The sky dimmed.

“Shizuku, what do you want for dinner?” Yukieda called from the kitchen.

“Whatever.”

In the living room, Shizuku sat lazily before the TV in a simple shirt. An anime played on screen. She cradled a bag of potato chips, hair tousled, bursting into laughter now and then.

Yukieda noticed Shizuku had likely snacked plenty—she wouldn’t be very hungry. So she’d cooked lightly. And she was right.

After setting the table, Shizuku’s gaze lingered a moment on Yukieda’s uniform, then subtly shifted away.

Yukieda realized her daughter wasn’t quiet by nature—just with someone named Mikami Makoto.

At meals, Shizuku rarely spoke to her. At most, after finishing: “I’m full.”

But now, perhaps because Yukieda felt like a peer, Shizuku opened up freely—sharing thoughts, listening to Yukieda’s school stories.

Naturally, talk turned to Mari, the Take trio, even the teacher’s receding hairline.

“Hey, Shizuku,” Yukieda said gently, “how about going back to school? I’ll go with you.”

Shizuku fell silent.

Moments ago, her face held a lively smile. Now—only cold distance.

Yukieda knew: unless she spoke plainly, Shizuku wouldn’t.

“I know why you won’t go to the academy, Shizuku.” Yukieda’s face grew stern.

Her features were cute, yet when serious, an elder’s quiet authority radiated—making Shizuku instinctively want to lower her head.

Strange.

Being lectured by someone who looked younger was awkward… even if Yukieda was technically her older sister.

Shizuku feigned indifference.

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because someone’s been harassing you… and insulting Makoto.”

Shizuku paused, piecing it together. “Did Mari tell you?”

“Mm.”

*Classmate Mari…* Shizuku tilted her head. Their interactions were few—Mari seemed shy, insecure. But why? Shizuku never knew.

“I can’t stand it.”

“Honestly,” Shizuku continued softly, “my relationship with Father wasn’t great. He controlled everything. Sometimes his love felt like a burden. But I couldn’t argue—because I knew he loved me. That hurt most. So we barely talked.”

“If I said too much, he’d launch into a lecture. That’s why I avoided him.”

Yukieda listened, heart tightening. *Have I really been that overbearing?*

“But… whenever I asked for something, he’d grumble—but always gave in.”

“Back then, I took it for granted. His reminders annoyed me.”

“Then Father died. We’d argued just days before.”

Shizuku looked down with a bitter smirk. “Now no one tells me to sleep early. No one stops me from eating chips.”

“I’m free… but not the freedom I wanted.”

Yukieda’s eyes glistened. Carefully: “Then why skip the academy? You know what Makoto… hoped for…”

“Because *that person*,” Shizuku said coldly, “the moment I step on campus, they pull out Makoto’s photo to humiliate me—like desecrating his memory. Next day, everyone gathers to comfort me, cursing the anonymous troll. But I’d rather they pretend nothing happened… than keep dragging it up.”

“I just… want my father to have dignity in death.”

Yukieda’s expression crumpled.

Scrape!

She shot up—the chair scraped backward, startling Shizuku.

“I get it. If I catch the culprit, you’ll go back to class, right?”

—

*So… what do I do?*

Apron still tied, Yukieda scrubbed an already gleaming plate, anxiety coiling inside.

*An anonymous online troll?*

She had no idea how to find someone hiding behind screens. She’d heard terms like “doxxing,” but knew nothing of the how.

*My daughter’s skipping school… because of me.* Guilt sharpened.

*I’ll find them myself. And make them pay.*

*How dare they hurt Shizuku like this?*

*Unforgivable.*

Her grip tightened—the plate creaked. Golden eyes darkened. *Crack!*—shattered.

“Are you okay?!”

Footsteps. Shizuku appeared at the kitchen door, slender frame silhouetted, worry in her eyes.

“I’m fine. Sorry—I broke a plate.”

Yukieda crouched, carefully gathering shards, long hair brushing the floor.

“Don’t cut yourself! I’ll get the broom!”

*My daughter is so gentle…* Yukieda watched her rush off, heart aching. *Yet she bears this pain.*

She pulled out her terminal, thumb hovering over “Doraemon.”

*Beep… beep…*

A woman’s heavy breathing faintly echoed.

“Good evening, Mr. Kenji!”

A hoarse voice: “Ah, Yukieda. What is it?”

Yukieda explained plainly. With him, she held nothing back.

He didn’t refuse. “Someone will contact you soon.”

Straightforward. Reliable.

*He said “soon”—so within days.*

“Kenji-sama~ Calling this late… with a young lady?” A sultry female voice purred.

Yukieda’s cheeks flushed.

“Just a subordinate. Today, I love only you, my dear.”

“Goodbye, Yukieda.”

A high-pitched squeal cut off the line.

Yukieda tucked hair behind her ear, relief settling. *Mr. Kenji… always dependable.*

She looked up—Shizuku stood there with broom and dustpan.

“It’s not what you think.”

Shizuku said nothing, but her skeptical glance said everything.

Later, Yukieda soaked in the tub—hair messy, faint cooking smells clinging. Lately, cleanliness felt obsessive. A change since… the transformation. Why? She didn’t know.

Rustling outside the door.

“Shizuku?”

“It’s me. I’m coming in.”

“Wait! You can’t—!”

The door slid open, then shut fast against the steam.

“Why not?”

Shizuku stood in only slippers, slender form veiled by mist. Yukieda whipped her head to the wall.

“B-Because I’m your… older sister.”

“Eh?” Shizuku blinked. *Since when can sisters not bathe together? We’re both girls.*

*Could it be…?*

She recalled rumors of games like *Tsukihime* or *Kagetsu Tohya*.

*Is Yukieda… a boy?*

The thought shocked her. Yet… Yukieda’s delicate face, flat chest hidden under uniforms, that flustered shyness…

*Not normal. Not at all.*

The tub was spacious. Yukieda petite. Shizuku slipped in easily.

“Shizuku, you—I’m done!” Yukieda’s voice cracked as Shizuku’s long legs drew near. Blood rushed to her head.

She scrambled up—Shizuku yanked her back.

“No rush. I want to bathe with you too, Yukieda.”

Yukieda lay pinned against Shizuku, arms locked tight. She dared not struggle—afraid of hurting her.

“But—Shizuku! What are your hands doing?!”

“Hehe, don’t worry. Just checking if you’re developing properly.”

“W-Wait! Stop! I’m your… e-eight… older sister! You can’t—!”

Afterward, Shizuku was certain: Yukieda was a girl. Thoroughly verified.

*Must’ve bathed too long…* Yukieda had nearly fainted.

Admittedly, her skin was silk-smooth—even Shizuku felt a flicker of envy.

But Yukieda had flaws too. Shizuku glanced down, confidence returning to her face.

*Why so shy? Never bathed with others?*

*Ah! Hairless down there—that’s why!*

Her fingers felt sticky. *Did I miss rinsing the soap?*