No. 95 A Mirage of Neon Lights
My days fell into a predictable routine: school, homework, browsing computer science forums, playing games, chatting with Xiaodie, practicing Pai family martial arts. It was the typical life of a middle school student in Upper Capital City, a microcosm of adolescence across the country.
In some countries, school ended around 3 PM, allowing students ample time for extracurricular activities and hobbies.
But not in China.
Our students didn’t need such frivolous distractions. Academic excellence was paramount.
That was one reason why otaku culture was often frowned upon.
Spending your days immersed in anime, manga, and video games was considered less respectable than dedicating yourself to your studies.
And there was a clear distinction between male and female otaku.
I was fortunate. My homework rarely took more than an hour. Most of my classmates, however, spent their evenings hunched over their desks, leaving little time for anything else.
Was it any wonder the younger generation was becoming increasingly physically unfit?
“You really like Yoshino, don’t you?” my “stepbrother” observed, his gaze lingering on the Yoshino-themed decor that adorned my room.
“Um… well… she’s cute…” I replied, my legs swinging nervously.
It was painfully obvious.
My backpack, keychains, pillows, bedsheets, even my mousepad featured Yoshino. My room was painted in shades of blue and white, and I was wearing a Yoshino-inspired dress.
As one of the few loli characters in “Date A Live,” Yoshino was gentle, sweet, and unassuming, lacking the aggressive tendencies of her fellow Spirits. She was the embodiment of the ideal anime girlfriend.
But in reality, a girl with her personality, if married to a non-otaku, was likely to face infidelity.
An ordinary person might perceive her as demure and submissive, assuming she would tolerate any transgression.
But those familiar with otaku culture understood the appeal of such a personality, projecting their fantasies onto their real-life partners, finding pride and motivation in their idealized relationship.
It was the difference between trust and faith.
And trust, as I had learned, was often the root of heartbreak.
My Yoshino-inspired persona had successfully painted me as a harmless, even vulnerable, little sister in my “stepbrother’s” eyes.
His casual intrusion into my room on our first meeting was a clear indication of his lack of boundaries, his perception of me as someone he could easily manipulate.
Well, that was my intention all along. But a little harmless mischief before our inevitable confrontation wouldn’t hurt, would it?
Maybe I could plant a virus on his computer.
After all, my true favorite anime character was Nemurin from “Magical Girl Raising Project,” an anime that wouldn’t air for another four months.
“Hee hee, I think Yoshino is cute too,” he said, his voice eager.
The sounds of my father and Aunt Mo’s lovey-dovey banter and the sizzling of food drifted from the kitchen, filling the air with a tantalizing aroma.
“Um… yeah…”
“Have you ever been to a comic convention?”
“No…”
“Oh, right, you’re still in middle school. You must be a good student.”
“Yeah…”
Any further modesty would be arrogance.
“That’s great. I was a rebel when I was your age. Always skipping class to play games.”
He gazed out the window, his face illuminated by the setting sun, striking a dramatic pose.
“Everyone else at the internet cafe was playing games, but I was catching up on anime. And I paid the price. I only scored 300 points on the college entrance exams.”
That was a sad story indeed.
If I remembered correctly, he was attending Upper Capital College, a far cry from the prestigious Upper Capital University, despite the similarity in their names.
Upper Capital College, located in Jiangnan District, was known for its vast campus, filled with trees and flower gardens, a thirty-minute bike ride from our apartment.
He continued to ramble about his dreams, his aspirations, his perceived brilliance, until my father called us for dinner.
“Dinner’s ready. Let’s go,” he said, his voice filled with reluctance.
I couldn’t blame him. I was more knowledgeable and experienced than him, able to keep up with his every topic, fueling his delusion of finding a kindred spirit in his “little sister.”
“What do you think of your brother?” my father asked, beaming with pride, as we gathered around the dinner table.
“Um… I…”
I glanced at Ziyang shyly, then lowered my gaze. “He’s… very kind… He knows so much. I have a lot to learn from him.”
“Haha, I knew you two would get along.”
He piled food onto my plate. “Ziyang, your sister is a good girl, but she can be a bit spoiled. Keep an eye on her.”
“Of course, Uncle.”
My father’s words made him beam with pride.
He would probably brag about his “conquest” to his friends tonight.
Having a sister was a status symbol, a badge of honor among teenage boys.
“Oh, by the way, Yi Yao, Aunt Mo and I have been discussing your high school options. We’re thinking about sending you to No. 33 Middle School,” my father announced.
No. 33 Middle School?
The school where two students had committed suicide during military training in 2016?
Compared to No. 1 and No. 5 Middle School, No. 33 wasn’t particularly renowned for its academic achievements. It was a decent school, but it had only gained notoriety after the suicides.
I remembered those incidents. The first student had apparently committed suicide after an argument with his parents. The second one had been a mystery, the official explanation being an accidental fall from the dormitory building while hanging laundry.
The online forums had exploded with speculation, the school’s online forum flooded with concerned citizens demanding answers. But the school had never provided a satisfactory explanation.
“It’s closer to home. No. 1 and No. 5 are too far away. And we don’t want you to live in a dormitory. What do you think? Are you confident you can get in?”
No. 33 Middle School was less than a kilometer from our apartment. I could probably see the entire campus from our rooftop. It was a short bike ride away, a few minutes at most.
But why would my father choose that school?
It was the first time I had encountered a parent who preferred a less prestigious school for their child.
Was it because I was a girl?
“I’ll do my best,” I replied softly, my voice barely a whisper.
Getting into No. 33 wouldn’t be a challenge. But attending that school would drastically alter my future. New classmates, new teachers, a new environment.
“Bao Chao, your daughter is so adorable. She’s so well-mannered, even at the dinner table. How did you raise her?” Aunt Mo said, her voice laced with envy. “Our Ziyang is hopeless. He eats like a pig. No girl would ever want him.”
“Mom!”
“Don’t talk back to me! Look at your sister.”
“Haha, Ziyang is a boy. He doesn’t have to be so refined.”
I basked in their praise, my father beaming with pride. “Yi Yao is a good girl. I’m not worried about her finding a husband. Hahaha.”
I lowered my head, feigning shyness.
Seriously, Dad? You never noticed my good qualities before. You’re so obsessed with appearances…
Was I really a “good girl”? Both the original Yi Yao and I had caused you plenty of trouble.
If I hadn’t become the top student, you wouldn’t even acknowledge my existence, would you?
Our first major conflict had been that day he had inexplicably lashed out at me. Before that, I had been the perfect daughter, the obedient student, the model citizen. I never skipped class, I helped with chores, I went to bed on time, and while my grades weren’t always the best, I consistently ranked in the top ten.
Our relationship had deteriorated after my grades had slipped.
“When are you moving in?” my father asked Aunt Mo, his voice cheerful.
“Maybe this weekend. After I finish up some work. We don’t have much to move anyway.”
I almost choked on my food, but I managed to maintain my composure.
Moving in with us? So soon?
Dad, you were planning this all along, weren’t you? You were having an affair while Mom was still alive! All that talk about finding a new partner was just a charade, a way to avoid gossip from our relatives!
“Maybe Ziyang can move in first. He said he doesn’t like living in the dormitory,” my father suggested.
“Would that be too much trouble for Yi Yao?” Ziyang asked, his voice eager, but his concern for his “little sister” convincing.
“Of course not! We’re practically family now. Right, Yi Yao? Would you like your brother to live with us?”
“Of course!”
Welcome, dear onii-chan, to your inescapable fate.
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