Jayna stared at Ginevra in astonishment, her heart turning wild—waves after waves rising inside her, crashing so hard she could barely keep her smile steady.
She let out a disbelieving laugh and said, "You're being this good to me… aren't you afraid I'll start getting ideas?"
"Ideas about what?" Ginevra's brows knit tightly.
She had mustered so much courage to say what she'd said—words that, for someone like her, counted as painfully honest. It hadn't been easy. And yet Jayna was grinning like she'd just won something, like she'd gotten exactly what she wanted.
"Like I'll think you want to keep me here," Jayna said, leaning in by a fraction, "and spend the night together."
Ginevra lifted one finger, pressed it firmly to Jayna's forehead, and pushed her back with clean, effortless force.
"Nobody likes someone who plays little tricks."
"I don't need anyone else to like me," Jayna said, as if it were obvious. "It's enough if you like me."
Ginevra sighed—a sigh so useless it could've been thrown into the air and forgotten.
"Don't you feel ashamed saying things like that?"
Jayna bit her lip, eyes fixed on Ginevra's expressionless face.
"When the heart leans somewhere, the words slip out," she said softly. "Why hold them back?"
A moment ago, Ginevra had been all poised menace—civilized, elegant, and somehow dangerously commanding. The kind of presence that could knock someone off their feet without meaning to. Now she'd returned to her usual cool distance, as though that earlier intensity had never existed.
Jayna stared at her and, inside her head, scolded herself.
What is wrong with me? Since when did I start imagining her as someone I'm… drawn to? That's not scientific. That's not normal.
And yet—
"Ginevra," Jayna murmured, half to herself, "I think I'm sick."
"Then be quiet," Ginevra said, eyes down as she corrected Jayna's mistakes, her teacher-face cold and merciless on a face that looked unfairly blessed.
Jayna rolled her eyes internally.
Fine.
She sat beside Ginevra, eating strawberries, chin propped in her palm, watching her mark answers with that crisp, precise focus. It was infuriating. How could someone be this good-looking and this capable? It felt like cheating. It made Jayna irrationally resentful.
Afraid she'd talk again and distract her, and also bored out of her mind, Jayna stood and drifted toward the bookshelf, fingers trailing over the spines of books she couldn't begin to understand.
Then she spotted a medical magazine.
Curious, she pulled it down and flipped through it—stitching techniques, emergency self-treatment, bandaging. The further she turned, the bloodier the images became, vivid enough to make her stomach churn.
"Ginevra," she asked, holding it up with faint horror, "are you interested in medicine?"
Ginevra glanced up at the magazine in Jayna's hands.
"No."
"Then why do you have this?"
Ginevra took off her glasses, paused as if searching for the cleanest explanation, then said, "When I was little, I got injured a lot. I needed to know how to bandage and treat wounds."
Jayna's eyes widened, worry flickering through them immediately.
"You got hurt? Why? How?"
"Physical training," Ginevra said simply.
Jayna's heart tightened. "Did it really have to be that intense? Getting hurt must've been so painful…"
Ginevra looked at her—calm, unbothered—and delivered the follow-up like it was nothing at all.
"It wasn't me. It was the people training with me. I needed to know how hard to hit, and when."
"…Oh."
The air went still—awkward in the way only a very honest statement could make it.
Jayna blinked slowly.
Sometimes she really did think Ginevra might be a demon. She could say terrifying things without so much as blinking.
And yet—paradoxically—Ginevra was gentle. She was considerate. Jayna couldn't deny that, not after everything. At least with Jayna, Ginevra had always been… the warmest version of herself.
"I thought you wanted to be a doctor someday," Jayna said, half joking, half sincere.
Half angel, half devil.
Ginevra gave her a strange look.
"I just think doctors are… incredible," Jayna said, voice softening into something wistful. "If I were smart enough, I'd want to study medicine."
"Saving lives," Ginevra murmured, the words quiet. Then she nodded slightly. "It is a good profession."
"Right?" Jayna sighed. "But it's so hard. I'm not the kind of person who can stick with something forever. I'm scared I wouldn't be able to keep up."
Ginevra watched her in silence.
People who studied medicine needed compassion—a kind of steady mercy, the sort of soul that could walk through suffering without breaking or turning cold. Jayna was kind, yes. But she was also fragile in ways she tried to hide behind jokes.
Not suited to that kind of weight.
And Ginevra herself?
She knew what she lacked. Her emotions were thin; her attachments came slowly. The grand ideals of healing the world, of rescuing strangers with bleeding hands—she did not possess that glowing, saintly will.
Maybe she wasn't as good as Jayna imagined.
"Ginevra," Jayna burst out, suddenly passionate, words tumbling over one another like she couldn't stop them, "you'd be perfect as a doctor. You're smart—brilliant. Calm. Confident. Careful. You never miss details. With your grades you could definitely get into Northbridge University's medical program. Patients would trust you completely. I'd admire you to death—because you'd be doing what I wanted to do, and it would feel like you were completing a dream for me, too. And if you completed my dream—"
Jayna kept going, eyes shining, face alive, enthusiasm pouring out of her without restraint.
She didn't notice that Ginevra had stopped looking at the workbook.
She was looking at Jayna instead.
At the way she paced and turned, at the way she spoke with her hands, at the way her eyes brightened and softened, at the way her smile came and went like sunlight. The actual words became less important than the person saying them—sweet as wine, seeping slowly into Ginevra's chest until her expression, without permission, grew gentler.
"Okay," Ginevra said.
Jayna stopped mid-sentence. "Huh?"
"If I haven't decided what to do when it's time to choose," Ginevra said, meeting her gaze, "I'll study medicine."
Someone like Ginevra—independent, disciplined, frighteningly capable—would never truly be aimless about her future.
But Jayna didn't think that far. All she heard was that Ginevra had… indulged her.
Jayna's eyes went round with disbelief.
What is happening today? Did she take the wrong medicine?
She was half convinced Ginevra was only teasing.
And then—without warning—Ginevra snapped the conversation shut.
"Now look at your mistakes."
Jayna floundered, caught off guard. "O-okay, okay."
Ginevra was always like this—rational to the bone. Three years younger, but somehow infinitely more composed. Jayna could only sigh to herself, feeling pathetic.
"Ginevra," Jayna whimpered after a while, "my back hurts…"
They'd been sitting for over two hours. Ginevra explained problems; Jayna did similar ones to reinforce the method. If she got one wrong, she had to redo it. When Jayna finally finished a brutal geometry problem, she raised her hand like a student begging for mercy.
Ginevra glanced at her, unimpressed. She didn't believe "back pain" granted immunity from more work.
"You're the one who sat still for so long," Jayna complained, standing with a flattering smile. "Don't you know doctors say sitting too long makes you sick?"
She walked behind Ginevra and began kneading her shoulders with exaggerated professionalism.
"This esteemed customer," Jayna said sweetly, "is the pressure acceptable?"
Only then did Ginevra realize her shoulders were stiff. She nodded once.
"Acceptable."
"Great," Jayna said. "Ten dollars per minute. Since you're pretty, I'll give you an eighty-eight percent discount."
Ginevra lifted her hand and pressed it over Jayna's busy fingers, stopping them.
Her tone—unexpectedly light—carried a rare hint of humor.
"Your fees are too expensive."
Jayna froze.
Her fingers stilled beneath Ginevra's palm.
She's touching me.On purpose.
Jayna's heartbeat quickened, stupidly, unhelpfully. Wasn't Ginevra the one with the cleanliness obsession? How could she just… hold her hand like that?
Jayna yanked her hand back, pretending to sulk while secretly trying to calm her chest.
"Fine," she huffed. "Then I won't massage you. Hmph."
Her eyes flicked elsewhere—anything to hide the heat rising in her cheeks.
"Oh—look," Jayna said, pointing to a cabinet near the end of the bookshelf. "There's a board game."
On top sat a neatly arranged Go board.
Before Ginevra could answer, Jayna had already taken it down. Ginevra glanced at her and said nothing, letting her do as she pleased.
Jayna set the board carefully on the desk, pulled out the black and white stones—and then noticed something pale yellow tucked beneath the board, folded into a crisp five-pointed star like an old-fashioned note.
Her eyes lit up.
She turned her back to Ginevra immediately, shielding it with her body as if guarding national secrets. She peeked over her shoulder—Ginevra was still looking at the problems.
Good.
Jayna's fingers worked quickly, unfolding the star. At the bottom of the cover was a line of small writing:
If you're Ginevra's friend, open this. If you're Ginevra, tear it up immediately.
The handwriting was wild and arrogant, like someone who wrote with laughter in their wrist.
Jayna frowned, bewildered, then read on.
To: Dear Friend,
If you're reading this, it means you and my sister are extremely close. Because my sister would never let someone she doesn't like touch her things—especially this precious Go board.
Once I damaged one stone and she tried to murder me. We're evenly matched, but I still ended up crying.
I'm not trying to cause trouble. I just want you, dear friend, to believe me.
My sister is not a good person. She was born a sadist. Brutal. A high-IQ criminal mastermind. Skilled with all sorts of weapons. Never borrow money from her—she will remember every cent, with interest, perfectly.
In short: she is not a good person. Cherish your life. Stay away from my sister.
(After you read this, tear it up. Save my life.)
Signed: Noxi Volkova
Jayna stared at the absurdly serious warning and couldn't hold it in.
She laughed.
"What are you reading?"
Ginevra's voice appeared behind her like a ghost.
Jayna reacted instantly—stuffing the letter back under the board.
Ginevra had already stood and walked over. She didn't seem to notice the movement.
Jayna forced herself to look casual.
"You like Go?" she asked carefully.
Ginevra nodded. "But I don't play often. Mostly I entertain myself."
Entertain herself?
Did that mean she played against herself? Jayna's mind tried to produce an image of Ginevra splitting into two people and immediately felt dizzy.
She shook the thought away.
"Then… who did you play with last time?" Jayna asked, unable to stop herself. "Who's Noxi?"
Ginevra's expression darkened. An unmistakable irritation slipped onto her face.
"A suffocating person," she said.
Jayna's smile tugged upward. For Ginevra to describe anyone that way was rare—almost impressive. It made Jayna even more curious.
"Tell me," Jayna coaxed softly, voice sweet as bait. "Who is she to you?"
"My cousin," Ginevra said at first, then corrected herself with precision. "My younger cousin—my uncle's daughter. She's three months younger than me."
As Ginevra helped Jayna put the board away, Jayna kept an elbow over the hidden place, then slipped the letter away the instant Ginevra's hand moved.
"I've never heard you mention her," Jayna said, leaning on her elbow, eyes bright with interest. "Are you close? What's her name again?"
Ginevra glanced at her, faintly exasperated. "You're very interested in her."
Jayna shook her head. "I'm interested in everyone around you. I want to know you better."
Ginevra didn't seem to notice how that sounded—less like a friend, more like someone quietly devoted.
"Noxi Volkova," she said flatly. "Flirtatious. Rude. Smiling while holding a knife. Antisocial."
Jayna's heart gave a small clunk.
So the sisters—or cousins—were at war. One called the other a sadistic criminal genius, the other called her cousin antisocial.
Which one was true?
Or were they both… a little insane?
Jayna only mocked internally. Out loud, she remained sensible.
Still, in her thoughts she replayed that line—
born a sadist, high-IQ criminal mastermind…
And before she knew it, the words slipped out of her mouth.
"A sadistic high-IQ criminal genius…"
"What did you say?" Ginevra asked.
Jayna turned and met Ginevra's shadowed look.
Oh no.
She'd said it.
"I—I mean," Jayna rushed, "I'm just… summarizing your cousin with a few adjectives."
Ginevra lifted her brow, clearly unconvinced.
Then, very slowly, she reached up and smoothed Jayna's slightly crooked collar, fingertips gentle and maddeningly intimate. Her eyes fixed on Jayna's wavering gaze.
"Do you know what happened to the last person who said that to me?" Ginevra asked quietly.
Jayna went cold, sweat prickling.
"H-haa… what happened?" she laughed stiffly, because panic always made her laugh.
Ginevra's face stayed serious.
"Her arm dislocated."
Jayna swallowed hard.
"Noxi?" she guessed.
Ginevra nodded once.
Jayna's throat went dry. She grabbed water and drank fast, as if she could wash fear down her esophagus. She suddenly had the eerie sensation that she was living with a harmless-looking dangerous person.
Ginevra watched Jayna's restless fidgeting, and a faint smile rose—so small it could've been imagined.
Finally, she relented.
"I'm kidding," she said. "Give it to me."
"Give you what?" Jayna denied on instinct.
Ginevra narrowed her eyes. "Do you think I didn't see?"
Caught, Jayna sighed—dramatic, useless, undeserving of pity—and pulled the letter from her pocket, handing it over reluctantly.
Ginevra glanced at it and tossed it into the trash.
Her face revealed nothing.
Jayna immediately grabbed Ginevra's sleeve, earnest and loud.
"Giny—do you really think I'd believe you're like that?" she insisted, as if she needed to declare loyalty on the spot. "Do you think I actually believe you're the kind of person that letter describes?!"
Ginevra began arranging the Go stones, placing them with exact symmetry, then spoke slowly.
Her cool eyes took on a strange, unreadable sheen.
"What if I am?"
Jayna froze.
Her mind, traitorous as always, immediately began running through wild possibilities like a reel of future disasters.
Sadist? She wasn't a masochist, okay—though people said you could develop tastes over time, and—
Criminal genius? Would Ginevra steal state secrets? Probably not. Probably. But—
Why am I even thinking this far? Why am I trying to match her to those words at all?
Ginevra, meanwhile, had no idea that Jayna had already lived through their entire "dangerous future together" in the space of three seconds.
Because the truth was: Ginevra didn't even know what "sadist" meant.
She only knew Jayna's face was turning pink again, and that meant—inevitably—Jayna was thinking nonsense.
Ginevra frowned and tapped Jayna's forehead lightly.
"I take it back," she said. "Stop thinking."
Jayna grinned, shameless and radiant.
"Why can't I?" she said brightly. "It's kind of exciting. A different kind of charm."
She laughed as if she had no shame at all—because she didn't. And because even the slightest touch from Ginevra could stir her entire heart into motion.
Ginevra stared at her, then made a quiet decision:
She would never let Jayna meet Noxi.
The consequences were unimaginable.
And, in the privacy of her own thoughts, she planned a birthday gift for Noxi—an anatomy textbook.
A polite return for that "friendly warning."