Hana Takayama's Perspective
When her parents saw her crossing the threshold of the dining room, the first to speak was her mother.Her tone was soft, almost rehearsed, as if she were reciting a welcome line practiced a thousand times:
"Daughter, I'm glad you woke up early. This way we can have breakfast together… Oh, and you remember we have the charity event tonight, right? We can't be late."
Hana smiled back, measured and respectful."Of course, I remember, Mother. Good morning."
Inside, though, her voice murmured something else.Events before greetings. Standard.
The table was far too long for three people, covered with plates, bowls, and silver cutlery that caught the sunlight filtering through the curtains. Hana sat in her usual seat—the third chair to the right of the head of the table—and began to build her plate.
She chose what she always chose: rice, omelet, tea.And, inevitably, bananas.
Her father always placed them in the center of the table, as if they were indispensable treasures."They're good for the mind, good for energy," he repeated.Hana had never truly understood his devotion to those fruits. Not a single morning passed without them sitting proudly in the middle of the feast, yellowing like trophies. Out of habit, she always took one—whether she wanted it or not—because it was easier than enduring her father's silent, disapproving stare at her untouched plate.
They ate slowly.A silent ritual, broken only by the steady rhythm of cutlery against porcelain.
By the fifth bite, Hana almost believed the day might unfold peacefully. The silence was pleasant, almost comforting—a rare pause in the house's relentless pace.
But inevitably, the subject she dreaded most arrived.
Her father's deep voice cut through the air like a verdict:"Hana, are you playing that new game… Awakening of the Dark Tower?"
Hana never lied to her parents.
She always told the truth, even if it brought her consequences.
They could frown, shower her with cold criticism, or fill the room with sharp reproaches.
But to lie?
That would feel like running away.
And so, she never did. It was her personal rule—an invisible line she refused to cross.
That's why, when she heard her father's question, she didn't hesitate.In fact, she was already lining up the arguments in her head, ready to defend herself.
After all, the feeling she had experienced in the game the night before was something she couldn't give up—not even if it meant enduring those same reproachful stares at every meal.
She needed more.
She needed to go back to the Tower.
Taking a deep breath, she replied with calculated calm, a restrained smile on her face.
"Yes," she said, without looking away. "It's a very healthy and educational game. And most importantly… it can only be played at night, during normal sleeping hours. So it doesn't interfere with the day's routine."
Her words flowed smoothly, sharp as arrows fired in sequence.Each one carried a purpose: dismantling, in advance, the criticisms she knew were coming.
She looked directly at her father, steady, waiting for his counterattack.She could already predict it: he'd remind her that "healthy" wasn't the same as productive, that "educational" was an exaggeration, that nothing compared to the logic and discipline of a proper game of chess or Go. For him, any conversation was an opportunity for an intellectual duel.
Hana straightened her posture, her fork resting on the plate, eyes unblinking. Ready for the verbal storm.
But the response that broke the silence didn't come from him.
The voice that reached her ears was another.Clear. Close. Familiar.
"You don't have to worry too much, little sister," said the soft but firm voice. "This time, Father won't criticize your game. In fact… he might even ask you for tips."
Hana turned, and the sight was almost predictable.
Rya Takayama, her older sister.
Beautiful. Elegant. Perfect.Just as always.
She walked to the table with measured steps, posture straight as though every movement had been rehearsed in front of a mirror. Her outfit screamed sophistication: pale silk that shaped her figure without excess, topped with a flawlessly tailored coat that only someone with access to Tokyo's finest boutiques could wear so naturally. Her heels struck the wooden floor in precise rhythm, as if setting the cadence for the entire room.
Rya's gaze was confident.The kind that didn't ask for space—it claimed it, long before words. Her long black hair was styled in a discreet yet refined way, loose strands framing her fine features and piercing green eyes.
It was striking how everything about her seemed orchestrated to meet—and exceed—their parents' expectations.
And that was the problem.
The only problem Hana had with her sister.
Rya wasn't just the perfect daughter.She was the standard.The ruler by which all comparisons were made.
Every action of hers was in sync with their parents' wishes.Worse, she went beyond—always delivering more than asked, more than expected, more than anyone thought possible. It only raised the bar higher and higher for Hana, turning her own efforts into… insufficient gestures.
And yet, there was no way to hate her.
Rya had never treated her badly. Never humiliated, never belittled, never lifted a finger against her. On the contrary—every gesture of hers seemed infused with genuine affection, like the radiant smile she now offered, warm and soothing, as if dissolving tension before it even formed.
Hana wanted to hate her.She really did.But she simply couldn't.
In the end, their relationship was a painful paradox: a deep love… and an inescapable shadow.
"You may not realize it yet, little sister," Rya said as she pulled out a chair with the same grace she seemed to breathe, "but this little game will probably change the whole world, very soon."
The statement fell like muffled thunder in the room.Hana looked at her parents, but they remained calm, as if they already knew what Rya was talking about.
Rya sat down, crossing her legs effortlessly, as though the space itself molded around her. She brought the teacup to her lips, sipped slowly, and then fixed her green eyes on Hana, a playful glimmer hidden behind her confidence.
"In fact," she added, resting her chin on her delicate fingers, "I came to ask for advice myself. This time, you will be the family's expert."
The silence that followed weighed heavier than any criticism Hana had braced herself for.She blinked, confused, fork still suspended above her plate.The words echoed in her mind, but their meaning slipped away.
The family's expert… me?
It was as if the world had flipped upside down in a single instant.