I'm Being Threatened by My Sister's Ex-girlfriend. (GL) - Chapter 3
“Tsuguno-san, what time are you done today?”
“…I’m finished at 4:30 PM after my fourth class.”
“Got it. Let’s meet in front of the station at 5 PM then.”
“Wh-why?”
“Also, we’re exchanging LINE IDs, so get your phone out.”
Listen to me for once.
I wanted to say that, but the words wouldn’t come out. The thought of a towering stack of pizzas or my personal information spreading all over the internet kept me silent. The fear of online exposure is boundless and terrifying.
“Hurry up.”
“…Fine.”
It’s not like my name and address haven’t already been dug up. At this point, sharing my contact info wouldn’t make a difference.
Reluctantly, I added her as a friend. Her display name, written in hiragana, was “Hakobe,” and her profile picture showed a white flower with petals as tiny as grains of rice.
This flower must be where her name came from—the chickweed, one of the seven herbs of spring. Simple, unassuming, and easy to remember. Even her name annoyed me with how perfectly put-together it was.
She sent a sticker immediately. A strange mascot, neither a cat nor a raccoon, bounced across the screen, saying, “Nice to meet you!” with little hearts. I didn’t recognize the character. Moments like this made me all too aware that she was two years younger than me.
And that I was being blackmailed by someone like her.
“Looking forward to working with you, Tsuguno-san. Oh, wait—”
Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she leaned forward on the table, her chin propped on her elbows, peering up at me from an angle.
“Should I be calling you ‘Senpai’ instead?”
The blue ribbon on her white blouse swayed slightly, looking almost too clean and proper.
I fiddled with my phone and sent her a sticker in return. A samurai swinging a sword burst onto the chat with the caption, “I’ll take your head!”
Just a sticker wasn’t enough to express how much I wanted to refuse her. I glared at her, pouring all my rejection into my eyes.
“Alright, I’ll stick with Tsuguno-san then.”
She smiled like it was an art form. Go to hell.
I couldn’t focus during the afternoon lecture.
The long-haired, glasses-wearing girl with a generous chest sitting next to me kept giving me puzzled looks as I sighed repeatedly.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing…”
“If you say so.”
She didn’t press further. That was one of her more likable traits.
Human relationships begin and end with boundaries. Someone should really teach this to that high school girl.
After zoning out through my general education class, I finally stepped out of the department building.
The sun, golden as ever, showed no signs of losing its strength even after 4 PM. My bob-cut hair stuck to my neck, now slightly faded in color, and the nape of my neck burned under the relentless sunlight. I silently prayed that my cheap 320-yen sunscreen would hold up against the sweat dripping from my scalp.
Cicadas buzzed incessantly in the trees on campus, their cries a constant reminder of the heat. I felt so sluggish I couldn’t even be sure I was walking straight. Bicycles parked by the roadside seemed to sway, though I couldn’t tell if it was from heat haze or my dizziness.
Either way, it was an unbearably hot afternoon.
What am I even doing out here in this heat?
My T-shirt clung to my back uncomfortably. Knowing that I was heading to meet my blackmailer—a high school girl with indigo-blue hair who happened to be my sister’s ex-girlfriend—only made my steps feel heavier.
The cicadas’ droning intensified the oppressive summer heat.
I want to go home.
But that was all I could do—just think about it.
By the time I was thinking about going home to crack open a can of chu-hi from the fridge, I had already reached the station.
I glanced at the entrance to the station from a distance. As the closest station to both Kaihin University and Mihama University, the area was always bustling with students. The escalator leading to the elevated platform constantly swallowed up and spat out streams of students.
Yet.
Even in that endless flow of people, the figure of a woman with silvery hair stood out vividly, as if illuminated by a spotlight.
A true beauty looks captivating just standing there. A shaggy-haired Kaihin student—or maybe Mihama student—descended from the platform and approached her like a moth drawn to a flame. When he caught a glimpse of the streak of inner-colored hair, he froze, startled. Like a puppy realizing too late that it had walked into a trap.
Watching the shaggy-haired student hastily flee toward campus made me chuckle a little. Her hair seemed to have a built-in intimidation factor.
While I was busy observing, my smartphone buzzed.
“Stop watching and get over here already.”
I sighed and made my way over, stepping in front of her. The silver-haired woman snapped her book shut with a dissatisfied sound. The cover bore the name of a famous author even I recognized, printed on a modern-looking design.
“Tsuguno-san, do you know what ‘being five minutes early’ means?”
“I did—back in high school.”
Her gaze took on a hint of disdain, and for a moment, the air felt colder. Ah, eco-friendly air conditioning. Fantastic. Go to hell.
“Alright, let’s go.”
“…Where to?”
“Just follow me, and you’ll see.”
With that, the silver-haired woman pulled a folded parasol out of her handbag. It was feminine, with lace adorning its bluish-black fabric. Even her accessories were annoyingly stylish.
I followed her lead and stepped back into the sunlight.
Looking up, the sun still hung high in the sky, scorching my eyes.
Kaihin-Mihama Station was a station for students, surrounded by the salty breeze of Tokyo Bay. With two university campuses on either side, the area was divided into distinct zones. On the east side, where Mihama University was located, you’d find a mid-sized shopping mall, sleek high-rise apartments perfect for poetic types, a sports gym with a pool, and chic Mediterranean restaurants.
On the west side, where Kaihin University stood, there were karaoke chains, massage parlors with baths, quirky fusion restaurants, and—you guessed it—chic Mediterranean-themed love hotels.
The silver-haired woman walked briskly through the cluttered streets of the west side. I trailed behind her like a zombie.
At a red light, she stopped at a crosswalk. I caught up and stood beside her at the edge of the white lines.
Standing still only made the heat of the sun feel more oppressive.
I glanced at her. Her elegantly contoured profile looked cool and composed under the shade of her parasol.
A parasol, huh? It did look refreshing.
“Would you like to join me under it, Tsuguno-san?”
The timing of her question made it seem like she had read my mind.
She tilted the parasol slightly in my direction, her expression cool and composed.
“Go ahead.”
“Go ahead,” she said.
Without thinking, I glanced at the diameter of the parasol. It was clearly smaller than a standard vinyl umbrella. Did she really think there was enough space for both of us? Was this narrow space an appropriate measure of the distance between Shinonome Tsuguno and Hakobe Shirato?
Of course not. It was just her odd sense of personal space.
But the shade did look tempting.
“Uh, um…”
While I hesitated, the crosswalk light turned green. As if the offer had never existed, she started walking.
Halfway across the street, she turned back and said, with a teasing smile that almost begged for a tongue to be stuck out:
“Just kidding, of course.”
“What—”
What is wrong with her?!
Before I could process my frustration, she led me into a chain karaoke shop. She pulled out a shiny blue wallet and flashed a brand-new membership card, a small reminder of her high schooler status.
As the staff spoke into a headset mic, I nudged her elbow with mine.
“Do you actually like karaoke?”
“Not particularly. I’m not a fan of singing in front of others.”
Then why are we here?
Still, it wasn’t as bizarre a destination as I had feared. I could work with this. I was the kind of person who vented stress by belting out songs. And considering my current stress levels—caused by none other than my companion—this might actually be perfect.
“What would you like for your complimentary drink?”
The staff’s words prompted me to glance at the menu. I was tempted by the alcohol but held back. No way was I going to show any sign of weakness. I chose orange juice and stepped aside.
The silver-haired girl ordered a blue-tinted soda garnished with a slice of pineapple. Of course, alcohol wasn’t an option for her.
I had just turned twenty this spring. Shirato, my sister’s underclassman, was probably seventeen or eighteen.
Thinking about it, I was struck again by the fact she was younger than me.
In the cramped elevator, I studied her profile. Her cheeks still had a touch of youthful roundness, though a real adult would probably say the difference between us was negligible.
A few years ago, even a one-year age gap felt like a massive divide. Since entering college, that divide had all but disappeared. Maybe there was never a wall there to begin with.
Even so, younger was still younger.
“…I’m paying, by the way.”
Hakuto’s eyes widened at my words.
She placed a hand on her chin, then looked up at me with an expression that resembled a part-time job interviewer sizing up a candidate.
Unable to endure her gaze, I crossed my arms.
My lemon-yellow baggy T-shirt—an item from a well-known clothing brand—served as my only shield. It cost exactly 790 yen.
Hakuto’s lips curled slightly, as though she could see right through my financial situation.
“Oh? You’re treating me?”
“No, we’re splitting the bill. You’re the one who dragged me here.”
“Just kidding. I’ll pay.”
“No need. I’m the senior here.”
“But we’re not even from the same school.”
While bantering back and forth, we arrived at the room.
As I pushed open the heavy soundproof door, a blast of cool air from the air conditioner hit us.
The room was about six tatami mats in size. The damp fabric of my clothes cooled instantly, raising goosebumps on my arms and clearing my head.
What was I even doing?
I tossed my shoulder bag onto the table.
Sitting down on the sofa, I grabbed the tablet mounted under the display and handed it to Hakuto.
“…Wanna sing something?”
“That can wait.”
Her move caught me completely off guard.
She grabbed my wrist and leaned in, pushing me back. The tablet fell to the floor with a dull thud.
My whole body was pinned against the stiff sofa, and I couldn’t free myself no matter how much I struggled.
Before I realized it, something soft pressed down on my lower stomach.
Though hidden under her skirt, it was likely her thighs—or her hips.
I looked up. Hakuto was straddling me, sitting on my waist.
“What—what are you doing?!”
“This is easier, so don’t struggle too much, okay?”
“L-let go, you idiot!”
“Nope.”
Her calm face came closer, and something warm and wet slid across my neck, leaving a trail of heat.
Squelch.
The moist sound sent a shiver down my spine.
Cautiously, I glanced down.
A red tongue was licking my thin skin.
With a faint wet sound, her lips parted from my neck. The unfamiliar sensation made me want to cry out.
Hakuto’s nose parted my bobbed hair, moving toward the space behind my ear.
I could hear the soft hiss of her breathing as she sniffed.
“Ah, you smell just like your sister. Twins, after all.”
“What the hell are you smelling, and what are you talking about?!”
“Just my observation,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“Didn’t I ask you to be my girlfriend?”
“I didn’t agree to that! And you’re rushing things way too much, like a middle school boy!”
“Is that so? I wouldn’t know.”
“Are you out of your mind?!”
Hakuto’s hand slipped under my T-shirt.
Her cold palm traced along my side.
On a hot day like today, I was wearing only a shirt and underwear on my upper body.
The chill of her fingertips felt unbearably real.
Her hand slid higher, then grabbed my br3ast through my bra.
Her thumb pressed into the soft flesh, moving two, three times.
I let out an involuntary sound, my cheeks burning with heat.
A faint sigh of admiration escaped her pale lips—or at least, it felt like it did.
That was when something inside me snapped.
“Enough already!”
I twisted my knee into her side, shoving her off.
She tumbled onto the table, landing on top of the laminated drink menu.
A pained groan escaped her lips, and honestly, I felt a bit satisfied.
“Ugh… ouch…”
Slowly sitting up, she slid off the table and casually took a seat on the opposite sofa.
Her calm demeanor made it seem like nothing had happened.
I adjusted the hem of my T-shirt, glaring at her with all the intensity I could muster.
“Die!”
“Your insults sound like something a grade-schooler would say.”
“Shut up. Go die. Look, if you do stuff like that in a public place with no lock, it’s public indecency. You’d be breaking the law, bothering the shop, and most importantly, I have no interest in exhibitionism.”
And go die, again.
The white-haired girl blinked in surprise at my insult. What’s with that calm reaction? Did I say something strange?
“Oh?”
Her perfectly shaped lips twisted into an amused grin.
“Even after being attacked, that’s what you’re worried about?”
“Well, I mean…”
Her words made me realize my situation for the first time.
Regardless of gender, someone had touched me without my consent. Whether I was being threatened or not, I should’ve screamed or bolted out of there as fast as I could. Normally, that’s what I would’ve done. Lecturing the perpetrator like this wasn’t something I’d ever do.
And yet, I wasn’t leaving.
If you asked me why, it’s probably because this girl, this white-haired girl, is beautiful.
Beauty has its own kind of violence. Even after being forcefully pinned down, my first thoughts weren’t of disgust or anger, but about morals and logic. That had to be because of her looks.
“A-anyway, no more of that kind of thing! I don’t care what you expose or where, but that’s absolutely off-limits!”
“Alright.”
She replied casually, without any real resistance. She twirled a strand of her own hair with her fingers, the striking mix of poisonous blue and elegant black catching the light.
After a moment of silence, she spoke suddenly.
“Then sing something. We’re at karaoke, after all.”
“Wait, what? Sing?”
“Yes. I liked Ichika-senpai’s singing.”
“Singing, huh…”
The white-haired girl’s eyes softened as if cherishing a memory.
“Senpai was really good at it.”
“She’s good at everything.”
A familiar bitterness spread across my tongue. It was the kind I’d tasted so many times growing up that I’d grown numb to it.
Purely subjectively, I don’t think I’m tone-deaf. But that only means I’m average at best.
Identical twins are compared in every possible way—height, weight, hair length, running speed, report card grades, karaoke scores.
If everything matched perfectly, down to the genetic level, that would’ve been fine. But we weren’t like that. Swallowing hard and covering up the sting of old wounds, I spoke.
“I don’t think I’m bad at singing, but my range is narrow. I can’t sing like Ichika.”
“Do you sing on your streams?”
“…I did once. Didn’t leave the archive up, though.”
The memory of that disastrous day came flooding back. I’d bought a condenser mic online, thinking, “This should work,” and hit the stream button, full of naive optimism.
The first song, a Vocaloid track, wasn’t bad. The disaster began with the second song—a track from a male rock band I was into at the time. During the chorus, the comments started rolling in: ‘Your throat sounds strained,’ ‘Not the best song choice lol,’ and ‘Are you feeling okay?’ I was so rattled I started rambling excuses during the instrumental break.
“Just sing already. I’ll tell you where it doesn’t match.”
You really don’t have to do that. I thought but didn’t say it out loud.