Chapter 3:

~ CHAPTER 3 – Why She Steals ~

Her Shadow, My Light

{ Masumi’s Point of View }

It always starts the same way.

Yasuko meets someone.

She starts smiling differently. She takes longer in front of the mirror. She laughs more, softer, like she’s trying not to hope too hard.

And then she looks at me — not with hatred, not with fear.

But with that quiet question in her eyes.

Will you take him too?

And I always do.

I don’t mean to. I don’t want to.

But I’ve seen what happens when I don’t.

The first time it happened, she was sixteen. Some boy in her literature club — the quiet, poetic type with good handwriting and nothing behind his words. He told her she was special. He kissed her in secret behind the gym. She came home glowing.

Two weeks later, I ran into him at a school event. He hit on me while she was in the bathroom.

I told him I wasn’t interested.

He said, “You’re more my type anyway.”

Yasuko cried for days when he broke up with her.

She never found out why.

That’s when I understood something:

She believes too easily.

She trusts too quickly.

And I’m the only one who can keep her heart from being shattered — even if it means I’m the one who has to break it.

So I test them now.

I watch. I talk. I let them get close — not because I want them to, but because they want to.

And if they fall for me that fast, then they were never hers to begin with.

It’s cruel. I know that.

But not as cruel as letting her believe someone loves her when they don’t.

Shoichi is… different.

When I spoke to him earlier today, I expected the usual. The shift in posture. The flinch of interest. The look I’ve seen a hundred times.

But he just smiled politely — kind, distant, uninterested.

And then he looked back at her.

Not at me.

At Yasuko.

I stayed behind after I walked away. Pretended I had somewhere to be. I watched them from across the quad as they talked again — closer this time. She was smiling, a little unsure, but lighter than I’ve seen her in a long time.

And for the first time, I didn’t feel threatened.

I felt… relief.

Maybe this one wouldn’t need testing.

Maybe, finally, someone would stay.

Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like to be born second.

To be the quiet one. The overlooked one. To be free.

But I came first. The golden child. The role model. The one they all measured Yasuko against — especially our parents.

I was never allowed to be average. Or tired. Or selfish.

I had to be more. Always.

I still remember my middle school graduation.

Three awards — academics, leadership, and volunteer service. The photos show me smiling in a navy-blue dress, posture perfect, ribbons around my neck.

Our father clapped once.

Our mother adjusted my collar before the camera clicked. “You make us proud,” she said. Then, to no one in particular, “Yasuko should learn from your example.”

Yasuko stood just a few feet away, holding a bouquet almost as tall as she was. She smiled like the comment didn’t sting — like it made sense.

But that sentence didn’t feel like praise to me.It felt like a chain.

I don’t get to make mistakes.

I don’t get to cry, or quit, or fall apart.

I’m the girl who gets straight As. Who leads every committee. Who says yes to internships and career dinners and weekend networking events I secretly resent.

And when I look like I’m starting to falter, our mother gently reminds me:

“You’ll make a wonderful wife someday, Masumi. You just need to learn to soften your tone.”

Yasuko.

She laughs differently around Shoichi. Softer. Nervous, but hopeful. I saw them together earlier in the quad. He was looking at her like she was the only person on campus.

I didn’t expect that.

Most of them can’t help themselves — the boys she likes. They always drift toward me eventually. Not because I ask them to. But because I’m louder. Shinier. Easier to reach.

And when they do, I test them. I pull them in, just enough to see the truth. And when they fail — and they always fail — I step in before Yasuko gets too deep.

She thinks I’m cruel.

She doesn’t know I’m protecting her.

But Shoichi…

He didn’t look away from her.Not even once.

He barely looked at me.

And that scares me more than anything.

Because for the first time in years, I wonder:

What if I don’t interfere?

What if I let her have this?

But the thought creeps in, sharp and cold:

What if I’m wrong about him? What if he’s pretending? What if she falls — really falls — then he breaks her?

Can I risk being wrong?

Can I trust him enough to find out?

Or worse…

Can I trust myself to leave him alone?

I see them again the next morning.

Yasuko is sitting on the east side of the library courtyard, curled into a corner bench beneath the ivy-covered wall. Shoichi sits across from her, one knee pulled up, sketchbook open on his lap.

She’s talking. He’s listening.

Really listening — head tilted slightly, pencil forgotten in his hand.

She doesn’t notice how he looks at her when she speaks.

But I do.

I could walk away.

I should walk away.

But I don’t.

Instead, I cross the courtyard, slow and steady, like I’m just passing through.

Shoichi glances up first. His expression is neutral — not startled, not flustered. Just aware.

Yasuko stiffens. “Masumi,” she says, almost too fast.

I smile gently. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just heading to my advisor’s office.”

Shoichi nods politely. “Morning.”

I let my gaze flick to the sketchbook in his hands. “Drawing again?”

He turns it slightly so I can see — nothing finished yet, just soft outlines of the courtyard wall and the slant of the bench.

Not the people on it.

Not yet.

“Your work has this... patience to it,” I say. “It’s quiet. Like you don’t draw what people want to see — just what’s already there.”

He looks at me for a moment, surprised.

Then he says, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard it put that way. But yeah. I guess I draw what’s honest.”

I nod, holding his gaze just long enough to be sure.

He doesn’t look past me. Doesn’t try to charm. Doesn’t ask what I think of him.

He just turns back to Yasuko — subtle, but unmistakable.

And something in my chest, tight for days, loosens just slightly.

Later that evening, I sat in the student council lounge with a cold drink and a spinning head.

I’ve seen dozens of boys look at me the way Shoichi looked at Yasuko. I’ve seen dozens of lies dressed up as kindness.

But this time?

Maybe he means it.

Maybe, for once, I don’t need to step in.

Maybe I can just... trust.

But even as I think it, my mind whispers back:

You’ve been wrong before.

And if I’m wrong this time, Yasuko will be the one to break.

And I don’t know if I can let that happen — no matter how much she hates me for it.

I lie awake that night, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft ticking of my desk clock.

Yasuko’s laugh from earlier still echoes in my head — light and unsure, but real. Not the kind she uses to be polite. Not the one she gives our parents when she wants to disappear without being noticed.

This one was hers.

Maybe for the first time in a long time.

I could step in. I could do what I always do — test him, push him, see if he flinches. See if he strays.

But part of me knows… he won’t.

Shoichi’s not like the others.

He doesn’t look at her like a trophy or a prize. He looks at her like he’s quietly amazed she’s even looking back.

That scares me.

Because if this one is real, and it ends…

She’ll break for real.

Not in a loud way. Not with tears or anger.

But in that silent, invisible way that only people like Yasuko do — slipping behind smiles, convincing herself she expected it all along.

And no one will know she’s hurting except me.