Yoriichi was gone.
After saying farewell to his siblings, he simply left.
The sudden news shattered all of Yuko's original plans.
She had planned to lie low until Yoriichi turned ten and then leave the household together with him. In a feudal aristocratic family, the future of a woman was obvious without needing any explanation.
Unfortunately, things didn't go her way.
That day, while Yuko and Michikatsu were helping sort through their mother's belongings, they discovered the diary she had written.
As expected, Yoriichi had realized he would be chosen as the successor and chose to leave early.
He also seemed to have foreseen their mother's illness and death, supporting the left half of her body when she could no longer control it.
Michikatsu gripped the diary so tightly that the paper wrinkled, veins bulging on the back of his hands.
He bowed his head as if he couldn't breathe, overcome with resentment and jealousy.
"Please… don't live in this world. Someone like you should never have been born."
He had always believed Yoriichi was just a timid boy who clung to their mother. Only now did Michikatsu finally realize that not only was he inferior in strength—he was utterly defeated in character as well.
Especially Yoriichi's departure, which felt almost like charity… it nearly drowned him in jealousy and humiliation.
Kneeling nearby, Yuko had also read the diary and sank into guilt, completely unaware of how distorted Michikatsu's heart had become.
How shameful.
Her soul belonged to an adult, yet she failed to notice how gravely ill Akeno—her mother—had been.
Even without the Transparent World, an adult's awareness should have sensed something.
She had known her mother was weak, but she never imagined it was so serious.
How shameful.
…
In her written farewell to their father, their mother begged him not to separate the children, to treat them equally, and to allow them to grow up healthy.
Their father, being a superstitious man, had once told Yoriichi when he was only two:
"You are an unblessed child,"
"You should not have been born,"
"You are ill-omened,"
"You will bring disaster to the Tsugikuni family."
Because of this, Yoriichi had always kept himself subdued, never speaking to anyone, trying to make his presence as small as possible.
Only in front of his mother, brother, and sister would he occasionally show a childlike smile.
But their father had loved Akeno—deeply. After reading her final words, he seemed to realize the sins he had committed.
He sent people to search for Yoriichi, even dispatched men to the temple. But not a single trace of him was found.
When the search failed, he eventually gave up.
Upon hearing this, Michikatsu let out a breath of relief from the bottom of his heart.
Whether he met bandits or was eaten by a bear—it didn't matter. As long as he disappeared.
After that, life in the Tsugikuni household seemed both unchanged and yet entirely different.
Michikatsu trained daily under his father's retainers, preparing to one day inherit the family.
Yuko's situation, however, was far less hopeful.
Girls in feudal aristocratic families were pitiful creatures—no freedom, destined to be used as tools for political marriage.
To avoid such a future, Yuko also wanted to follow Yoriichi's example and leave home.
But she was only six. Unskilled, untrained. A girl leaving home alone would only meet death.
So she went to Michikatsu.
"Brother, may I ask you to teach me swordsmanship?"
Michikatsu stood alone in the courtyard, swinging a wooden sword.
Yuko chose the timing carefully. If anyone else had been present, they would have reported it to their father.
A girl holding a sword? Unthinkable.
"Why should a girl learn swordsmanship? Just learn music, etiquette, calligraphy—whatever. You only need to marry once you're grown."
Michikatsu spoke with the deeply rooted mindset of a feudal man, unsurprising yet infuriating.
Yuko nearly snapped and posted him on some fictional social media out of sheer rage.
Just you wait, she thought. You'll get cancelled one day.
Even after she seriously tried talking to him, all she got was empty responses and indifference.
That's when Yuko fully understood—his mind had already been shackled by the twisted values of their society. He couldn't understand her at all.
She had believed that with her adult knowledge and life experience, correcting the mindset of a child would be easy.
Reality slapped her hard.
Children listen to adults not because adults are right, but simply because they are adults.
Michikatsu, shaped by a rigid worldview of hierarchy and obedience, could not hear a word she said.
Thus, Yuko stopped seeking his help. During the day she studied music, tea, and embroidery under her father's hired teachers.
But at night, in her room, she swung a wooden sword she'd stolen from Michikatsu.
She had no idea what she was doing, but doing something was better than doing nothing.
She also sometimes secretly watched Michikatsu's training sessions. So overall, her progress wasn't nonexistent.
To survive outside, she needed strength—especially as a girl.
If she didn't try, she would end up like the poor heroines she had seen in those pink-colored romance apps: devoured by society.
In this feudal world, people eating people could be worse than demons eating humans.
Time passed bit by bit. More than ten years went by in the blink of an eye.
Michikatsu and Yuko both grew taller, and even began to look extremely similar.
Though Yuko was born later, she inherited the same facial features as her brothers—only her body was smaller, her face softer, more feminine.
Her wine-red hair attracted countless gazes, nearly grinding down the threshold of the Tsugikuni household with the number of visitors.
After Michikatsu inherited the family, married, and had children, their father—who had always carried unresolved guilt—died early at thirty.
That day, while Yuko was practicing music with her teacher, she was summoned by one of Michikatsu's retainers.
With a heavy heart, she went to see him.
"What is it, brother?" she asked quietly.
Over the course of the past ten years, the bond between them had faded, just like the rigid hierarchy ingrained in Michikatsu's mind.
"The General has sent a betrothal gift…"
Just that one sentence chilled Yuko to the core.
She didn't even wait for the second sentence before cutting him off:
"I understand."
"If there's nothing else, I'll be returning."
She turned around before he could continue.
At eighteen, Yuko was considered an old, unmarried woman in that era. She had rejected countless suitors.
But now, the son of a General himself had proposed a marriage alliance.
She no longer had the right to refuse.
Feudal society was a nightmare.
Yuko passed by the kitchen, snatched some food, returned to her room, and began packing. She planned to escape under the moonlight that very night.
She pulled out a samurai blade wrapped in cloth—a weapon she had previously stolen—and packed several travel-friendly outfits.
Just as she finished preparing, her gaze fell on the flute tucked away in the corner.
Michikatsu had given it to her when they were children. Or perhaps, while carving a gift for his younger brother, he thought of his sister and made one for her as well.
After his heart grew more twisted, she had thrown it aside.
After hesitating, she cleaned it and put it into her bag.
Everything was ready.
Night deepened.
Tsugikuni Yuko took her bag, tied the samurai sword at her waist, and slid the door open.
Good.
No patrols around.
But as she reached the back gate, a figure stood motionless under the moonlight—leaning against the doorway.
…Seriously?
Do you not sleep at night?!
Yuko drew in a sharp breath and, before Michikatsu noticed, tried to quietly back away under the dim moonlight.
"Yuko."
Michikatsu's calm voice cut through the silence.
She froze. Escape was impossible now.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the shadows.
"You stationed people to watch me?"
"Did you really think I wouldn't know you stole a real sword?"
Yuko: "…"
She had underestimated him.
Her eyes chilled. She gripped the hilt at her waist and said coldly:
"Move. I won't let myself be manipulated like Yoriichi."
It had been more than ten years since that name was spoken. Michikatsu stiffened for a moment.
The memory of his brother shattering his pride felt as fresh as yesterday.
He slowly drew the long sword at his waist.
"Then let's see," he said grimly, "what you've managed to learn sneaking around all these years."
Unlike their childhood days of swinging wooden swords, Michikatsu—after years of rigorous training and his own talent—had become a warrior surpassing even their father.
Yuko took a deep breath, knowing this battle couldn't be avoided.
She slowly drew her blade.