Jane Yun sat alone in the far garden, where the lanterns hung low between the trees and the only sound was the distant hum of cicadas. The Yun family estate had dozens of such quiet corners, but this one was hers. Or at least, it used to be.
She placed her folder—her evaluation notes—on the stone bench beside her and exhaled slowly.
Fourth place.
Not terrible. Not great.
Not embarrassing. Not impressive.
Fourth place was the kind of position people looked at, nodded politely at, and forgot by lunch.
Safe.
Comfortable.
Invisible.
Jane folded her arms, rubbing the fabric of her sleeves with her fingertips. She wasn't angry. Not like Jessy—Jessy processed disappointment like a storm. Loud. Messy. Immediate.
Jane processed it like winter.
Quiet. Cold. Delayed.
She stared at the trees ahead, as if they could give her something—an answer, a distraction, anything.
Ranking fourth was objectively fair. Her presentation had been clean, her data solid, her forward-planning decent. But "decent" meant nothing in her family. Not when placed next to what the others had brought.
Not when compared to Jason.
Her jaw tightened ever so slightly.
She hadn't expected him to rank first. Nobody had. And she certainly hadn't expected him to secure the Phoenix Infrastructure Project—the same one Alex had spent weeks hyping up in their group chats and family dinners.
Jason had stood on that stage like someone who knew something the rest of them didn't. She wasn't angry about it. It wasn't envy, either. But it did leave her with a sensation she disliked—a quiet, persistent awareness that something in the family was shifting, and she was no longer at the center of it.
She plucked a leaf from a nearby branch, rolling it between her fingers.
"I worked for months," she whispered to the night. "For months. And I still feel… overlooked."
The word felt strange in her mouth. Because she didn't like admitting things, not even to herself.
Overlooked was accurate, though.
Jane had always been the reliable one. The calm one. The one who produced steady results, year after year. She didn't cause drama. She didn't crumble. She didn't explode. She simply… worked. Quietly. Consistently.
But it was always the ones who were loud—Jessy, Britney, Alex—who drew the room's attention.
And now Jason.
She wished she could hate him for it. She really did.
But she didn't.
She was irritated, confused, and… curious.
Because the Jason Yun she'd grown up with had been lazy, spoiled, unpolished. A prankster. A boy who wasted money buying dumb gadgets and expensive clothes he never wore twice. He'd been the one person everyone agreed would never contribute anything meaningful to the family.
Yet the man who walked on stage today?
That wasn't the Jason she knew.
Jane pulled her knees up onto the bench and hugged them, resting her chin on her arms.
The breeze brushed her hair back, cool and steady.
"You're a stranger now," she murmured. "When did that happen?"
She remembered the slap—a moment that had spread through the family like wildfire. Jessy crying, Jason cold. Everyone took sides, though nobody took hers. Jane had just stood there, watching it unfold, like she always did. Quiet. Observing. Processing.
At the time, she'd thought Jason had simply snapped. It didn't fit his previous behavior, but people changed.
Now she wasn't sure.
Now she wondered if that moment had been the first sign of something she'd missed.
Footsteps approached from behind, soft on the grass.
Jane didn't turn around. "I'm not in the mood to talk," she said calmly.
"Good," a voice replied. "I'm not here to make you."
Jane blinked.
She recognized the voice—Brittney Yun.
She turned her head slightly as Brittney appeared beside her, hands tucked into the pockets of her light jacket, expression unreadable but softened by the warm lantern light. Brittney was the top of the bright youngstars—calm, precise, competitive in a quiet way that resonated with Jane more than she would admit aloud.
Brittney wasn't here to mock her.
That wasn't her style.
"I figured you'd be hiding somewhere," Brittney said lightly, sitting down a foot away. "Jessy ran straight to her room and slammed the door hard enough to shake the paintings."
Jane let out a slow breath. "I'm not hiding."
"You're reflecting," Brittney corrected. "There's a difference."
Jane offered a small nod. "Fourth place."
"Mm." Brittney leaned back against the bench. "You looked disappointed."
"I'm not disappointed in the rank," Jane said. "I'm disappointed by how little it mattered."
"Not used to being overshadowed."
Jane didn't argue.
Brittney continued, "You've always been reliable. Not loud, not dramatic… but consistent. That's more impressive than Jessy's theatrics or Alex's speeches."
"Consistency doesn't win evaluations," Jane said quietly.
"No," Brittney agreed. "But it builds foundations. The kind that last longer than popularity spikes." She paused. "Except Jason didn't spike. He detonated."
Jane let out something close to a laugh. It was small, barely a sound, but genuine.
Brittney smirked faintly. "Everyone's panicking, you know. Alex is pacing holes in the carpet. Jessy is blaming the air for existing. The elders are whispering like someone died."
"And you?" Jane asked softly.
"I'm adjusting," Brittney replied. "First place is still first place. But the air's different now."
Jane nodded. That was exactly the feeling she'd been struggling to describe.
Different.
Shifted.
Unsettled.
Brittney didn't say anything for a while after that. She just sat beside her, quiet, as if giving Jane space to breathe.
It was… surprisingly comforting.
After several minutes, Brittney stood. "Come back inside when you're ready," she said, straightening her jacket. "Some of the elders want to talk about tomorrow's second round."
Jane nodded without looking up. "I'll be there soon."
Brittney gave a small hum in acknowledgment and walked off, footsteps fading down the stone path.
Jane remained seated, letting the silence settle again.
She felt calmer now, but not lighter. Her chest was still tight. Her thoughts still restless. But she wasn't unraveling. That wasn't her nature.
Her phone buzzed suddenly.
She picked it up from the bench.
A message from an unknown number.
Her brows lowered slightly—not in fear, not in surprise, but in cautious curiosity.
She opened it.
There was only one line:
"You deserved better today."
Jane stared at the screen for a long moment.
No name.
No hint.
No explanation.
A stranger shouldn't have known what she felt.
A stranger shouldn't have known she was alone in the garden.
A stranger shouldn't have known her number.
But the message wasn't crude.
It wasn't manipulative.
It wasn't dramatic.
It was… observant.
Quiet.
Just like her.
Jane locked her phone and rested it in her lap, eyes drifting back toward the dark garden.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
And for the first time in a long while…
…Jane Yun felt the smallest spark of unease.
And interest.