Tokyo adored the Yakosobis.
They were the banners that fluttered over streets, the faces that appeared on glossy magazine covers, the voices that dominated podiums and screens. A man and a woman, powerful and admired, paragons of ambition.
But in the Yakosobi mansion — a sprawling estate of marble, glass, and silence — they were ghosts.
The only ones who lived inside its hollow halls were the twins: Aqua Yakosobi and Anna Yakosobi.
The dining table could seat twenty, but only two chairs were ever filled.
Anna drummed her fingers against the polished wood, staring across the vast distance at her brother. She leaned forward, chin in her palms, her violet eyes glowing with mischief.
"You know, Aqua," she said, "if you keep eating one grain of rice at a time, by the time you finish dinner, the sun will rise."
Aqua, seated perfectly straight, lifted his gaze from his plate. His golden hair caught the light of the chandelier, but his eyes were calm, unamused.
"And if you keep skipping vegetables," he replied flatly, "you'll end up in a hospital bed before the year is over."
Anna gasped theatrically, clutching her chest. "Ouch. Cold words from my very own twin. You really are an old man trapped in a teenager's body."
Aqua did not smile. He simply continued eating, silent, methodical.
Anna, however, grinned wider. "Do you even know how creepy it is, the way you just sit there? You don't laugh. You don't talk. Sometimes I wonder if you're even alive."
"Alive enough to notice you haven't done your homework this week," Aqua said without looking up.
Her mouth dropped open. "You spied on me!"
"I didn't have to. You leave your books open on the sofa."
Anna pouted, her cheeks puffing like a child's. Then, after a moment, she sighed and poked at her untouched vegetables.
"You sound just like Mom."
"Mom doesn't care what you eat."
The words slipped out, blunt and heavy, before Aqua could stop them. Silence followed. The clinking of utensils faded. Even the rain outside the tall windows seemed to hush.
Anna stared at him, her smile faltering. Then, slowly, it returned—not as playful as before, but soft, almost fragile.
"Well… that's why I have you, isn't it?"
Aqua's chopsticks paused mid-air. He looked at her properly this time. For once, she wasn't teasing.
She meant it.
Later that night, Aqua sat in his room surrounded by books. Ancient philosophy, history, essays no one his age should care about. He liked them. They were quiet. They didn't lie.
A knock came at his door.
"Aqua," Anna's voice called.
He didn't answer.
The door creaked open anyway. Anna tiptoed in, golden hair damp from her shower, still humming the silly tune she'd been singing at dinner. She plopped herself onto his bed and sprawled across it like she owned it.
"You're not welcome here," Aqua said without looking up.
"Good thing I never asked for permission," she shot back, grinning.
He sighed, closing his book. "What do you want?"
"To talk."
"You already talk enough for two lifetimes."
Anna laughed, rolling over onto her stomach, kicking her legs in the air. "You're so boring. You don't talk to anyone at school, you don't play, you don't laugh. Sometimes I think you'll grow wrinkles before graduation."
"I'd rather have wrinkles than regrets."
She blinked at him, tilting her head. "What regrets?"
"Trusting the wrong people. Making the wrong friends."
Anna groaned dramatically, burying her face into his blanket. "Not this again."
"You need to hear it again," Aqua said, his voice sharper now. "Those friends of yours—they don't care about you the way you think. They smile when you're there, but when you're not, they talk. You don't see it because you don't want to."
Anna's face peeked up from the blanket. Her violet eyes met his, shining with a mix of frustration and affection.
"You're impossible, you know that?" she whispered.
"So are you."
For a moment, silence. Then Anna crawled across the bed, sat beside him, and leaned her head against his shoulder. Aqua stiffened, but didn't push her away.
"You don't have to like people, Aqua," she murmured, her voice softer now. "But don't hate them all. And whatever you do… don't hate me."
Aqua looked down at her golden hair resting on his shoulder. He didn't smile. He never smiled.
But he said, "I don't hate you."
And for Anna, that was enough.