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to time, Lang unraveled. A quiet evening of tea and dessert on the east balcony might be interrupted by a long, incoherent political diatribe. Lang might return to an old grievance from his childhood, like recounting the intimate details of how a twelve-year-old rival tried to sabotage Lang at school. He became theatrical during these moments, flailing wildly as if drunk, though he was in fact sober.

Days of stoicism followed these outbursts, none of which seemed to bother their parents. Kara mused at the thought of how dramatical y Perr and Li-Ann Syung responded to their daughter’s emotional storms.

The hypocrisy infuriated her, but it also proved a source of motivation.

She dared not speak to her parents about Lang’s uneven behavior, knowing how the confrontation might end. They grew hyper-protective of each son following Lang and Dae’s instal ation as junior officers to

Nantou’s executive board. Perr and Li-Ann focused on vetting potential wives, looking for the most political y advantageous al iances. If anything was off about Lang, they refused to see it or assumed a healthy marriage would resolve it. In the meantime, they al owed the sons to indulge themselves with “kept” women in the city – a common practice.

Kara hid her suspicion about Lang – a secret she did not share with Chi-Qua. She believed Lang was using mahali, the il egal neurodrug he once distributed. Her research uncovered symptoms of addiction that matched Lang’s erratic behavior.

Two years earlier, she blackmailed her parents with evidence of Lang’s drug-dealing ways in order to bring Chi-Qua into their household. After she was successful, Lang struck back, promising to have Chi-Qua kil ed someday. For weeks, Kara struggled under the weight of his threat. She convinced herself he’d never follow through; he was misguided, but he wasn’t a kil er. Nonetheless, her paranoia sent Kara peering into the shadows.

Mother put her fears at rest, cal ing Kara into private conference and beginning with a demand.

“Destroy your copy of the memglass,” she said. “The matter has been resolved. He has been extricated from that filthy business. He has asked for our forgiveness, which we have granted. Your evidence is obsolete.”

Lang did not, however, seek Kara’s forgiveness or offer an apology. For the most part, he stayed clear of his sister except during mandated gatherings. He spent more time in the city or traveling on business to the other islands of The Lagos.

Their lives took increasingly different tracks, but they shared commonalities Kara doubted they’d ever lose: Same boss, same dynasty. They were two of more than seventy thousand employees based in the Nantou Global complex. Though their responsibilities never overlapped, and their offices were far apart, the name Syung-Low shined the same bright light upon them both. It was a light of curiosity, envy, intimidation, reverence, and expectation.

Their privilege did not exclude them from being targets of opportunists with vaulting ambition. Other families actively sought

what Syung-Low possessed for generations. In the post-Collectorate era, where new ideas and fragile al iances frayed at Pinchon’s social order, the pressure intensified upon those who rode the crest of the tal est waves.

“Never forget,” Kara’s Honored Gran used to say, “The Kohlna have the sharpest teeth.”

Was this why Lang fel into addiction? Was the light too bright, the pressure too intense? Was he more fragile than anyone suspected? Did he scare people like Chi-Qua because they didn’t understand his struggle? Kara thought these were important questions, but she was not her brother’s therapist, and his instability would not get in the way of her calculated move up the ladder.

Toward the end of the picnic at Bongwoo Curl, Kara unveiled the final stage of her plan. She wanted to prepare Chi-Qua for the eye of the needle.

“I think it has to be done in public, Chi,” she said while tossing half a crab roll to a red-breasted swan. “My family won’t push back if there are hundreds of witnesses.”

Chi-Qua winced. “Wait. Aren’t we talking about a job transfer?”

“Yes. An internal personnel matter. Paperwork. Payroll adjustment.

The sort of thing that goes through channels. Honorable Father and his ilk oversee those transfers. If they don’t catch wind of it, my brothers wil . They’l block me. So, I’ve come up with a workaround.”

“Which is?”

“Sanhae.”

“What about it?”

“That’s where I’l spring out. Nantou’s Gala at Sanhae. They’l never see it coming.”

Sanhae, which meant new year, was one of the few words on the calendar dating back pre-colonization to Earth. One of the few words preserved after Hokkaido converted to Engleshe as its official – and only – language.

For years, Kara wanted to join Nantou’s Bioresearch and Engineering Division (BRED). She first made the announcement weeks before her sixteenth birthday and was promptly ridiculed by Lang, who said she was best suited for marketing. Her parents did not object.

Mother offered brief but superficial encouragement, though she never saw Kara rising above the company’s communications department. Test scores too low, ambition too limited.

The Global Marketing Division underwhelmed Kara from the first day of her internship.

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