There were a lot of things I disliked about the schooling in Japan. For one, the emphasis on sports. I'd never been athletic in my previous life, and I definitely didn't plan on being active here either. Running after a ball or just running in general had never appealed to me. It was just as likely I was simply being a lazy slob. Laziness was in my bones.

Misa, on the other hand, breezed through the extra-curricular activities. Like the adorable child she was, she'd huff and puff furiously, but never give up. While it was inspiring, it was also pretty annoying, because it meant I was only other blonde left standing in the field, an easy target for Takeshi-sensei, who ambled towards me immediately, frowning.

"Sayuri-chan -,"

"Yes, yes, sensei," I bit out, gritting my teeth. "I won't stop again."

Immediately, his frown became sterner. "It is considered rude to interrupt your elders, Sayuri."

Oh, honestly! This whole formality business was so not amusing. I was too lazy to adhere to half the standards, but Takeshi seriously seemed very interested in lecturing them into me.

Faced with my disgruntled silence, he continued.

"Also, please try smiling a bit more. Your classmates are scared of you, Sayuri-chan."

As they should be, I almost growled. Aside from Misa, I found all children annoying. They were whiny, stupid, and more often than not, bullies. Luckily, none of them had tried to bully me or Misa yet, otherwise…

Well. I could be a vicious child.

As I took off, panting through the fields, I considered the disconcerting idea of this 'all-smiles' business. Sadly enough, we were stuck in the year 1990, so that meant ideas of the ideal Yamato Nadeshiko still persisted in this world. Well, they did in mine too, but I… Well, technically speaking, a Perfect Japanese Woman had a core of inner steel or something flowery like that. But I generally disliked the idea of her not going against her family members and being supportive, always. I'd come from a time when women were more often than not, independent, and made their own decisions.

If I remembered correctly, feminism was well on its way to becoming a cult movement, but it wasn't as widespread yet. Blame the lack of internet, I suppose.

"Nee-chan!" Misa called out, running up to catch me. She was decked in the same shorts as me, her usually pale cheeks rosy-red from exertion. "What was Sensei saying to you?"

I rolled my eyes. "You don't have to call me that, y'know," I said, ignoring her question. "I'm only ten minutes older than you."

"Ah, Nee-chan, but Misa still finds it difficult to say Sa-yu-ri!" She said carefully, taking care to not trip over the 'r'. It was actually pretty cute. Hell, everything about Misa was cute, from her small pigtails to her cutesy smile. I'm sure, in comparison, I looked like a freak.

"If you must know," I muttered, glancing at the huge clock that signified only two more minutes of this torture, "He was angsting about my laziness again."

"What does an-si-ng mean?"

"It means he was being an asshole."

Misa cried out in horror at the swear-word, rapidly pinching my arm to make me promise I wouldn't say it again. As I promised half-heartedly (crossing my fingers behind my back, obviously), I realized there was this certain… warmth in my heart. Nobody had ever cared to correct my speech patterns before.

Along with it came a stunning realization.

I was getting fucking attached.

{X}

Did I consider Honoka and Sousuke to be my true parents?

It was something I ended up giving a ridiculous amount of thought to.

For one, it was true that the two did love us - tremendously so, in fact. It was Honoka's favorite pastime to just have us sleep with her, separate rooms be damned. By the age of four, she had my likes and dislikes down to the pat. Often, I'd end up coming home after yet another annoying day at preschool to see my favorite dishes winking down at me. She birthed me, clothed me, kept me fed, and even tolerated my pointless tantrums.

So yes, I loved Honoka.

Was she my true parent?

Probably not.

It was the same with Sousuke. Despite the fact that our very presence made his face light up like the Fourth of July, I couldn't help but compare him to my previous father. It was nothing personal…

Instead, it was more so because I shared the two with Misa.

It was never just Sayuri - it was Misa and Sayuri. At first, I'd resented being a twin greatly. It wasn't even just because she was Amane Misa, known murderer and puppy killer. It was because she shared my face, and some of my mannerisms, and that she too, was odd. Different. Hidden behind that innocent face was a living, breathing person.

And whether I liked it or not, Misa was my fucking sister.

Sometimes, I would look at us in the mirror, look at our pretty pigtails and our matching blue eyes and think: We make a strange pair.

Because I could never quite manage to conceal the cold intelligence behind my eyes.

I tried to hide it - of course I did. But the truth was, some part of me didn't want to hide.

The urge was something I couldn't even explain to myself. In my previous life, I had been a typical person - if a bit smarter than the rest. I chose science. I studied. I was normal.

Was it really so wrong to crave the feeling of being different? Of being someone special?

I traced my reflection in the mirror contemplatively, aware of my hypocrisy.

Because I was already different. And I didn't share Misa with Honoka and Sousuke - she shared me with them. This face, this body, these eyes weren't mine. All that belonged to me was my awareness. The feeling of being someone else. The memories of a different life, and a different face.

But if everyone thought that I was the only weird one, then they clearly missed Misa. It was fascinating, watching a child grow and learn in such close quarters. But it was even more fascinating to see Amane Misa - for she was a child of contradictions, constantly picking up newer things, trying out different ways of living.

In these close quarters, I saw Misa gain, and then lose a lisp faster than one could say 'normal', all because one of her giggling friends had made fun of it. She was always bright, cheery, sunnier than anyone could ever be. Misa was an odd child too, and just for that, I think she never recognized the oddness in me. To her, I was her Sun - she orbited around me. Distance between us made her upset, and every attempt of Takeshi sensei's to separate us was rebuffed with pouty lips and tears.

Sometimes, I would wake up gasping in the night, drowning in the memories of another person, and she would be there. Always there.

And this.

This, beyond anything else, be it Kira or L or the upcoming years, scared me the most.

{Z}

"How about this one?" Misa asked, flipping pages rapidly in the brochure. "It looks very pretty! Misa likes the Sakura trees in the playground."

"Yeah," I murmured distractedly, not even bothering to look up from my book, "It's nice."

"Nee-chan!" My sister all but squealed, hitting me with the folded brochure. "You aren't even listening to me!"

"I am, I am," I tried, rolling to the side to escape the blows. My magenta pink frock flew up from the movement and Misa hastily abandoned her sadistic venture to pull it down. Sadly enough, Honoka loved buying pink things for us. Our wardrobes were filled with pink underwear, pink tops, pink shorts, pink everything. Sometimes, I wondered if Misa had started wearing all that black as a form of rebellion. It certainly made an insane amount of sense now.

"Nyeh, Sayuli! Don't you care about the school we'll go to?" Misa asked, lifting my book out of my hands to fix me with a stern glare. The effect was spoiled by the way she'd mangled my name, but hey! At least she'd tried.

"Not particularly," I muttered drily, snatching my book back. "They're all the same anyway…"

"But Misa wants to go to the best school! And Misa's Nee-chan is smart, yes? So she can look at these brochures and tell Daddy which one is the best!"

Seriously, this was a prime example of why kindergarten had done me more harm than good. I'd tried dumbing myself down, but there was only so much I could do. Ultimately, the title of 'child-genius' had been added to my name, filtering down to my parents and my sister too. And now, they all had these expectations. My left eye twitched irritably at the very thought.

The only good part of the whole scenario was that it had lifted Takeshi from my back. I guess he thought that a prodigy had no need to be a Yamato Nadeshiko or something inane like that.

"Seriously Misa…" I began, trying my hardest to not roll my eyes at her. Now that we were slightly older, she felt really insulted by the gesture and flopped away more often than not, blonde hair bouncing freely behind her.

"How does it matter which school you go to?" A voice interrupted us, and over Misa's shoulder, I saw Misaki sauntering in, a sneer on her face. "You're both going to fail at life anyway!"

Misa squealed in indignation, rising to her tiny feet. "You're always so mean to us, Onee-chan!"

"With good reason!" Misaki shot back, crossing her arms. "The perfect little twins~. Wait till the world realizes how stupid the two of you are!"

"Misa and Sayuli are not stupid! You take that back!"

Misaki's sneer grew even more pronounced. "Make me, little imouto~."

Misa's eyes widened, briefly, before narrowing. I could only watch in awe as my sister sauntered forward, hands fisted tightly before kicking Misaki's shin. Hard.

It must've been a good hit, or Misaki was just as weak as her sickly skin indicated, because she immediately clutched her leg and began yowling. The next instant, Mom came running into the room and Misaki tearfully began explaining what a little psycho Misa had been. (Her words, not mine.)

Wait. Tearfully?

In the meantime, Misa had began crying loudly too, screaming how mean her onee-chan was to her. Mom looked torn only for a brief second, before picking Misa up. At that, Misaki's eyes narrowed vindictively. "They're always right, aren't they? Your perfect little twins! Your little fucking angels!"

Honoka flinched, as if slapped.

"I was never enough for you!" Misaki continued, screaming the words out as if they were simply waiting to be torn from her throat. "You wanted your perfect little babies, and once they were here, I was completely forgotten! You even had to name her like me, as if Misaki wasn't enough… So you wanted a Misa! You…. You're such a little bitch, Honoka!"

Misa flinched at the swear word, while Honoka looked as if she would burst into tears any at any moment. Without waiting for a reply, Misaki strode out of the room, slamming the door shut and screaming about how she never wanted to come back.

Wow, I thought lightly, still holding my book, my family sure was dramatic.

Although, it made sense, of sorts. Misaki had always been mean to us. I'd attributed it to the fact that she was older, and felt as if attention was slipping from her, but what if it was because Honoka was never satisfied with her? Staying in the house, I'd realized earlier on that Misaki wasn't very exceptional. Unlike our bright blonde hair, she was gifted with dark black tresses that curled more often than not. Instead of giving her an innocent look, her eyes always made her look sickly, as if she was constantly diseased. She wasn't very bright either, if we were to go by her scores. In fact, she was attending a mediocre Uni somewhere near Osaka itself.

Also, if Honoka was already at Uni now, and we were barely even touching six, then that meant…. Honoka probably had her when she was a teen. My eyes widened as I recalled Mum's brown hair and Dad's blonde ones.

She had Misaki with… another man?

In the silence that followed, Misa sniffed briefly, before turning to look at Honoka with wide eyes. "Okaa-san, why does Misaki-chan hate us?"

Mum's eyes clouded slightly, before she sighed, placing Misa back on the floor. "She doesn't hate you, Misa-chan."

"No, no," Misa argued, shaking her head, "She keeps saying we're useless! She calls Sayuli mean names and makes fun of Misa's hair!"

Honoka looked troubled. Very troubled. I was almost tempted to help her out, but there was nothing I could even try to say in the situation. Besides, I was too busy reeling with shock at my deduction anyway. Misa trusted me, but this was something she had to hear from her mother.

"Misa…" Honoka finally began, kneeling to place her hands on her shoulders, "Remember this. You'll dislike a lot of people too, when you grow up. You will want to call them mean names and pull their hair and be rude to them." Her eyes flickered towards me. "You too, Sayuri. But every time you feel that way, I want you to remember that you must keep up appearances. Making someone hate you isn't the solution. Sometimes, smiling goes a long way, okay?"

As Misa nodded, hesitantly, I thought back on Takeshi-sensei and his insistence I smile more. I remembered the way his eyes would sparkle when he spoke about the Perfect Japanese Woman. I compared it to Mum's words, and I realized that perhaps I'd been looking at it the wrong way.

Because Mum was right. There was no point making enemies as you went. Sometimes… It was better to just smile through it.

I don't know what went through my sister's brain as she heard all this, but she displayed an astonishing amount of maturity by smiling weakly and dropping the topic. As Honoka kissed our foreheads to say goodnight, I also considered that in a way, it was fucked up advice. Honoka was basically telling us to bullshit our way through people.

But it was a fucked up world. And like it or not, it was about to get even worse.

Anyway, a fat hypocrite I'd be if I disagreed with her on this.

I'd only been bullshitting since… say… the day I was born?

{X}

A/N: I wouldn't endorse Sayuri's views to anyone, btw. It's supposed to be more to give people an idea of her character than to be truthful. Like it or not, she can be a bit of a bitch.

Also! Reviewers, followers, favorite-rs. You guys are the best!

Teaser for the next chapter:

I rose to my feet and my hands formed fists without me even thinking about it. There was no time for words as I moved, intent on pummeling the little brat to the floor (howdarehehitmysister!) when -

- A soft hand grabbed my wrist.