, Ryo couldn't help but chuckle and shake his head.
Of course he knew that Hotaru feared he might blame himself for the family's downfall. After all, if Ryo had been as talented as Aki, maybe the Kitagawa family wouldn't have ended up with just the two of them living in the corner of this city.
"Actually, I did try to follow in her footsteps at first... to continue walking the path of theater."
"But I later realized that it wasn't going to work. Everyone has their own path."
"Except for the absolute geniuses at the top and the hopeless fools at the bottom, most people fall somewhere in the middle."
"It might sound like an excuse, but being able to accept and recognize yourself is more important."
Ryo shared his thoughts with his sister.
"Besides, maybe I like chess more than theater."
"Chess?" Hotaru tilted her head adorably.
"Is that the one where the cannon jumps over the horse?"
"I know how to play that! But only the version where all the pieces are flipped over and you take turns revealing them one by one."
"That's Chinese chess... and the version you're talking about is 'Banqi'... never mind, as long as you're having fun."
Ryo tried explaining a bit, watching his sister struggle to follow.
"Chess is the one with black and white squares, and pieces like kings, queens, and knights."
"Still don't get it."
Hotaru shook her head without hesitation. She knew very well where her own intellectual limits lay.
She only knew how to play Banqi for Chinese chess, Gomoku for Go, and her best game was probably Ludo.
Hotaru always believed she had great luck.
"Onii-chan, you eat some too."
She handed over the half-eaten apple to Ryo, watching contentedly as he took a bite.
"You should eat more, get enough nutrition so you can leave the hospital sooner."
Ryo took just one bite and gave the apple back.
"My body's fine. I could be discharged soon too."
Hotaru pumped her tiny fist.
"I can run a thousand meters and jump two meters high!"
"Then you're not Hotaru anymore, you're Superman."
Ryo laughed and shook his head.
The afternoon sun was warm, and a quiet peace settled deep in his heart.
This... this was his own path.
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