~ The Door She Dared Not Open ~
A knock at the door snapped Miyuki back to the present.
"Being a Yotsuba Guardian is nothing special, you know. My proud little nose got broken by Lisa right after that, and I still can't beat Master."
"I don't remember you ever getting a big head. And I still can't beat Master either."
The conversation was exactly where she'd left it. So she'd only been gone for a heartbeat.
How did I remember so much in a single breath?
Another knock—this one sharper. Miyuki called "Come in," and a boy-butler stepped inside. Young enough to be a first-year himself.
"My apologies. The previous guest's business ran long. Madam asks if you might wait a little longer."
Madam meant Yotsuba Maya. Never married, never "Mrs."—but no one in the room was petty enough to correct the boy. They were equally unbothered by his politely condescending tone.
"I have no objection," Kazama said.
He glanced at Tatsuya and Miyuki for confirmation. The boy never asked them directly. Tatsuya, fine—he was an outsider here. But not asking Miyuki? Because, in the eyes of the Yotsuba, she was family.
And she couldn't deny it. She could reject the name Shiba Ryōhei. She could not reject Shiba Midnigh. Therefore she could not reject being Maya's niece.
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The Okinawa vacation had started with storms; yesterday it finally calmed. Today—day four—was the first real taste of southern paradise. …Whether Onii-sama counted as part of that "paradise" was another question.
1:00 p.m. Miyuki was curled on her bed, pretending to nap, actually staring at a rare paper grimoire Sakurai-san had dug up. The pages might as well have been written in starlight.
Of course I can't understand it. I'm only a first-year. But… he probably could.
She pictured him in his own room: CAD plugged into the workstation, fingers dancing across the keys. The twin pistols Sanada had "lent" him were now mysteriously "gifted." National Defense Force, are you sure about this? Pre-investment, they called it. But Onii-sama was her Guardian. He could never enlist.
…Wait. Why was she standing in front of his door?
Her knuckles hovered, frozen.
"Need something?"
He opened before she knocked—as if he'd felt her heartbeat through the wood.
"Ah—um—well—"
"Yes?"
"C-can I come in!?"
"…Sure."
He blinked once, the tiniest flicker of confusion, then stepped aside. A hint of suspicion lingered in his eyes, but he let her pass.
"So—what brings you?"
Miyuki couldn't answer. Her gaze was glued to the workstation: half-disassembled CAD, naked circuits, screen drowning in equations.
This looks like a CAD development lab…
"Young Mistress?"
"DON'T CALL ME THAT!"
The shout tore out of her like a scream. Tatsuya froze, mouth half-open. She'd startled herself even more—her voice had cracked like glass, teetering on tears.
"Ah—"
Silence.
"I-I mean… we have to practice, right? So I don't slip up in public?"
His expression slid from shock to wary suspicion.
"So… call me Miyuki. Just Miyuki."
"…Got it, Miyuki. Like this?"
Casual. Warm. The same tone he used with school friends, with underclassmen. His eyes softened, kind and steady.
"…Perfect."
Tears surged so suddenly she nearly choked. She swallowed them with everything she had.
"Sorry—I'll head back."
She fled before the dam broke. Door slammed, pillow seized, face buried. Sobs muffled into cotton.
Because she understood. That gentleness was scripted. Every syllable calculated, output like code. Even the way he said her name—optimized for "normal big brother."
Why do I only see through him at times like this? Because I'm his sister. Because the link works both ways.
Is that smile real… or just another line of code?
She cried without sound, hating the very blood that let her know.
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Soon— Miyuki's heart would finally move. Irreversibly.
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