When Ayano got home from the arcade she hopped on her computer to check out JuicyGirl's blog.

The background had a pretty butterfly pattern and the JuicyGirl banner was in a loopy font. The most recent post was a video of some pink haired kid vomiting up his lunch. Boring.

Ayano scrolled through the archive, skimming the topics. So-and-so buys clothes from the reject store; what's-her-name flunked the English exam. Yeah, actually, this wasn't interesting at all.

Ayano searched for the tag #Taro Yamada. One post came up, with a video of Ayano and Osana. The header was "Compliment Cringe on Akademi front lawn! Which girl drives the other to storm off crying?"

And this was what Osana was all torn up about. Who read this blog anyway? Was this the kind of thing normal people worried about?

Ayano remembered bullies. She remembered when she was a child, and other kids would push her around, knock her things out of her hands. It had been annoying, inconvenient. But people didn't push each other in high school; that was childish. What did Osana think was going to happen?

Sighing, Ayano moved to close the window. Then a new post popped up.

"Drama Club deputy leader lives in a dump!"

Ayano's eyebrow went up, and she clicked for more information.

"JuicyBabes, I am absolutely shook right now," the blog read. "With laughter! No one ever could stand how high and mighty Tsuruzo acts all the time, with that pretentious accent, always speaking in the third person. And it turns out he has nothing to brag about after all!"

A number of photos followed of a trashy apartment. Holes were punched in the walls; soda cans and takeout boxes littered the grungy carpet. Most of the pictures were clearly zoomed in through windows; one of them showed a familiar purple-haired boy at a desk, reading with his hands on his ears. There was also a play by play of the fight the parents had, complete with the wife breaking a bottle over her husband's head.

Ayano's eyes narrowed. Akademi was a prestigious school; did Tsuruzo get in on pure talent? That seemed unlikely. As far as she knew everyone, even the super rich kids, needed to perform at least tolerably on the entrance exam to even be considered a candidate. But on the flip side, there also weren't any full ride scholarships.

Except for Ayano of course. Ayano would be going to Akademi. She'd known that was a fact since she was little and she'd never really known how to ask her mom why.

Another post popped up. Two in such quick succession?

"#BlessedintheChest- Kokona Haruka seen mooching off creepy old guy!"

What.

Ayano opened the new post. She knew the place; she knew the man. She knew the photo.

She'd taken it.

Grabbing her cell phone, Ayano pulled up the photo gallery. There it was. A memento of the time she followed Kokona home, from back when she still saw Kokona as a threat to her future with Senpai. That felt like forever ago.

But now this 'JuicyGirl' had gotten her hands on it.

How? Ayano had never actually used the photo for anything. She'd thought about sending it to Info-chan...

...Info-chan. Of course. Why had she believed Info-chan was above bugging Ayano's phone?

Ayano's vision clouded. Her hands shook. Her neck twitched.

She'd let herself be played. But not again. Info-chan would pay. Ayano would smash that smug snake's glasses right into her eye sockets and out the other side of her skull. Then she'd toss all of Info-chan's computers into a garbage disposal and watch as they were ground back into sand.

Abruptly, she stood up. And she threw herself against the wall, one hand on each side of her corkboard, her face less than an inch away from a photo she'd pinned in the middle of a red yarn heart.

Taro. Taro. Taro.

This was all for him. For keeping him safe, bringing him home with her forever. Making sure no one ever hurt him. And that he knew how much Ayano loved him.

That was all that mattered. She couldn't afford to lose sight of this. She was an Aishi, and Aishis hated to lose. But first and foremost, she was Taro's.

Ayano felt her hands steady, and she drew in a long, steady breath, exhaling from her mouth in a long, relaxed sigh. It was over. ...wasn't it?

Ayano didn't want to think about info-chan, or computers, or cell phones or anything of the sort right now. She didn't feel safe touching that subject again. Not for a little longer. She didn't even want to look at her computer screen.

Well... she never did find that video of Mom's high school play...

Ayano found the box under her Mom's bed. Mom always put tapes she didn't want Ayano to find under her bed, which meant it should have been the first place Ayano looked. Mom was always sending mixed signals about what she did and didn't want her daughter knowing. At least Dad had always been honest.

The VHS tapes were all labeled with esoteric references that probably only made sense to her mom, but luckily she had the correct keywords in mind to find the right one.

"Tarentella" read the label on the front. On the top of the tape was a homemade label with elegant caligraphy: "A frenzied dance reminiscent of the death throes of a victim of a spider's bite."

A deadly dance... a dance to die for. Ayano felt sure she knew what was on this tape. Something Tsuruzo definitely wouldn't want to see. She should just put the tape back and forget about it. She had no reason to relive her mom's high school exploits.

But her fingers curled around the tape, and she stood up still holding it. She didn't need to know... but it couldn't hurt her to see it. She wasn't affected by this type of thing.

Downstairs, she popped the tape into the player and hunted for the remote. DVD remote, TV remote, remote for the mood lamp that was in the kitchen... where was the VHS remote?

Ayano growled to herself as she settled on the carpet in front of the TV to adjust the input with the buttons on the player. Like a dinosaur.

The screen flickered blue, then a static line wound up the screen as a blurry image appeared. The school gym. The curtains were in a different style, but the stage was the same stage Ayano was familiar with.

"Put the Christmas tree there."

Two girls traipsed across the stage, one dressed in a kimono as the woman of the household. Clearly a localized touch, given the original play took place in- was it America? She was pretty sure Kokona had said it was an American play. Ayano hadn't really been paying attention.

The other woman was in a maid costume. Her long black hair and her empty grey eyes looked familiar.

Was that... was that Ryoba?

Ayano stared, the plot of the play forgotten as she studied the maid's movements. It was like watching her doppleganger more than it was like her mom. The Ryoba Ayano knew was so... bubbly and over the top with everything she did. This girl seemed wooden. Quiet. Unassuming. And utterly uncaring.

Maybe it was just because she was playing a servant and servants weren't supposed to be outgoing. She wasn't an important character in the play either. Or... or had she not met Ayano's father yet? Had Ryoba really been just like Ayano once?

And then, Ayano saw who was playing the husband of the woman in the kimono. He had fake facial hair and, ironically, blacker natural hair, but he was definitely her dad.

He acted different too. His eyes were bright and wide; his stride peppy and careless. His smile was radiant. And cheeky confidence radiated from him when he pulled the woman in the kimono over for a quick kiss on her nose.

Ayano caught the way the maid's hands tensed up with every kiss. She wondered if anyone in the audience noticed. Probably not; the maid was functionally a piece of scenery by this part in the play.

Her father talked with the actress in the kimono about their domestic life. His voice was stronger. The chemistry with his co-lead was palpable. His grey eyes were locked with her sea-green ones. Watching them tease each other made Ayano's heart flutter; she couldn't really imagine talking to her Senpai like that, so freely and jokingly, but if she found the nerve someday she hoped to have a relationship like that.

Ayano's father left so the kimono actress could talk to another character. The woman in the kimono was petite with deep red lips. Her medium-blue hair was in a French braid; Ayano wondered if it was always like that or if it was just for the play. Her slow, graceful movements and serene smile were the model of a Japanese housewife. Strength in femininity.

She had no idea how doomed she was.

Ayano hugged her knees to her chest, her fingers digging into her skin. This kind of thing didn't affect her. The past was written in stone; horrific images didn't shock her. She could see what was coming a mile away, so she wasn't going to be surprised, nor scared.

So why was her stomach hurting?

Ayano fast-forwarded through the scenes her dad wasn't in, which was many of them. Finally, the scene came where her dad called on the actress in the kimono to dance the tarantella for him and his guests.

The girl in the kimono had a strained, tired smile as she moved to the center stage. Throwing her arms into the air with elegant abandon, she began to spin across the stage, the edge of her kimono twirling. Her legs curled one after the other into slow, graceful kicks, her hands swirling around her body like a symbol of a wild wind. Then her dance went faster and faster, her twisting body beginning to wobble erratically, and when she lifted her hands above her head again they were shaking.

Ayano's dad's mouth twitched with concern and he glanced at the other actors. One young woman looked confused; the other male actor was cringing.

The kimono girl's steps were no longer dancelike; she stumbled around in a jittery fashion, kicking over a sidetable without apparently noticing. Then she slipped on the rug and fell to the ground, her arms not even stopping to catch herself as she bounced off the couch and fell at Ayano's dad's feet.

Ayano's dad dropped beside the kimono girl with a cry of alarm as the other actors sprang up. The girl in the kimono flailed wildly, arms smacking the floor, head thrashing. Ayano's dad tried to grab her wrists as adults from the audience ran up, calling advice, urging him to back away. But he remained by the kimono girl's side, face pale, voice cracking as he tried to calm her down.

And in the background swayed the maid, hand over her mouth in a gesture of shock. But Ayano knew her mom better than that. The maid's eyes were glittering in a way Ayano knew very well.

Ryoba was hiding a smile.

Her senpai was before her, shaking and crying with all the strength in his body, in pain so intense that neither Ayano nor Ryoba could understand.

But Ryoba thought this was funny.

Ayano wanted to tear apart the TV screen. She wanted to grab Ryoba and slam her into the wall, and use a knife on that smug face to give her something to smile about.

What is wrong with you!? Do you call that love? Do you call that protection? What have you done to him? You are a monster!

You.

Are.

A.

But Ayano couldn't do anything but watch. Just like her dad couldn't do anything but watch as the girl in the kimono stopped thrashing, her body rigid in horror.

And something hot spilled down Ayano's cheeks. She couldn't breathe.

Her dad was forced to watch someone he loved die.

Just like Ayano's senpai had been staring at Osana.

Ryoba was a monster. And Ayano was standing in her footsteps.