Midnight Barbecue, Midnight Fears

Fifth brother Fair, always the protector, was massaging the heroine’s shoulders and legs, shooting glares at Stead.

“I told you last night—a talent show is one minute on stage, ten years of practice offstage. Yeah, yeah, we get it—practice makes perfect. All your competitive performances last night—singing, playing, strumming—did any of you have any actual skill? As the judge, even I couldn’t stand to watch.”

Fifth brother Fair fed the heroine her medicine.

“Hope, they’re all useless. Couldn’t even put together a comedy act, and got you so worked up you got sick.”

Me: ???

Wait, you guys actually did a ‘Virtue and Art’ competition in her room last night?

Fourth brother shot Fair a look.

“Right, we should learn from you. Opportunity favors the prepared. You know you have no chance, so you never prepare,” he said, dripping with sarcasm.

Fifth brother shrugged indifferently and poured the heroine another cup of warm water.

He said it like he meant it: “As long as Hope is happy, I’m happy, no matter who she chooses.”

He only had eyes for the heroine.

The heroine ignored him.

Hope looked pitiful in her illness. She glanced over at big brother, who hadn’t said a word.

“Big brother.”

Her eyes shone with hope.

“…You weren’t here last night. Hope wants to see your performance tonight, okay?”

Um…

Is there really no Christmas pageant in this world?

Honestly, if there was, these guys would be fighting over who gets to play Santa. Or the Grinch.

Night fell. I went downstairs to the kitchen to grab some water from the fridge.

Weird noises coming from the kitchen.

“Big brother, this is delicious.”

I nearly tripped on the stairs when I heard that.

“Want more.”

Confirmed—it’s the heroine’s voice.

A man and a woman, alone in the kitchen.

My survival instincts screamed: get out of here, now.

I turned and ran back upstairs as fast as I could.

A deep voice called from the kitchen: “Tessa, stop right there.”

I froze immediately.

“Big brother, you called me?”

Oh, I forgot to introduce myself.

I transmigrated into the real daughter in this story—full name, Tessa Grant.

Don’t laugh.

After five sons, the house was pure testosterone. Dad hoped I’d balance things out.

Or so he says. Not that anyone knows what that means: ‘The King covers the Lion, the Wind tames the wild.’

Tessa Grant—who else could it be but me?