~ CHAPTER 8 – Something Like Clarity ~

{ Masumi Aikawa’s POV }

She doesn’t regret stepping in.

Not when she sees Yasuko smiling more.
Not when she hears Shoichi laugh in the distance and realizes it’s her sister he’s looking at that way.

But still… There's something heavy about the silence that comes after doing the right thing.

Like no one saw it.
Like no one ever will.

The third time she meets Tetsuya for their “trial,” it’s at a quiet café on the edge of campus.

He’s already there when she arrives, flipping absently through a menu he probably won’t order from.

He looks up when she sits. “You’re late.”

She shrugs, tossing her bag onto the bench. “You’re early.”

A pause. Then he smirks a little. “Touché.”

They order drinks — nothing fancy, just iced teas and awkward glances.

Neither of them brings up the engagement.

Neither of them needs to. Not yet.

Instead, they drift into neutral conversation. Half-jokes. Class schedules. How their parents are definitely going to host another dinner soon and how neither of them is emotionally prepared.

But today feels different.

Softer.

Less like a performance.

“You know,” Tetsuya says, swirling his straw, “I thought I had you figured out.”

Masumi raises a brow. “And?”

“I was wrong.”

She leans back, arms crossed. “What did you think I was?”

He studies her for a second too long.

“Cold,” he says finally. “Calculated. Too perfect to bother with anyone else’s mess.”

Masumi doesn’t flinch. “That’s not far off.”

“It is, actually.”

She blinks.

“You stepped into this for someone else,” he says. “Didn’t you?”

For a moment, her stomach twists.

But Masumi doesn’t answer. She just sips her drink like it doesn’t matter.

Tetsuya leans forward.

“I’m starting to think you’re the kind of person who would burn for someone else… as long as they never knew.”

She doesn’t look at him.

Because if she does, she might break the rule she’s always followed:

Never let them see you bleed.

The rest of their time passes quietly.

When they part ways, she hears his voice behind her.

“Masumi.”

She turns.

“You don’t have to keep pretending with me,” he says.

Then he walks away.

And Masumi stands there, still and uncertain.

Because for the first time… she’s not sure she wants to keep pretending either.

*

*

*

{ Yasuko Aikawa’s POV }

There’s something different about the way Masumi looks at me now.

Not colder. Not crueler.

Softer, almost.

But distant — like she knows something I don’t, and she’s waiting for me to figure it out.

I don’t bring up Shizuka’s words.

Not yet.

They echo too loudly in my head to say out loud.

“Masumi’s been protecting you this whole time.”

I still don’t know if I believe it.

But I can’t stop replaying everything with that possibility in mind.

The timing of her interruptions.

The silence she left in her wake.

The way she always, always pulled the spotlight back to herself — but not always with pride. Sometimes with weight.

Like she was absorbing something on purpose.

I sit next to Shoichi on the steps outside the art building, the sun soft against our shoulders. His sketchbook rests between us, open to a half-finished drawing of the lemon tree.

He notices I’m quiet.

“You okay?”

I nod. “Just… thinking.”

“About?”

I hesitate. “My sister.”

He looks at me but doesn’t push.

So I speak before I lose my nerve.

“Do you think people can hurt you while trying to protect you?”

Shoichi leans back on his elbows, considering. “Yeah,” he says. “Especially if they don’t know how else to love you.”

I glance at him. “That’s depressing.”

“It’s human.”

He looks at me gently.

“And it doesn’t make what they did okay. But maybe it means you don’t have to carry the anger alone anymore.”

That night, I find Masumi in the kitchen.

She’s pouring tea — one cup, not two. Which is strange, because she always makes enough for both of us, even if we’re not talking.

I watch her from the doorway.

She looks tired. Like she’s holding something together with sheer will.

Like I used to.

“Masumi,” I say softly.

She turns, her expression neutral — perfectly practiced.

But there’s a flicker in her eyes.

“What?” she asks.

I almost told her.

Almost ask: Have you been protecting me all this time?

But instead, I just shake my head.

“Nothing. Good night.”

I go upstairs.

And leave the tea steaming alone on the counter.

*

*

*

The tea goes cold on the counter.

She didn’t drink it.

That’s fine.

It wasn’t for her.

Masumi moves quietly through the kitchen, rinses the cup, wipes the counter. Everything she does is careful. Controlled.

Because control is the only thing she has left.

She doesn’t know how much longer she can keep Yasuko from finding out the truth — that it was her name on the engagement papers, until Masumi stepped in. That her parents had already decided which daughter was expendable.

Yasuko thinks Masumi volunteered to meet Tetsuya for her own reasons.

Good.

Let her think that.

Because the second Yasuko knows the truth… she’ll feel guilty.

She’ll start blaming herself.

And Masumi has spent her whole life making sure Yasuko doesn’t have to carry that weight.

She doesn’t hear the footsteps until Tetsuya speaks from behind her.

“You always this tense when no one’s looking?”

Masumi turns, startled. “How did you get in?”

He lifts a takeout bag. “I knocked. Your mom let me in. Said you probably hadn’t eaten.”

Masumi rolls her eyes. “Classic.”

Tetsuya walks past her and sets the bag on the kitchen island. “I figured we should at least pretend this trial engagement includes the occasional shared meal.”

She narrows her eyes. “You brought food?”

He shrugs. “You looked like you were about to emotionally collapse on an empty stomach.”

She stares at him.

And for the first time… can’t tell if he’s teasing or genuinely concerned.

Maybe both.

They eat in silence for a while. It’s not exactly warm, but it’s not cold either.

Eventually, Tetsuya breaks it.

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

“So have you.”

He leans back in his chair. “Yeah, but I don’t pretend to be okay as a full-time job.”

Masumi nearly chokes on her soup.

“Excuse me?”

“I said what I said.”

She glares.

But something in her wants to laugh, too.

Because it’s been a long time since anyone saw through her so casually.

“Is this your idea of flirting?” she mutters.

He smirks. “If it is, I clearly need practice.”

She looks down at her bowl, hiding the tiny smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth.

Maybe this fake engagement is starting to feel… less fake.

Maybe, just maybe, something real is beginning to form between the lines.

*

*

*

{ Yasuko Aikawa’s POV }

I don't know what I'm expecting when I knock on Masumi’s door.

She doesn’t answer right away. When she does, it’s with her usual calm face — a thin sheet of ice over whatever she's actually feeling.

"Need something?" she asks.

"I was just wondering..." My words stumble. I don’t know how to ask what I don’t know.

So instead, I lie.

"Do you want tea?"

She studies me for a second. “You never offer tea.”

I shrug. “Maybe I’m evolving.”

That earns a soft smile, but she doesn’t take the bait.

“Thanks,” she says, “but I’m okay.”

And just like that, the door closes gently between us.

I linger in the hallway a little longer.

The air feels still, heavy with everything unspoken.

There’s a tension between us lately that doesn’t feel like rivalry.

It feels like something... tender. Guarded.

Like there’s a secret she’s burying too deep for me to find.

And maybe for the first time in my life — I want to find it.

The next day, I walk to class with Shoichi, but I’m quiet the whole way. He notices, as always.

“You’re thinking again,” he says.

“Is it that obvious?”

“You blink slower when you’re trying not to overreact to something.”

I gave him a look. “You’re observant in a really inconvenient way.”

He grins. “That’s how I get all my sketches.”

He doesn’t push, but I know he wants to ask what’s going on.

And I wish I had the words for it.

Because how do you say:

I think the sister I’ve hated most of my life might have been protecting me the entire time — and I’m not sure what that makes me now?

How do you admit that maybe, just maybe, you’ve built your whole personality on a misunderstanding?

I slipped my hand into Shoichi’s without a word.

He gives it a gentle squeeze.

And for now, that’s enough.

Because clarity doesn’t always arrive in big moments.

Sometimes, it’s a slow ache — the kind that shifts you quietly into someone new