Now, you might ask me, "But Yukina, don't you think you're overexaggerating your sister's cruelty?"

Let me tell you about our family vacation. We were going to New York, where a good old friend of my father's lived. We affectionately called her Auntie because she and my dad were such good friends that they might as well have been siblings.

However, our ever-so-jealous mother hated her.

Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to Summer Shields—my grandparents' originally expected love candidate for my father.

"Summer!" Dad excitedly called out when we arrived at the airport. Mom stood a few steps behind, her expression carefully neutral, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of disdain. Summer Shields was everything my mother wasn’t—warm, effervescent, and effortlessly charming. She was a striking woman with a mane of red hair and a laugh that could light up a room. She had been my father's friend since childhood, and the bond they shared was unbreakable, much to my mother's displeasure.

"Look at you, still as handsome as ever, Fuyuki!" Summer greeted him with a hug that lingered a second too long for my mother’s liking. I could see the tension in Adara’s posture, the way her hands clenched around the strap of her purse. The twins, standing on either side of her, watched the scene with expressions that mirrored our mother's—a mix of annoyance and something else, something darker.

Tifani was the first to act, her face lighting up with an exaggerated smile as she dashed forward. "Auntie Summer!" she exclaimed, wrapping her small arms around Summer's legs. It was a calculated move, a performance designed to shift the attention back to her, and it worked. Summer laughed and scooped her up, showering her with praise for how much she’d grown.

But I noticed Reika’s eyes narrowing as she observed the interaction. She didn’t move to join in; instead, she hung back, her gaze flickering between our father and Summer, then to our mother, and finally settling on me. There was a moment—a brief, chilling moment—where I felt like she was assessing, calculating, and filing away some invisible tally in her mind. It was that look—the one that always made me feel like a pawn on a board I couldn’t see.

As we made our way through New York City, the twins’ behavior became more pronounced. Tifani, ever the actress, basked in Summer’s attention, while Reika stayed close to our parents, her eyes ever watchful. During a dinner at one of the city’s finest restaurants, Tifani feigned an allergy to the food when she realized Summer had recommended the dish, causing a minor scene that turned all eyes—and concern—onto her. It was dramatic, even for a child, yet she executed it flawlessly, her crocodile tears convincing everyone but those who truly knew her.

Reika’s tactics were subtler. She spent the entire meal whispering to our mother, little observations and comments that seemed innocent enough, but I caught snippets here and there that hinted at something more. "Did you see how they looked at each other, Mama?" she murmured, her voice just loud enough for me to overhear. "Like they’re in love." It was a seed of doubt, planted carefully and without fanfare, but I watched as it took root in my mother’s mind.

The climax of that vacation came during a visit to Central Park. It was a perfect day—the sun shining, the air filled with the sounds of laughter and city life. Summer had arranged for us to go on a rowboat ride, a charming, idyllic experience that everyone seemed to enjoy. Everyone, that is, except for my sisters.

I remember the way Tifani pouted, her displeasure at not being the center of attention manifesting in crossed arms and exaggerated sighs. Reika, true to form, watched quietly, her eyes darting between Summer and my father, to our mother, and then to Tifani. It was a silent exchange between the twins—one I was too young to fully understand, but the tension was palpable.

As the afternoon wore on, Reika finally made her move. She suggested we all take a photo by the lake, a seemingly innocent idea. Summer, of course, was delighted, and we all lined up—the perfect picture of a happy family vacation. But just as the camera was about to click, Reika gave Tifani a subtle nod.

Tifani, with all the drama of a seasoned performer, stumbled backward into Summer, knocking her off balance and sending her tumbling into the lake. Gasps erupted, and for a split second, there was a look of pure triumph on Tifani's face—one that quickly shifted to a mask of shock and concern as she rushed to the edge, pretending to help.

Summer, drenched and humiliated, laughed it off as a clumsy accident, but I caught the smirk that passed between my sisters. They knew exactly what they were doing. And as I watched our father rush to help Summer out of the water, his hands lingering just a little too long on her arms, I saw the shadow cross my mother’s face.

It was the perfect manipulation—a staged accident designed to make Summer look foolish and to shift the balance of power back in their favor. The twins were experts at this game, and I realized then that they weren’t just acting on jealousy or spite; they were playing a long, deliberate game of control.

So, no, I don’t think I’m exaggerating my sisters’ cruelty. Not when every move they made was a calculated step toward securing their place at the center of our family's universe. And as I stood there, watching Summer smile through her discomfort, my sisters' secret triumphs hidden behind innocent faces, I knew that this was only the beginning of their elaborate dance of deception.

Now, let me tell you something about myself. Living with Tifani and Reika gave me a quite peculiar but useful ability—being observant. On that same vacation, Tifani approached me, eager for me to play a part in her and Reika's scheme. I was five at the time, but I also wasn’t dumb.

"Yuki, what do you think we should do to make sure Auntie Summer doesn’t get too close to Papa?" Tifani asked, her voice sweet but her eyes glinting with that all-too-familiar mischief. It was clear she wanted to drag me into their game, to use me as another pawn in their carefully orchestrated plans. At five years old, I may not have understood everything, but I knew enough to sense danger, to recognize the toxic undercurrents of my sisters' intentions.

I hesitated, glancing over at Reika, who stood a few feet away, watching us with an expression that was both expectant and calculating. Her silence was more intimidating than any threat could have been; she was waiting to see if I would align myself with them or resist. It was a test, and even at that age, I felt the weight of their scrutiny.

And that, my friends, is why I observe. Because sometimes, in a family like mine, the only way to survive is to see everything, say nothing, and quietly chart your own course through the chaos.