Chapter 568: Chatting With Yuko

I didn’t push. Not yet. Instead, I leaned my forehead against the door, my voice dropping to something softer, more understanding. "I get it. I do."

I paused, letting the words sink in. "But you haven’t eaten anything, have you? And I made too much food. It’s just going to go to waste if you don’t help me out here."

Another stretch of silence. I could almost hear the conflict in it—the way she wanted to stay shut off, but the practicality of my words was harder to ignore.

"I’m not hungry," she said finally, but her voice lacked the same conviction as before.

I sighed, sliding down to sit against the door, the plate still balanced on my lap. "Yeah, well, neither was Haruna about twenty minutes ago. But she’s eating now, so you’re up next."

I kept my tone light, but there was an edge of seriousness underneath it. "Look, I’m not asking you to talk. I’m not even asking you to open the door all the way. Just... take the plate. Eat something. You can yell at me tomorrow if you want, but right now, just let me do this one thing for you."

There was a long pause. I could picture her on the other side, arms crossed, debating whether to give in or not. Finally, the doorknob turned just slightly, the door cracking open barely enough for a hand to slip through.

I didn’t say anything, just passed the plate into the gap, my fingers brushing against hers for the briefest second before she pulled back.

"Thanks," she muttered, her voice so quiet I almost missed it.

The doorframe dug into my back as I leaned against it, my weight rooted in place like I was physically holding the moment still. The hallway behind me was quiet, the kind of quiet that hums with unspoken words, the kind that makes you aware of every breath, every shift in the air. "You’re welcome," I said, my voice soft but steady, like I was speaking to a skittish animal that might bolt at the wrong tone.

On the other side of the door, Yuko was still. I could almost hear the storm inside her—the way her thoughts must be whirling, the way her heart was probably pounding against her ribs. I waited, giving her the space to decide whether to let me in or shut me out completely.

"And Sister Yuko?" I paused, listening for any sign she was still there—any rustle of fabric, any hitch in her breathing. "I know you hear me." Another beat of silence.

"Whenever you’re ready to talk—about anything, no matter how big or small—I’m here." I let my voice drop, almost to a whisper. "No pressure. No deadlines. No judgment. Just... here. Like I’ve always been."

The silence stretched so long I thought she might have slipped away. Then, finally, a shaky breath. "That..." Her voice was barely audible, cracked at the edges. "I don’t... I don’t know what to say." Another pause. "I don’t even know where to start."

"You don’t have to start anywhere," I said gently. "You don’t even have to talk. We could just sit here in silence. Or I could tell you about my disastrous attempt at making miso soup today—it was so salty I think I saw my taste buds cry." I tried to keep my tone light, but my chest ached.

She didn’t laugh this time. The door creaked open just enough for me to see her face—her eyes red and puffy, her cheeks still glistening with tears.

She looked away almost immediately, like she’d been caught revealing something she’d meant to hide. "Never mind," she muttered, her voice thick. Then, abruptly, "Have you eaten?"

I shook my head, my gaze locked onto hers. "How can I eat when my sister is in here, drowning in whatever’s hurting her?" I kept my voice low, steady, but the words carried the weight of everything I wasn’t saying. "I’m not leaving, Sister Yuko. Not like this."

Yuko’s eyes flickered with something sharp—pain, maybe, or frustration. "You..." she started, but the word hung there, unfinished. She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the edge of the door. "Have Haruna eaten?" she asked abruptly, her voice laced with something bitter. "She must be hungry. You can go and eat with your little girlfriend."

I heard the edge in her voice, the way her words twisted like she was trying to hide the sting of them. It wasn’t anger—it was jealousy. Raw, ugly jealousy, directed at our own sister.

"She’s eating... right now," I said carefully, measuring my words.

Yuko’s lips pressed into a thin line. "You’re hungry, and she’s eating out there..." Her voice was low, dangerous. "Let me teach her a lesson. Is this her love for her boyfriend—the one she was crying about?" She took a step back, her eyes flashing with a mix of hurt and something darker, like she was searching for a target to blame.

I raised a hand, cutting her off before she could spiral further. "Sister. Yuko." My voice was firm but soft, the way you’d speak to someone standing too close to the edge of a cliff. "It’s not Haruna’s fault. She said she wasn’t hungry, but her stomach had other plans."

A ghost of a smile tugged at my lips as I remembered the way Haruna’s face had turned bright red when her stomach growled loud enough to shake the table.

I shook my head, chuckling softly as the memory surfaced. "You should’ve seen her, Sister Yuko," I said, my voice warm. "Haruna’s stomach growled so loud, I thought the neighbors might file a noise complaint." I mimicked the sound—deep, rumbling, exaggerated—and grinned when Yuko’s lips twitched, her stern expression cracking just a little.

She sighed, a real laugh escaping her this time, low and reluctant. "That girl..." she muttered, shaking her head.

But there was fondness in her voice, the kind that only comes from years of loving someone despite their chaos. "She’s always been like that. Loud. Unfiltered. Completely unaware of how much attention she draws."

"Yeah," I agreed, my smile softening. "But that’s Haruna. She doesn’t know how to be anything else." I hesitated, then added quietly, "And honestly? I don’t think any of us would want her to change."

Yuko’s gaze flickered to mine, something unreadable passing through her eyes. For a second, I saw it—the weight of everything she carried. The fear of losing Haruna to the world, to mistakes, to heartbreak. The loneliness of always being the one who had to hold everything together.

I let my voice drop, grounding the moment. "I forced her to eat something," I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. "She tried to argue, but I wasn’t having it. And as for me..."

My gaze drifted to the floor for a second, gathering my thoughts, before lifting to meet hers again. "I wanted to eat with you, Sister Yuko." The words hung between us, simple but heavy. "That’s all."