The days that followed were agonizing. Each tick of the clock seemed to mock my impatience, each passing mail delivery a fresh sting of disappointment. I threw myself into mundane tasks, hoping distraction would dull the gnawing questions in my mind, but nothing worked. Every free moment found me poring over the riddle again and again, its cryptic lines twisting into new interpretations with each read.

By the fifth day, I was sure I’d driven myself half-mad with overthinking. Then, just as I was about to convince myself that Aunt Areti might not reply at all, the next envelope arrived.

This time, it wasn’t thin. It was bulky, stuffed with folded papers, and as I tore it open, a cascade of documents spilled out—old photographs, faded letters, and a single note written in Areti’s steady hand.

“Yukina,

 I didn’t think you’d get this far. You remind me of myself when I was your age—determined, stubborn, and unwilling to accept anything less than the truth. I can’t give you all the answers, but I can give you this: clues to help you find your own. The riddle was meant to prepare you for what comes next. You must decide how far you’re willing to go. But remember: some truths cost more than they’re worth.”

I stared at the photographs, my hands trembling. One of them was of three young women standing side by side: Adara, Areti, and Sophoneia, their smiles radiant and carefree. Another photo showed them much older, their faces lined with a weariness that hinted at years of hardship. The letters were written in a mix of Greek and Japanese, their ink smudged in places but still legible. They were addressed to each other, and even to dad.

One letter, however, stood out. Its envelope bore my mother’s name.

My throat tightened as I unfolded it, the paper crackling softly. The letter was dated nearly two decades ago, written in Mom’s familiar, elegant script:

"Dear 'Reti,

Please listen to your big sister for once,you and Sophoneia are better off there and if Tifani and Reika have our aunt's personality trust me you're better off there,I'd hate for our story to repeat,we already stained the Kumo legacy with our Astrino influence way too much,I'll paint the perfect image for the girls.But if that fails we always can write them off to you and use Yukina to redeem ourselves for ruining Fuyuki's life.I'm so glad we planned her.

From your dear sister,Adara."

The room spun as the weight of my mother’s words pressed down on me. My chest tightened, and I gripped the letter, my fingers trembling.

Planned. Redeem. Ruining Fuyuki's life. The words felt like sharp thorns cutting into my skin, each one leaving a deeper wound.

I was nothing but a contingency plan—a lifeline for a family drowning in its own deceit.

The photographs, letters, and the faint scent of old paper blurred together as tears welled in my eyes. I wanted to scream, to rage, to demand answers from someone—anyone. But the only sound in the room was the erratic rhythm of my breathing.

I shoved the pile of papers aside and clutched my head, my mind swirling with a cacophony of thoughts.

Was I ever truly wanted?

Was everything about my life a calculated decision?

The suffocating mix of anger, sadness, and confusion built until I couldn’t sit still anymore. I stood abruptly, pacing back and forth. My thoughts refused to settle, looping back to one glaring question: why had Mom and the others gone to such lengths? What was so broken in this family that they needed me to "fix" it?

I turned back to the scattered papers on the table, my gaze falling on the riddle Aunt Areti had given me. It felt different now—less like a challenge and more like a lifeline.

"Three are better than one, but two cause more damage. Three are better than two, but four are the ones that come out. Before uniting them, it’s better to step away."

My voice broke as I repeated the lines aloud. The numbers, the warning... they felt tied to the letter’s revelation. Were they hinting at the roles we all played in this twisted drama?

The three sisters—Adara, Areti, Sophoneia—had fractured under the weight of their choices. The two—Reika and Tifani—had amplified the chaos. And the four? Myself, the truths I now held, and the secrets that had yet to be uncovered.

"Before uniting them, it’s better to step away."

That had to be a warning,I buried myself deeper in the documents and found two most peculiar headlines clipped:アストリノ家は雲の遺産にとって良いのか悪いのか？ - 勝郎と花の雲の死の間にある悲劇的な真実

Followed by a greek one:Τρεις ορφανές αδερφές ή τρεις τρόμοι;-Η αλήθεια πίσω από τα ανίψια της Αργυρώ Αστρινού

The clipped headlines sent a fresh wave of unease coursing through me. I didn’t need to be fluent to recognize their implications. They weren’t just articles—they were whispers of scandal and shadowed truths.

"アストリノ家は雲の遺産にとって良いのか悪いのか？"

 "Astrino Family: A Blessing or a Curse for the Kumo Legacy?"

"Τρεις ορφανές αδερφές ή τρεις τρόμοι;"

 "Three Orphaned Sisters or Three Terrors?"

These words, stark and damning, stared back at me like ghosts resurfaced from the grave of my family’s past. My hands trembled as I tried to decipher the meaning behind the fragments. There was a story here—something that stretched beyond my mother, my aunts, and me. Something that wove its threads through the legacies of the Kumo and Astorino families alike.

The Japanese headline seemed to hint at a conflict of identity, questioning whether the merging of the two families—Astrino and Kumo—was a disaster waiting to happen. The tragedy referenced in the second line—"The Tragic Truth Behind the Deaths of Katsuro and Hana no Kumo"—was an unfamiliar story, but it carried a heavy implication.

Who were Katsuro and Hana? And what role had their deaths played in shaping the fractured, desperate world I’d been born into?

The Greek headline struck an even sharper chord. "Three Orphaned Sisters or Three Terrors?" It wasn’t hard to guess who the three sisters were—Adara, Areti, and Sophoneia. But “terrors”? My aunts and mother, who always spoke of their past with such a wistful, rose-tinted glow, had evidently lived a life far darker than I could have imagined.

I sifted through the other documents, hunting for any clues that could illuminate the headlines. Old photographs of grand estates with faded crests; snippets of handwritten ledgers marked with financial figures that didn’t quite add up; and a single envelope sealed with wax that bore a simple, haunting inscription:

"To be opened only when all hope is lost for both the Kumo and Astrino families."