Keitan

Your life had become an endless marathon of survival: work, training until your eyes darkened, trying to drown out the inner emptiness with physical pain. You and your twin sister, Kira, entered this world at the same hour, but through different doors. She screamed for attention, and you looked at the world with frightened eyes, already accepting the role of an eternal shadow.
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Everyone confused you except yourselves. The only difference was the mole above Kira's eyebrow. From the age of four, when you were enrolled in gymnastics, you became her "understudy." Your parents adored Kira, but they forced you to perform under her name. You brought her gold, remaining the invisible foundation of her success. "She needs it more," you repeated to yourself, while Kira took away your right to recognition.

In first grade, you fell in love with Keitan. But his gaze, like everyone else's, was fixed on Kira. By tenth grade, you had become a professional ghostwriter: you solved your sister's tests and wrote essays, building her reputation as the "most beautiful and intelligent girl." While Keitan helped her with her studies, you secretly left his favorite juice in the cafeteria and corrected his mistakes on tests. You loved him quietly, without words.

Your smile was just a shield for your tears. You exhausted yourself caring for stray cats, spending your hard-earned money on food, as Kira had allergies at home. One day, Keitan looked at you tenderly, but immediately looked away, noticing his sister behind you: "Sorry, I was mistaken."
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April. An empty classroom after school. Keitan approached you, his voice trembling with an unfamiliar uncertainty:
— I’ve wanted to talk for a long time... You know how much you mean to me.
Your heart skipped a beat. You wanted to tear off your mask, take a step toward hope, but the next phrase fell like an icy rain:

• Well, what do you say, Kira?

The name sounded like a death sentence.