Killing My Half-Sister with Kindness

The trap was set.

If she refused to teach me, she was the ungrateful one.

If she taught me and I still bombed, that only proved she was brilliant and I was stupid. And if I was that stupid yet still adored her, how could she have the nerve to say I was in her way?

In my last life, I'd slammed my chopsticks on the table：“So what if you're top ten? Big deal.”

I got an hour standing in the corner for that.

This time, I ladled her a bowl of soup：“Have some more, sis. All that studying burns a lot of energy.”

Even my father's expression softened when he looked at me.

Mom pulled me aside later：“What exactly are you up to?”

I said：“Mom, remember how I hated celery as a kid? Then I figured out that if you chop it fine and mix it into dumpling filling, you can't even taste it. You don't fight celery by chewing it raw. You wrap it in a dumpling and swallow it whole.”

She looked like she understood. Or maybe she didn't, quite.

School started. Same class.

Dad had pulled strings to arrange it, so I could “look after” her.

In my last life, nothing had infuriated me more.

The whole class knew I had a brilliant older sister. I was measured against her constantly, and the harder I pushed back, the worse I looked.

This time was different.

First day of school, I grabbed her hand and announced to the entire class：“This is my sister! My real sister! Three months older than me, and her grades are amazing!”

Every face in the room went blank.

Most families, an older sister suddenly appears out of nowhere—there's going to be some awkwardness.

Someone who grabs a megaphone and broadcasts it everywhere? Unheard of.

I became the class's resident “sister fanatic.”

Her turn to clean the classroom? I grabbed the broom first.

She went to get lunch? I held her place in line.

She ran the eight-hundred-meter? I screamed “Go, sis!” until my voice gave out.

Classmates would say：“You're way too good to your sister.”

I'd scratch my head and grin：“She's the only one I've got.”

The one time the act almost cracked: midterm results.

She placed third in the grade. I placed forty-seventh.

That wasn't performance. My foundation really was weaker than hers.

In my last life, she'd taken my spot in the elite honors class. Better teachers, stronger base, and she'd kept that lead ever since.

But I didn't panic.

When the teacher read out my ranking, I burst into tears—not an act, real tears, pure grievance. She'd stepped on me to climb in my last life, and in this one she was still above me. The feeling hit and I didn't even try to hold it back.

The classroom went dead silent.

I wiped my eyes as I cried：“You're so amazing, sis……how am I this stupid……I know we don't have the same mom, but how can the gap be this big……if I'd grown up tough on the outside like you did, I'd probably know how to try harder……”

Every face in the room shifted.

“Grown up tough on the outside.”

Five words, and the bomb went off.

All eyes turned to Bridget.

That delicate, pitiable expression of hers froze solid.

The whispers started spreading fast：Athena Swanson had a half-sister, born from her dad's affair. She didn't resent her at all, went out of her way to protect her. And this sister apparently didn't know how good she had it.

Who started the rumor? I had no idea.

Just gossip doing what gossip does.

Everything people passed around was true at the core. A little embellishment here, a little spin there, and it landed completely different.

I glanced at Bridget. Head down, doing her homework, her fingers white around the pen.

Sophomore year. Academic track selection.

She picked humanities. I picked sciences.

In my last life she'd picked humanities, and Dad made me pick humanities too, so she could tutor me.

I threw a fit. He slapped me back into line.

This time I brought it up first：“Dad, sis is great at humanities, so she should go that route. I'm better at sciences, so I'll take that. One of each in the family. When it's time to pick colleges, we can even compare notes.”

It sounded reasonable enough that he didn't object.

Later, Mom told me Bridget had murmured to Dad that she wasn't used to being in a different class from her little sister.

Dad turned right around and told Mom to switch me to humanities.

Mom's exact words：“Is your daughter choosing an academic track or choosing to be a nanny? If Bridget can't adjust, she can learn to. Athena's supposed to revolve around her? Is Bridget paying her a salary?”