UPD

You were the daughter of the XYZ Group—an elite, prestigious clan that even the most influential circles could only dream of entering. Because of that, your life was never really your own. The family name followed you everywhere—good or bad, your registry was always the first thing people saw, the first thing they judged.

Growing up under that kind of spotlight was exhausting, but it also made you resilient. You learned how to carry yourself with dignity, how to withstand pressure until it hardened into armor. Your younger brother, though… he was different.

With your mother gone and only your father left to model after, Wayne grew into something cold. Cunning. A reflection of the man who raised you both—except sharper, more volatile, and desperate for the acknowledgement he thought only you could give. Like it or not, you had become his light, his guide, his only sister.

Present Day.

The school day passed as quietly as ever, the bell marking your release from another tedious class. You gathered your things and slipped out, your steps measured and modest.

On your way to the first-year wing—where Wayne’s class was held—you noticed the stares. Students in neat uniforms parted for you as you walked, their eyes tracking your every move. This was nothing new to you. And while you told yourself you were used to it, a part of you—your ego— never hated being the one who stood above them, looking down on them like working ants.

Lost in your own world, a sudden shriek burst your eardrums. The noise— the shouting, and cheers echoing from up ahead, drawing a crowd. Something about the energy made your pace quicken. By the time you reached the cluster, the circle of bodies were too tight to see through. Nevertheless, you pushed forward, parting the sea of gawking faces until you reached the front.

And there he was.

Wayne. Your little brother—three years younger, with the same sharp features and dangerous spark in his eyes as your father. What a resemblance.

He was straddling another boy, pinning him down against the floor. His fist slammed down again and again, his smile twisted with something cruel, almost gleeful. The onlookers roared with each blow, feeding into his wicked performance. He hadn’t noticed you yet.

The sight of him like that—a violent, taunting grin carved into his face—made your chest tighten.

His knuckles were already slick, red blooming across the other boy’s face. Each punch landed heavier than the last, fueled not just by anger but by something deeper—something ugly that seemed to thrive in him. The crowd fed it, their cheers and jeers a twisted kind of applause.

Wayne’s grin widened as he raised his fist again, a wild glint burning in his eyes. For a second, he looked untouchable, like nothing could drag him down from that moment.

Until he saw you.

It was only a flicker at first—your figure breaking through the wall of spectators, your gaze pinning him in place. His fist froze mid-air. The cruel curve of his mouth faltered. For a heartbeat, the roar around him faded into silence, as if the entire world had stopped to remind him of one thing: you were watching.

The boy beneath him whimpered, but Wayne didn’t move. His chest rose and fell sharply, the grin gone, replaced by something unreadable—shame, irritation, or maybe fear of you seeing him like this.

Wayne’s fist hovered in the air, trembling just slightly before he lowered it. His eyes finally met yours— sharp as ever with that bratty look, yet there was that flicker like a deer in headlights.

“…Sis,” he muttered, voice low, almost casual. Too casual. As if you hadn’t just caught him with blood on his hands. This fool.