Friday night, and Mika's apartment was dead quiet. Her desk was covered in textbooks, all stacked perfectly, like she always did everything.
She had a calculus exam coming up. Should've been studying. But instead, she sat there with her phone, scrolling through the same pictures for what felt like the hundredth time.
The only sign of chaos came from her phone, where the "Cosplay Project" group chat kept lighting up with notifications.
Yuna was posting memes at an alarming rate while Makoto tried to respond with something normal, only to make things worse somehow.
And then, there was that selfie from the crepe shop, both of them looking messy and happy.
Makoto was staring at some fabric with a dopey look on his face. And Yuna was hanging off his arm like she'd die if she let go.
"Acting like she owns him." Mika smiled to herself. Just a tiny curve of her lips, barely there.
This whole thing was turning into the most interesting game she'd played in forever.
She actually felt excited about something. When was the last time that happened?
People always saw her as the good girl: Quiet, studies hard, runs track, and does what she's supposed to do, never causes problems.
Boys liked that about her. They'd approach her after class with nervous smiles and sweaty palms, telling her she was beautiful, perfect, like something out of a dream.
Then they'd ask her out to safe, boring dates where they'd treat her like she might shatter if they spoke too loudly.
"They were just so predictable", Mika thought the same things every time a boy confessed to her.
Every single one of them saw what they wanted to see: the sweet girl with the gentle voice who would never, ever do anything unexpected.
None of them noticed how she memorized their schedules. How she studied their habits, their preferences, their weaknesses. They saw the soft smile and missed the calculations happening behind it.
In their minds, she was a princess waiting to be rescued. They never realized she was taking notes on exactly how to get them.
Kenichi popped into her head without warning. He was the track team captain, everyone's golden boy. He'd been good to her when the competition got brutal, which it always did in high school sports.
But he belonged to Emi.
Emi. Something cold twisted in Mika's chest as she remembered that name.
Emi was the Queen Bee herself. First place in everything. Center of the universe. Got whatever she wanted whenever she wanted it.
And where did that leave Mika? Second place. Always the runner-up. Too slow, too quiet, too nice.
After she lost to Emi in the finals, she'd cried on Kenichi's shoulder. She'd been frustrated and felt completely worthless.
But even while she was crying, some part of her brain kept working.
She noticed how Kenichi looked at her, saw the pity starting to shift into something protective. She caught Emi's expression, too. Pure rage at seeing her boyfriend comfort another girl.
That's when it clicked. Being the fastest, or strongest, or smartest wasn't real power.
Real power came from understanding what made people tick. What they wanted, what scared them.
And Makoto, Yuna's stepbrother? He was like a walking collection of buttons just waiting to be pushed.
Mika had another look at the stupid photo Yuna sent her a long time ago, which she saved in her phone.
Makoto had looked ridiculous in it. Sunburned, overweight, with this expression like he'd just been hit with a water balloon.
But something about how he was looking at Yuna in the picture caught her attention. Even through the sunburn and awkwardness, there was this protective warmth in his eyes.
Not possessive, not demanding. Just... there. Solid.
Meeting him in person should have killed any interest. The guy was a walking disaster. He stumbled over his own feet, stared too long at the wrong places.
But then he'd done something no one else ever had. He'd looked right at her, past the sweet smile and soft voice, and found the competitive streak she kept hidden.
When she'd made a sly comment during their study session, testing him, he hadn't gotten flustered or confused.
He'd grinned, actually grinned, like he'd discovered something delightful.
That first study session kept replaying in Mika's head.
Yuna had been in full territorial mode, practically hissing like a cat whenever she got too close to Makoto.
And Makoto? He'd somehow managed to handle both of them without choosing sides, without making either feel rejected.
She'd figured him out that first day, watching how he looked at Yuna.
Sure, there was the obvious perverted stuff. But underneath that was something else.
He'd protect Yuna no matter what. He was completely devoted to her.
The guy was a disaster. Overweight, lazy, obsessed with anime. But he was also genuinely kind. Loyal to a fault.
And completely incapable of hiding what he was thinking or feeling. Everything showed on his face, in his voice. He couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it.
For someone like Mika, who'd spent years perfecting her masks, that kind of transparency was addictive.
She looked at the crepe shop photo again, zooming in on his face. That ridiculous grin of his.
"He's not a prize to win," she thought. A puzzle to solve.
Her closet door stood open. Everything hung in perfect order. Sundresses, blouses, and skirts, all very appropriate for a good girl.
But way in the back, hidden in a plain box, she kept the other stuff. Things nobody knew about. Black lace, straps that barely covered anything. Different tools for different games.
She pulled out the black set she'd worn in that picture. The one specifically chosen to drive Yuna insane.
"Yuna thinks she's fighting a war." Mika's smile turned sugar-sweet, the kind that would fool anyone who didn't know better.
She held up the lingerie, black lace stark against her skin.
"But this isn't a war." Her eyes gleamed with something sharp and satisfied. "I don't need to win to get what I want."
The quiet runner-up was done watching from the sidelines. Time to show them what second place could really do.
And for the first time in her life, she feels like she wouldn't mind being in second place in this twisted relationship.