Chapter 3: The Girl They Underestimated
Elira stepped out of her dim bedroom. Her feet made no sound on the cold floor as she moved toward the dining room, her face blank but her eyes sharp, observing everything without a word.
"Elira, come and eat." Her father, Wilson, gently called as he set a bowl and chopsticks down for her, his voice soft but weary.
The living room was dull and bare, with a single dusty bulb casting a weak, yellow glow that flickered slightly when the wind creaked through the window frame.
Around a worm-eaten square table, a family of five sat close, their elbows nearly brushing. Elira took the corner seat, the one she always sat in, as if it had been reserved for the family’s afterthought.
Frank quietly scooted over to give plump Elira some space, then returned to eating in silence. His eyes didn’t meet hers, but there was a quiet gesture of understanding in his action.
"You must feel better now after resting," Wilson said kindly, dropping a small piece of meat into her bowl. "We can't afford more hospital bills. Just rest at home for now. I’ll buy a chicken tomorrow to make some soup for you."
His words were gentle, but there was a tinge of guilt hidden beneath them. His fingers trembled slightly as he let go of the chopsticks.
But before Elira could reply, Delilah sneered, her tone sharp and loud in the quiet room, “With her grades, it doesn’t matter if she goes to school or not. I bet the teachers don’t even want her back.”
The air tensed immediately.
“Delilah! That’s your sister you’re talking about,” Wilson snapped, a rare edge in his voice.
“Why are you shouting?” Elena, their mother, jumped in, her arms crossed tightly. “Delilah’s right! Elira is a disgrace. Five points, ten points—what kind of scores are those? I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. And now she’s even dating? At her age? Shameless!”
Her words struck like stones. Each sentence louder than the last, each filled with the kind of resentment that never needed much fuel to burn.
Her rant didn’t stop there. Elena’s voice grew louder and sharper as she turned her anger on Wilson.
“Do you know how people laugh at me behind my back? All your brothers are doing well—driving cars, living in new houses. But look at you! Still in this broken house, using secondhand junk they threw away. If you had any ambition, maybe your son wouldn’t be limping! I regret marrying you every single day.”
Her voice echoed through the room like thunder.
Wilson didn’t say a word. His head hung low, his face red with shame. He looked older than he should have—worn down by years of hard work and quiet suffering.
Frank kept eating, pretending not to hear, but his hand trembled slightly at the word “limping.” His knuckles went white around the chopsticks. The noise of chewing was the only thing holding the silence together.
“You really don’t care, do you?” Delilah shot at Elira, her tone biting and smug. “Our parents are fighting because of you, and you just sit there watching TV? You’re hopeless. I wish I didn’t have a sister like you.”
As expected, Elena gave Elira a disgusted glare that lingered too long, like poison in the air.
But Elira slowly turned from the TV and locked eyes with Delilah. Her expression was blank… but her stare was ice-cold. A chill passed through the room like a silent threat.
“What’s that look for? Did I say something wrong?” Delilah snapped, her voice faltering for just a second. Something in her gut twisted.
Elira usually stayed quiet—head down, shoulders hunched, scared to speak. But now? Something was off. Her eyes held something sharp, something unrecognizable.
Did she hit her head too hard when she fell?
“You little brat,” Elena spat, trying to cover the tension. “How dare you glare at your sister like that? Finish your food and wash the dishes. I get angry just looking at you.”
Elira glanced at her mother, then looked back at the TV without a word. She wasn’t interested in wasting her breath. Her silence was heavier than shouting.
The screen flickered with outdated colors from the old, beat-up TV. The news anchor’s voice was reporting a major explosion in Brookhaven. Static buzzed lightly from the speaker.
A sharp glint flashed in Elira’s eyes.
Obsidian Order... I, Phantom V, will settle this score. Soon.
She stood and turned to leave, her chair legs scraping softly against the floor.
“Oh, not hungry anymore?” Delilah mocked, lips curling. “Don’t you usually eat three bowls?”
“Elira just fell badly yesterday,” Wilson said, annoyed. His voice was tight. “She shouldn’t wash dishes today. Delilah, Frank—you two help.”
Delilah scoffed. “She hit her head, not her hands. And I don’t even know how to wash dishes.”
“Delilah and Frank still have homework. If their grades drop, we’ll have nothing to brag about during New Year’s with relatives,” Elena said coldly. “Elira can do the washing.”
At the doorway, Elira stopped. Her gaze locked on Elena again. This time, her eyes narrowed, as if she were holding something dangerous back. Her knuckles twitched slightly.
She wasn’t exactly known for her good temper.
Her reputation—ruthless, unpredictable—wasn’t made up. Those whispers about her weren’t exaggerations.
If they pushed her even one step further, she didn’t know if she’d hold back. Her control wasn’t infinite. Not anymore.
Just then, Frank silently finished eating. He stood up, gathered the dishes, and began washing them. His movements were quiet, deliberate.
“Stop that! Why are you washing dishes?” Elena scolded. “Go do your homework!”
She never let Frank do chores. Everything was always dumped on Elira. That was the system, the unspoken rule of the house.
But Frank didn’t speak. He just kept washing. The sound of running water echoed softly through the house.
Delilah gave him a disapproving look, then shrugged and left for her room. She had no idea how close she had come to triggering a storm. She didn’t even notice the weight in Elira’s eyes.
Annoyed, Elena stormed into the kitchen to chase Frank out and wash the dishes herself. Her footsteps were loud, angry.
Meanwhile, Elira stepped outside into the yard. After a full day of rest, her mind and body were stronger. Her breathing was calm, but her thoughts were sharp and moving quickly.
The house was old and worn, passed down for generations. Cracks lined the walls, but there was space—courtyard, fence, even a separate kitchen. It had once been a place full of voices. Now it echoed with silence.
A sweet-scented osmanthus tree stood in the yard. Its scent was light, carried by the breeze. Elira paused beside it and looked up, letting the quiet wrap around her for a moment.
The rooms were once filled with relatives. But now that Wilson’s brothers had moved out with their money, only his small family remained behind. And in that house, Elira remained the forgotten one—until now.
Frank came out of the kitchen. Their eyes met briefly before he limped back to his room. The moment was quick, but something passed between them.
Elira watched him go… and quietly followed.
Inside, Frank pulled out a math problem from the internet—a challenging one. He frowned as he stared at it, pencil tapping the desk. The numbers blurred a little under his tired eyes.
Suddenly, he sensed someone behind him.
He turned. Elira stood at his door with her arms folded, completely blocking the entrance. Her frame filled the space, calm but solid.
She had never come into his room before. Usually, she hid in her own space or did chores without a word.
Today, something about her felt… unfamiliar. Her presence was heavier. Her silence, louder.
Elira walked in, glanced at his notebook, and raised an eyebrow. “Can’t solve it?”
Frank stayed silent. He didn’t know what to say.
She grabbed his pen without asking and began writing swiftly in the notebook. Her handwriting was quick, confident.
Before Frank could react, she had filled the page.
That impossible problem? Solved.
Perfectly.
Her method was elegant—clear, unique, and sharp. Every step flowed into the next, precise and powerful.
Frank stared at it, stunned. As he read through, his face lit up. He felt like a light bulb had turned on in his head.
Then he looked up at her in disbelief. “How did you do this?”
It was the first sentence he had ever spoken to her.
Elira shrugged casually. “Isn’t it a simple question? Anyone with hands can solve it.”
Frank blinked. “That’s a college-level question. I found it online.”
He was only in second year of high school—one year below Elira.
“So?” she replied.
Frank stared harder at her. “You always scored five or ten points. The highest you ever got was twenty-five. You only managed to write one word—‘solutions’—on your papers. How could you solve this?”
What he didn’t know… was that Elira wasn’t exactly the same Elira anymore. Phantom V had inherited everything… including her memories.
Elira smirked. “Writing ‘solutions’ was just me saving ink. Those test questions were a waste of time.”
Frank’s voice dropped, eyes narrowing. “So… you’ve been pretending this whole time?”