"Still want to play?" Ginevra asked.
Jayna looked down at the Go board, excitement blooming so fast it nearly startled her.
"Yes. Yes, yes—absolutely."
"You still have one page of quiz you haven't finished," Ginevra reminded her, calm as ever. For a moment, she even wondered if Jayna truly knew how to play.
"Miss Volkova," Jayna pleaded, turning her eyes soft and pitiful on purpose, "I've been doing quiz forever. And I've already understood everything from the earlier chapters."
Ginevra was always weak to the way Jayna tugged at her—physically, emotionally, shamelessly. She hesitated, then gave in, and it was obvious even to herself that her "checking homework" had been more symbolic than strict.
Jayna was quick. Once she'd been taught, she could grasp the idea. And since she'd actually been diligent today, Ginevra used that as her excuse—an excuse to justify her own softness.
"…Alright."
"Wait," Jayna said at once, and her eyes—dark, bright, hungry with hope—lifted to Ginevra's face. "If I win this game, you have to agree to one condition."
Ginevra frowned. She had no idea what Jayna was about to demand.
"It won't be anything outrageous," Jayna promised with an easy grin. Then she tipped her brows, teasing. "What—are you not confident? Afraid you'll lose to me?"
Ginevra had never lost at Go before. It wasn't that she was unbeatable, but she was competent. Steady. The kind of player who didn't make careless errors.
"Fine," she said, accepting the challenge without blinking.
They began.
Jayna chose white stones; Ginevra took black.
To Ginevra's surprise, Jayna played with a convincing air—her moves weren't random, her shape wasn't completely chaotic. It was enough to make Ginevra reassess her.
"Well?" Jayna said, pinching a stone between her fingers, smug enough to sway her head a little. "Did you underestimate me? I learned from someone."
Ginevra didn't reply. Her attention remained fixed on the board, eyes sharp and quiet.
Jayna watched her like that—watched the way Ginevra's focus narrowed, the way her lips pressed into a thin line, the way her lashes lowered slightly whenever she calculated. Jayna got distracted.
She placed a stone.
And instantly regretted it.
"This…" Jayna frowned, distressed, and reached out to move the piece—
Ginevra slapped her hand away with a crisp, precise motion.
"A stone placed cannot be taken back."
"But—" Jayna bit her lip, suddenly lacking courage. "But I obviously put it in the wrong spot."
Ginevra didn't answer. She simply placed her next stone.
From the way the board was already leaning, Jayna's defeat had become inevitable.
Then Jayna suddenly lifted her head, eyes widening toward the door as if she'd heard something.
"Ginevra," she said, feigning confusion, "I think your mom is calling you outside."
Ginevra paused. From the hallway, Mrs. Volkova's voice did seem to drift in—muffled, indistinct.
Ginevra set her stone down and went to open the door.
"Mom? Did you call me?"
And while Ginevra stood there speaking to her mother, Jayna moved like a thief who had been waiting all her life for this exact opportunity.
Quick. Quiet. Shameless.
She switched one stone's position—just enough to rescue her own ruined shape.
When Ginevra realized her mother hadn't actually called her and shut the door again, she turned back to see Jayna sitting upright with forced composure, a little too stiff, a little too innocent.
Ginevra narrowed her eyes and sat down slowly.
She stared at the board.
And in an instant, she saw it.
"You touched it." Not a question. A verdict.
Jayna blinked up at her with an angelic face and a smile that was far too pleased.
"In war," she said lightly, "deception is the best strategy."
Ginevra let out a quiet huff. "Go is supposed to be elegant. Poised. Old-world."
"Don't understand," Jayna declared, shaking her head merrily. Then she dropped her stone as if nothing mattered but victory.
…
And so, under Jayna's relentless cheating, trickery, and utterly improper "strategies," Ginevra… lost.
It was the first time in her life.
And she lost in the most humiliating way possible—by agreeing to play with someone who didn't possess a single ounce of honor.
Ginevra felt vaguely wronged. Off-balance. But when she looked at Jayna's glowing, delighted face, she found she couldn't even scold her properly.
She could only blame herself for saying yes in the first place.
"Willing bet means willing loss," Jayna sang, bouncing at Ginevra's side, swaying left and right like a victorious sparrow. "Pay up, pay up, Miss Volkova."
"You're shameless," Ginevra muttered, lips pressed tight, the words coming out with a bite that only sounded vicious because she had no better weapon.
"Oho," Jayna laughed, delighted. "So you lose and you start insulting people? That's ugly. You can't take a loss—can't take it, can't take it."
Ginevra stared at her.
Jayna leaned forward until her eyes were level with Ginevra's, too close, too bright, too intent.
"Fulfill my condition," she whispered. "Just one."
"…What condition?" Ginevra asked, resigned. A bet was a bet.
Jayna's eyes spun with mischief. Then she smiled, soft and cruel in the sweetest way.
"Address me as your 'big sister'—just once."
Ginevra looked at her and said nothing.
"I'm three years older than you," Jayna insisted, tugging Ginevra's arm like a spoiled child. "You should call me that. Hurry—calling me once won't kill you. And I want it sweet. Like you mean it. Like you admire me."
"No."
"You won't?" Jayna's tone sharpened. "What about 'willing bet means willing loss'?"
"No."
"Giny," Jayna threatened, switching tactics immediately, "if you don't call me that, I'm using my ultimate weapon."
Ginevra remained immovable—stubborn to the point of martyrdom.
So Jayna leaned in and blew a quick puff of breath, then attacked with her special technique: tickling.
They wrestled and twisted, laughter nearly escaping Ginevra despite her effort to stay stone-faced—until both of them toppled onto the bed in a tangle.
Jayna landed on top, flustered and furious, pinning Ginevra beneath her with all the dignity of someone trying to look terrifying while still panting.
"Well?" Jayna demanded, glaring down. "Are you going to call me that or not?"
Ginevra lay there, trapped. Jayna's hands were already poised to tickle again. And no matter how composed you were, no matter how cold you pretended to be, nobody could withstand tickling forever.
"Get off," Ginevra ordered, forcing her expression flat.
"I won't," Jayna said brightly, enjoying herself far too much. "Unless you call me 'big Sister.' Just once. Then I'll move. Otherwise I keep going."
She even threw Ginevra a sultry wink—absurd, theatrical, and completely unearned.
Ginevra's eyes narrowed.
In a blink, her dark gaze sharpened like a blade. She waited until Jayna was careless for half a second—and then she moved.
Her wrist hooked Jayna's neck with clean, practiced control. A small pull, a shift of leverage—
The world flipped.
Jayna was dragged down and rolled beneath her.
In fighting technique, Jayna was nowhere near Ginevra's equal. In two breaths, her arms were twisted above her head and pinned in a position that made her whole body stiff with embarrassment. To prevent Jayna from attempting more "tricks," Ginevra had no choice but to press down, bracing her weight over Jayna's, holding her steady.
Jayna struggled once—then realized she couldn't.
"You cheated," Jayna protested, furious. "You did it when I wasn't paying attention. You're shameless!"
"In war," Ginevra said calmly, using Jayna's own words against her, "deception is the best strategy."
Jayna went speechless—wronged, furious, and utterly defeated by her own logic.
She glared up at Ginevra, lips pushed into an exaggerated pout, eyes burning with offended dignity.
Ginevra studied her face, then offered, almost reasonably, "We compromise. I won't call you that. And I'll let you go."
Jayna shook her head violently. No.
Ginevra didn't understand why Jayna could be this stubborn about something so childish. She was careful with her grip, but even so, holding someone like this too long would make their wrists ache. And guilt—annoying, soft, persistent—began to stir.
Jayna, knowing she couldn't overpower her, finally turned her face away, refusing to look at Ginevra at all.
Three years older, she fumed, humiliated. And I still have zero dignity. I'm the one pinned down like this.
"So you really want to hear it that badly?" Ginevra asked, weary.
"Yes," Jayna said, and her voice turned poisonous with sulk. "Some people don't keep their promises. They lose a bet and still won't pay. You talk out of your backside."
Ginevra finally broke—an actual laugh slipping out, startled from her by sheer disbelief.
Jayna turned her head back, scowling. Seeing Ginevra laugh only made her angrier.
Ginevra's smile, however fleeting, was unfairly beautiful.
And Jayna hated that it didn't change anything.
She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, and ended up turning her back to Ginevra—still pinned, but now stubbornly prepared for a long war of attrition.
Ginevra's instinct was to give up, to release her. But then her gaze dropped—accidentally, unavoidably—to the clasp at the back of Jayna's dress.
Jayna wore a fitted floral dress. In the struggle, the fabric had wrinkled. The bow at the neckline had loosened. And the clasp along her back had slid down.
A long stretch of pale shoulder was exposed—white as snow, too bare, too intimate.
Jayna didn't notice.
Ginevra did.
Her ears flushed red instantly. She released Jayna at once, grabbed the thin blanket, and draped it over Jayna's shoulders like a reflex—quick, protective, almost panicked.
Then she turned away and sat down in the chair, as though distance could cool her skin.
Jayna blinked under the blanket, confused, and sat up. "What are you doing?"
Ginevra pointed awkwardly at Jayna's shoulder.
Jayna followed the gesture—then froze.
The loose bow. The half-slid clasp. The way it made her look… indecent, like she'd done something secret and shameful.
Her face went hot. She hurriedly fastened the bow again, fingers clumsy. Her wrists still ached from being held down; reaching behind herself was suddenly difficult.
"Giny," Jayna said, voice smaller now, a little embarrassed, a little soft, "help me pull it up."
Ginevra didn't move at first.
Jayna added, with a faint, wounded emphasis, "Someone pinned me down. My wrist still hurts. I can't get it."
Ginevra had no choice.
She stepped closer, lifted Jayna's hair aside, and carefully pulled the clasp back into place with steady fingers.
"This clasp isn't very secure," she said, quietly.
"It's usually fine," Jayna murmured. "As long as I don't… make big movements."
When Ginevra's fingertips brushed her back, Jayna shivered.
It felt like a soft feather dragged across her skin. A tremor ran through her so fast she almost didn't recognize it as her own body. A small sound slipped from her throat—barely a whisper.
Jayna clapped her hand over her mouth immediately.
Please don't hear that. Please don't.
When she turned around, she caught something in Ginevra's eyes—warmth, for only a second, tender enough to make Jayna forget to breathe.
Then it vanished.
Ginevra looked away and opened her wardrobe, searching for something.
"What are you doing?" Jayna asked, still dazed.
Ginevra didn't answer. She selected a light gray cardigan, held it up against Jayna to compare the length, then draped it over Jayna's shoulders.
Jayna blinked. "This is…?"
"Your dress," Ginevra said, mouth tightening as if she didn't know how to say it without sounding too caring. "It's better if you wear something over it."
She paused, then added almost silently, as if ashamed to admit it: the light gray actually looked surprisingly good with Jayna's floral pattern.
Warmth rose in Jayna's chest in a slow, spreading way.
Such a small thing. Such a simple consideration. And yet it made her feel held—like Ginevra was watching out for her, even when she pretended not to.
"Why are you taking care of me like this?" Jayna teased, smiling while her ears still burned. She nudged Ginevra's arm lightly. "It's embarrassing."
"If you won't wear it, forget it," Ginevra said, reaching as if to take it back.
Jayna instantly grabbed the cardigan, eyes wide. "Hey—who gives someone something and then takes it back? I'm wearing it. I'll return it later."
Ginevra watched her for a beat, then tapped the desk with her pen.
Jayna barely had time to warm the bed with her sitting before she was hauled up again—forced back into study.
"Miss Volkova," Jayna complained obediently as she sat, "you're really strict."
And, as if punishment had been waiting, one more page of headache-inducing math appeared in front of her.
"This will show up on the next mock exam," Ginevra said, glancing at the clock and signaling Jayna to begin.
Jayna inhaled slowly, then lifted her clear eyes to Ginevra.
"If my ranking improves in the next mock exam," she said, "you'll agree to one condition?"
Another condition.
Ginevra looked at her as if she'd just proposed a fairy tale. Their class was full of high performers—Jayna was the outlier. The person immediately above Jayna last time—Hayden Cole—had ranked within the top hundred of the grade.
As for Jayna's own rank…
Ginevra didn't want to talk about it.
"You don't believe me?" Jayna asked, and something pained flickered across her face.
Ginevra shook her head. "Why do you suddenly want this so badly?"
"Suddenly?" Jayna smiled—bright, determined, almost radiant with conviction. "I told you. I want to work hard and get into the same university as you. Even if not the same one, then at least the same city. So I'm going to try. And making you agree to a condition—honestly, that's my motivation." She laughed lightly, but her eyes stayed steady. "It's what keeps me going."
Ginevra looked at her.
There was something almost dangerous about Jayna when she decided to be earnest—like the air shifted, like she became someone you couldn't stop even if you wanted to.
"Okay," Ginevra said quietly. "I agree. Any condition."
Jayna lifted her brows. "Any condition? You're not afraid I'll ask for something outrageous?"
"Then you'd better work hard enough to make top one hundred," Ginevra said, and the corner of her mouth curved.
Jayna reached for Ginevra's hand and hooked her pinky around it, sealing it like children do.
"Deal," she said, eyes shining. "Just watch me."
That night, Mr. Carter—her family driver—came to pick Jayna up.
Before she left, Ginevra still insisted on zipping the cardigan up around her shoulders, stubborn to the end. Jayna found it adorable. To prove she was "listening," she pulled the zipper all the way up in front of Ginevra's eyes, wrapping herself tight.
"These are all your secret weapons?" Jayna asked, staring at the bag of books and neatly organized notes Ginevra had prepared for her.
Ginevra nodded. She wanted them to help.
"And the soup," Ginevra added, handing her a thermos. "My mom told me to give it to you."
Jayna's eyes widened. "Wow. Thank you." Then, the moment she stepped into the car, she turned mischievous again. "Thanks, darling Giny—how about calling me 'big sis'?"
Ginevra kept her face stern, pretending she hadn't heard a word. The instant Jayna sat down, Ginevra turned and walked away.
Jayna laughed in the back seat, muttering to herself, "Ginevra is not cute at all."
When she got home, Mrs. Rose stood at the foot of the stairs and blinked at her "little terror" coming in dressed oddly, arms full of books.
"Jayna… you went out wearing that today?" Mrs. Rose asked, baffled.
Jayna stopped and looked down at herself. "Yeah. Why?"
Mrs. Rose stared at the light gray cardigan hoodie thrown over a delicate floral dress. It didn't match—at least, it shouldn't have.
"…Nothing," Mrs. Rose said carefully. "I just haven't seen you wear that cardigan before. Did you eat dinner?"
"Oh, this?" Jayna glanced down and smiled. "First time wearing it. And yes, I already ate."
She said goodnight with an unusually cheerful tone and went upstairs.
In her bedroom, the moment the door closed, Jayna realized her feet were sore from all the walking. She fell onto her bed with a long exhale, not even bothering to take off the cardigan.
Then, quietly—like she was committing a private crime—she lifted the sleeve to her nose and inhaled.
A faint scent.
Clean. Subtle.
Ginevra's scent.
The realization made Jayna's face heat up, and as if possessed, she tugged the cardigan off and pressed it over her whole face, hiding under it like a fool.
A laugh bubbled out of her.
This behavior was shameless.
"So—study," Jayna muttered to herself, shaking her head as if she could shake the softness out. "This time you have to mean it."
She forced herself up, arranged Ginevra's books and notes neatly on her desk.
From today on, she told herself, she would work hard.
She wanted to attend the same university as Ginevra.
Jayna's weak subject wasn't disastrously weak—she had a foundation. So she began with what she struggled with most: English. She went through it step by step, attacking each gap.
It was late at night, and Mrs. Rose, hearing her reading and writing in English, was so shocked she hovered outside the door to listen, half convinced her "little terror" had lost her mind.
Jayna stared at Ginevra's English notes and felt a strange ache in her chest.
Even her English handwriting was beautiful.
She made herself a cup of hot coffee and added three spoonfuls of sugar. Around ten-thirty, she messaged Ginevra goodnight—then kept studying.
She didn't know how much time passed.
Her eyelids grew heavy. Her head dipped. And finally, she collapsed forward onto her desk and fell asleep.
In her sleep, her lashes trembled lightly. The corners of her mouth curved as if little flowers were blooming there—soft, unnamed, sweet.
She rested her cheek against Ginevra's cardigan and kept smiling, as though she'd wandered into an unusually good dream.