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Silence.
Not the kind one hears in a quiet room, but the kind that stretches across eternity.
A sea of black velvet stretched endlessly, torn by rivers of starlight. Nebulas bloomed like flowers made of fire, spilling colors into the void. Asteroids drifted lazily, like forgotten relics of ancient battles.
Amidst it all, a presence stirred.
"Where… am I?"
The thought was not spoken aloud. It vibrated inside the skull, like a memory that had lost its owner.
Then—something shifted.
A shadow in the fabric of creation itself: the black hole. Perfectly still, impossibly vast, swallowing light without sound or mercy.
The gaze lingered too long.
A sudden tremor seized the spine, vision tunneling, shrinking, collapsing—
—and in an instant, the cosmos dissolved.
Gone.
Like it had never been.
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The scene shifted suddenly.
A spacious room, steeped in opulence, its Victorian design a testament to old wealth and refined taste.
The walls were dressed in wallpaper of antique crimson, pristine white, and serene light blue. Heavy curtains soaked in the first golden rays of dawn, casting a majestic glow across the polished wooden floor. On the wall, an antique clock ticked with steady rhythm… tick… tick… tick… filling the silence with a faint tune.
On the nearby table, a small calendar clearly displayed the date: October 25, 2035.
Dawn had just broken over the bustling streets of Tokyo, yet this room felt like a fragment carved from an old Russian palace—an inheritance from her foreign mother, who had instilled the home with a unique Victorian aura.
Before a towering mirror framed with intricate carvings, a young girl stood.
Her blonde hair was tied back into a tight ponytail, glinting with every movement.
Her school uniform was traditionally Japanese in design… yet her own twist betrayed it: gray athletic pants beneath, a blend of rebellion and comfort.
Her fingers worked hastily to straighten a small necktie before the mirror, as though chased by the clock's relentless hands. The moment she finished, she spun lightly and darted toward a small white couch where her school bag lay.
She snatched it quickly and exhaled deeply, as if gathering her breath for the long day ahead.
Without a glance behind her, she left.
The door closed softly in her wake, leaving the room still—untouched, as if no one had been there at all.
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The girl began descending the long staircase with steady steps, each one producing a faint sound on the red velvet carpet that stretched beneath her, like a path laid out for royalty. The polished iron handrails were adorned with classical 19th-century engravings that shimmered under the light of the crystal chandelier hanging above.
The walls flanking the staircase were covered in faded golden wallpaper with floral patterns, framed by dark wood. Along them hung massive oil portraits of aristocratic faces from generations past, staring with rigid gazes as if watching every passerby.
The air was thick with the scent of French rose and white musk—a fragrance befitting a place that knew no modesty.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she looked as if she had stepped out of a painting—her modest school uniform starkly contrasting with the lavish surroundings.
Yet her presence did not fade… it was calm, composed, as though she was used to this wealth but refused to let it consume her identity.
She walked across a hallway paved with white marble veined with elegant gray, passing beneath high arches supported by classic columns, until she stopped before a massive double wooden door inlaid with polished brass.
She pushed the door gently… and it opened.
There she was, facing the dining room.
A spacious chamber, with a long dining table stretching like a noble's arena at its center. The floor was fine wood, adorned with soft, hand-carved patterns. Crystal chandeliers hung high above, scattering their glow across the decorated cups and plates. The room's colors ranged from creamy white to royal red and soft gold.
Everything here spoke of elegance and order… of a family that knew no failure—at least on the surface.
But beneath this beauty… a subtle thread suggested that this opulent palace concealed something deeper than mere refined taste.
In that moment… the girl lifted her eyes toward the table, preparing to face another morning in a world far more complicated than it seemed.
As she entered, a few heads turned to her in silent greeting. There was no need for repeated morning salutations in this house; the family's refined manner relied on glances, faint smiles, and barely perceptible gestures.
At the table sat ten women — ten sisters in every sense. It was as if genetics had conspired to assemble a line of human masterpieces, each one a perfect blend of beauty and dignity. Sunlight made them appear even more enchanting, their blonde hair, whether flowing freely or tied with care, gleaming under the morning light. Their blue eyes — the very same eyes Katrina possessed — wandered between dishes, books, and fragments of casual morning conversation like branches blossoming.
Each was a world of her own: a lawyer in a sleek suit reviewing files on a tablet while eating, another with an earpiece speaking a foreign language, a third sipping her coffee while reading an international newspaper, and a fourth in a pristine medical uniform quietly finishing her breakfast.
Despite their differences, a majestic silence united them — a quiet akin to background music at a refined gathering, occasionally broken by the clatter of spoons or turning pages. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, reflecting on the long table like a royal stage, and the glint on the crystal made the room feel like a preserved painting.
At the head of the table sat the father — a man in his mid-forties, his features strong as if sculpted to endure in a portrait, his dark eyes quietly observing. His mere presence made the air heavier, and his pride in his daughters was readable between the lines of his gaze, like a treasured painting he held dear.
At the opposite end sat the mother — serene and dignified. Her blonde hair was pinned in a classic style, and her blue eyes radiated a gentle kindness. Her smile was small, but warm enough to soften the formality. She wore an ivory dress trimmed with lace, simple jewelry befitting her status.
Finally, Katrina entered, carrying her small bag, and took her usual place between her seventh sister and her mother. Her entrance broke the rhythm of the morning — like a late-blooming flower opening in the garden. She took a deep breath, feeling a faint heaviness in her chest she couldn't fully understand, a whisper inside telling her something was not quite right.
"Good morning, Princess of Deep Sleep!" the third sister said, lifting her coffee cup with a playful smile. "Finally awake?"
The fourth added slyly, "Or did you just come because you're hungry?"
Katrina smiled faintly with gentle sarcasm: "No… I woke up because the castle started feeling like an isolated place."
Laughter spread, breaking the formal tension. The maid placed her breakfast before her: warm toast, boiled eggs, and a cup of milk tea with a hint of lavender.
Her mother passed a gentle hand over her shoulder, silent, eyes full of pride and caution — the look of a mother who knows her youngest is growing and changing.
From the other side, the sixth sister called energetically, "Katrina! The final match is today, right?"
Katrina lifted her eyes slowly, feigning seriousness: "Yes… today the battle is decided… today sweat and blood will be spilled." She picked up a piece of toast as if she had said nothing at all.
The father quietly set down his cup, his voice steady yet soft: "We'll be there."
Katrina paused, chewing, eyebrow raised in surprise. "All of you?"
He nodded lightly, smiling: "Yes, All of us. We'll leave everything behind… we'll be there before the match begins. To watch you, to wish you luck."
A different silence fell — heavy with meaning. In a household filled with schedules, obligations, and achievements, to set everything aside for one person? That promise carried more weight than words alone.
Katrina hid her feelings behind a small smile and quiet voice: "Then I suppose I have to win… I can't embarrass you."
A comfortable laughter followed; even the usually stern sister couldn't hold back a smile. The mother raised her cup with a reassuring tone: "Katrina… you don't need to be a hero for us. It's enough that you are you."
Katrina felt an unfamiliar warmth in her chest, unrelated to the tea. She stared at her toast for a few moments, trying to shape a single word: "Thank you." She opened her mouth, inhaled, and whispered, "Tha—" and stopped. The same strange feeling — as if her throat locked against words carrying emotion.
Then her seventh sister's hand moved gently through her hair, a silent gesture saying, "Don't worry… we understand you."
Katrina looked up, returning a small, genuine smile — shy, yet full of comfort.
The father leaned slightly forward, moving his cup aside, his voice warm: "We don't wait for words. We see you every day… and that is enough." His words felt like a warm blanket over cold shoulders on a crisp morning.
The conversation then shifted to lighter topics: the upcoming palace ball, fall fashions, and a new puppy the fifth sister planned to adopt. The clinking of spoons resumed, soft laughter floating in the air — as if the passing cloud of emotion had drifted away.
But for Katrina, the lesson remained: true family knows you, even when you fail to speak. And in that silent understanding, more was said than any words could ever convey.
From Katrina's Pov:
♡ While chatter buzzed around me and laughter flowed like background music, I was… somewhat distant. Somewhere else — inside my head.
I looked at my mother, Larisa. A stunning Russian woman, forty-five years old, but she looked as if she had just stepped out of a luxury jewelry ad. She wasn't just my mother… she was a businesswoman running a luxury car company with a soft — yet merciless — grip. Smart. Elegant. Her voice was always calm but decisive.
Then there was my father, Takashi. Japanese, forty-eight. A quiet, successful businessman. Wise, as if he had spent years meditating atop misty mountains.
From their stories, I knew their marriage had been traditional — she was fifteen, he was eighteen. A marriage of convenience, like thousands of others in the world of money… but fate had been kind. Or perhaps their hearts were stronger than any contract.
Dad was always gentle with her, treating her like something rare. And Mom, even in her strictest moments, only melted for him. They truly loved each other. And they loved the result of that love even more: us.
Can you believe it? Every time Mom gave birth to one of us, Dad threw a party! And every time, he chose a different dress for the baby that reflected her personality — as if to tell the world:
"Look… I'm proud of her, and of the gift she gave me."
Then my eyes moved to my sisters… ten girls, each her own universe. Despite the fights and endless drama, we truly loved each other. We were always together. For everything.
When I was younger, they used to argue over who would teach me things. The choice was tricky, since there were ten of them, not fewer, so they played the "straw game." Each would pick a straw — and the one with the shortest had to take me along. They taught me everything: how to cook, how to defend myself, how to speak confidently, choose the right perfume, match colors, even how to throw a punch without breaking a nail. I learned things beyond my years. I learned to be strong, yet gentle. Smart, yet unfooled. Calm when it mattered.
But one thing I still struggle with: expressing my feelings. And it often leads to misunderstandings — people think I'm arrogant… or worse.
> I looked around at their faces. Anastasia, the professional chef, arranging dishes with artistic flair.
> Ekaterina, the fashion designer, wearing a dress she made herself.
> Victoria, the boxer, eating as if in a race but in elegant way, yet watching everyone like a guardian.
> Nadezhda, the doctor, one of the most skilled of her generation.
> Alyona, the investigator, literally nicknamed "modern Sherlock Holmes."
> Rin, the lawyer, talking about employment contract disputes as usual.
> Sakura, the singer, a global icon.
> Misaki, the perfumer — or rather, a chemistry scientist — filling the air with her newest scent.
> Hinami, the tailor and sculptor.
> And Yumeko… smiling at me, trying to mimic me as always — a rising actress.
And me? Katrina. Sixteen. The last girl in the golden lineup. Still in high school. But I had found my place — for now: the girls' basketball team. I wasn't the strongest in build or the fastest… but I had something. Intelligence, clever plays, sharp focus, true passion… and a killer shot. My five teammates? They had my back like no one else.
We trained, we cried, we fell. And now… we're in the finals. Today, as usual. No room for error. Everyone is watching. Everyone will be there. Everyone… will see me.
And I have to win again. Not just for myself… but for all those hands that have held me since the day I was born. And yes — for that dad who throws a party after every win… as if it were the very first.
End Pov Katrina.
Katrina finished the last bite of her breakfast, gently set down her fork on the table, and dabbed her lips with a linen napkin. She stood with her usual grace and elegance, a soft smile appearing on her lips — not fully joyful, nor sad — just the smile of a girl trying to hide something.
Katrina (softly):
"I'm heading out now… Don't be late for the game, okay?"
Everyone exchanged farewell words with her:
Anastasia (with a warm smile):
"Be strong as always, my little doll."
Victoria (shouting from the end of the table):
"And if anyone tries to ruin your game, choke her out with the system!"
Laughter erupted all around. Even her father, Takashi, smiled quietly.
Takashi:
"We're always proud of you, Katie."
Katrina nodded, keeping herself composed, and walked toward the door with light, graceful steps, though inside her raged a storm of emotions.
She reached the doorway… then stopped. She slowly turned back, casting her eyes toward the dining table:
Her ten sisters were laughing, chatting, and eating their breakfast as if nothing were about to change. Her father poured himself tea, and her mother smiled warmly.
A still moment. Quiet. Completely ordinary… but to Katrina, it felt eternal.
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From Katrina's POV:
♡ A strange feeling pressed against my chest. It was as if my heart refused to leave, as if it already knew something I couldn't see yet. No… this couldn't be a farewell. Just pre-match nerves, that's all. But why did it feel like the words were stuck in my throat?
I closed my eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then shook my head with determination.
"No… today is my day. Today, I'm the star."
I stepped out of the dining hall with confident steps, my blonde hair swaying behind me as if dancing with the sunlight streaming through the windows. Every step was a declaration of myself, despite the small storm raging inside.
I reached the grand palace hall. The massive doors were open, and the sun poured warmth across the polished floor. Yet beneath that light… a heavy feeling weighed on my chest.
The driver stood next to the black car, opening the door with a calm smile… but I didn't return it. I couldn't. My emotions jostled inside me—excitement and fear, courage and worry all mixed together.
I got in, closed the door, and leaned against the window. Reflections of the palace passed by my eyes—every room, every window, every laugh that had meant something before. Everything felt familiar… yet everything was about to change.
The car began to move quietly along the road, and I watched in silence the place where I had grown up. I didn't yet know that this morning wouldn't just mark the start of a match… but perhaps the beginning of the end of the world I had known since childhood.
°•____________________________________•°
Everything was going as usual, ordinary, with no hint of unease… but suddenly…
The sound of wheels spinning violently erupted, as if someone was struggling to control them by force.
Then something crashed—a loud impact shook the place…
Followed by complete silence, heavy and suffocating, as if it had swallowed all sound, leaving hearts suspended in a hidden terror.
°•____________________________________•°
°•°| To be continued… |°•°
Questions for you?...
1. Did you feel like Katerina was saying goodbye to her family… without actually saying it?
Was it just nerves, or is there something deeper beneath the surface?
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2. Have you ever experienced a moment that seemed "normal"… but somehow felt like the last?
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3. How do you interpret the final line:
"This morning might be the beginning of the end of her familiar world."
Do you think something major is about to happen? What do you think it might be?
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4. What do you think "her last match" really means for Katerina?
The end of a chapter? Or something more dangerous?
>