Anything for My Dear Kuro-Chan

My eyes snapped open to fluorescent lights and a sea of people packed shoulder-to-shoulder. The gentle sway and rumble beneath my feet was unmistakable: a Tokyo commuter train during rush hour.

What the actual hell?

My hand gripped an overhead ring, arm stretched high. But it wasn't my wooden arm. This was flesh and blood, wearing the sleeve of an office blazer.

Okay, what kind of twisted trick is this game trying to play on me?

The bag strap digging into my shoulder caught my attention. Dark leather, scuffed at the corners, a small penguin charm dangling from the zipper. 

Huh? Isn't this Inorin's work bag? The one she always complained was too old but refused to replace.

But why am I...?

The train's fluorescent lights flickered as we rattled through a tunnel. Outside the windows, Tokyo's nightscape blurred past - a kaleidoscope of neon signs and office buildings with their lights still on. A scene I'd seen a thousand times.

"Now arriving at XXX Station," the automated announcement chimed.

My body - no, not my body, someone else's body - moved with the surge of commuters toward the doors. I had no control, just along for the ride as we joined the river of people flowing toward the station exit.

Hold up, this route...

We turned the convenience store where Inorin sometimes bought our dinner. Past that ramen shop she swore made the best hangover cure.

This is the way to my apartment.

The bag bounced against my hip with that thought. Inorin's bag. Was I... experiencing her memories? The thought made my stomach turn. If this was her last walk home before disappearing...

My legs stumbled up the apartment stairs. The keys jingled against the lock as unfamiliar fingers fumbled to find the right one.

Just before opening the door, the body straightened her posture. A throat cleared, rough and scratchy from what I guessed was a long day.

The door swung open, and-

There I was. Younger me, maybe thirteen or fourteen, waiting eagerly on the entrance steps with a proud grin slapped across my face. My black bob cut was messier back then, sticking out at odd angles like I'd been running around the apartment.

"Sorry, did you wait long?" The voice that came out was Inorin's, that familiar voice that always made everything okay.

My stomach dropped as I realized whose eyes I was seeing through.

"I did!" Young me bounced up. "But don't worry. You were taking forever so I made dinner!"

I felt Inorin's lips curve into a weary smile. "Wow, Kuroha is finally a responsible little girl!"

Inorin's bag hit the floor with a thud as she made her way to the dinner table. Now that I think about it, it's a miracle that younger me didn't burn it down along with the rest of the building. The only casualty was the tofu, sitting proudly atop two bowls of rice. The cubes were charred to a crisp, practically fossilized, floating in what might have once been curry but now looking like volcanic sludge.

"Tada!" Young Kuroha threw her arms wide. "I followed the recipe exactly! ...mostly."

"I can see that." Inorin's voice wavered between amusement and concern. "The tofu looks very... well-done."

"Extra crispy means extra tasty, right?"

Was I really this stupid back then?

"Yup, you know how much I love my things crispy!" Inorin reached to ruffle young Kuroha's hair. The familiar gesture sent a pang through my chest.

They settled at the small table, younger me bouncing in her seat before attacking the food. I felt Inorin's body tense as she lifted the spoon to her mouth, bracing for impact.

The taste was... oh dear god. Like someone had taken curry powder, mixed it with charcoal and set it on fire. Twice, maybe.

"Wow, it tastes great! Nice job, Kuro-chan!" Inorin lied through her smile.

Young me lit up. "Really? I did something right this time?"

"Yup, I bet you'll even surpass me someday!"

Young me slammed her hands on the table. "Hell yeah I will! Just you watch. I'm gonna be the best chef in Tokyo! No, in Japan! No wait. THE WHOLE WORLD!"

Inorin shook with laughter. "Oh my, should I be worried about my position as household chef?"

"You better be! I'll make you eat those words with the most amazing food ever! Starting tomorrow, I'm taking over all the cooking!"

"Save me," Inorin mocked into her bowl of charred curry. "I'm too young to die from food poisoning."

"Hey! I heard that!"

A phone buzzed in Inorin's pocket. Her hand fished it out while dodging a playful swat from young me.

The email header made her heart skip: "Congratulations from Studio Cai!"

Her thumb scrolled rapidly past paragraphs of welcome text, scanning for… there. The salary figure made her eyes widen.

"Who's bothering you this late?" Young me peered across the table. "Those jerks from work again?"

"Ah, no... Remember Kuro-chan? No more coworkers now since I got laid off from my last job. Today was just interviews."

"Oh right! How'd they go? Did you wow them with your super cool cooking skills?"

Inorin's chopsticks clicked against her bowl in an uneven rhythm. She kept glancing between me and her phone.

"Actually... It's been going pretty well! I got a job offer today!"

Young me slammed both palms on the table, making the curry bowls rattle. "HA! About damn time someone recognized how awesome my aunt is!"

"You flatter me way too much. Though maybe I should keep you around just for the ego boost."

"Duh, that's what family's for!" Young me smugly nodded.

Was I always this embarrassingly earnest?

"Nah, I'm really not that awesome."

"No way! You're like, the most amazing person ever! You can cook anything! And you know everything about everything!"

Oh god, make it stop. The way young me bounced in her seat, eyes sparkling with pure adoration. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

"Oh!" Young me's face lit up. "That reminds me!"

She bolted from the table, down the hallway to her room. Young me soon came charging back, waving what looked like a catalog. The pages were crumpled, with colorful circles scrawled all over them.

"They passed these out at school today!" She thrust the catalog into Inorin's hands. "It's for the book fair this week!"

Through Inorin's eyes, I scanned the marked items. Books, manga, and... pretty much every piece of stationery featuring an animal design. A penguin pencil case. Cat-shaped erasers. A ruler with puppies running along the length.

"See? I circled everything I want!" Young me pointed eagerly at the catalog. "If... if it's okay, could I maybe borrow some money to get them?"

You selfish little brat. Did I really not realize how tight money was back then? How Inorin was scrapping every yen just to keep us fed?

I wanted to reach through time and punch some sense into that stupid, oblivious face.

"Of course! Anything for my dear Kuro-chan!"

But I felt her stomach twist into knots. Through her eyes, I watched her scan the prices. That penguin case alone would eat up a day of groceries. The full set? We'd be living on cup ramen for a week.

Young me bounced in her chair. "Really? You mean it? You're the best Inorin!"

"Well, you did make me such an amazing dinner." Inorin's hand reached out to ruffle that messy black hair again.

You fucking idiot! I wanted to scream at Inorin. Stop being so damn nice all the time!

But Inorin just kept smiling.

The scene shifted, and suddenly we were in Inorin's cramped bedroom. The clock's red letters showed 12:47 AM as she sprawled across her futon.

Her phone's harsh blue light illuminated her face as she pulled up the Studio Cai email again. The salary figure made her smile tiredly.

But as her thumb scrolled down, revealing more details, that smile faltered. My stomach churned as I read along with her:

"Contract position: hours flexible based on project needs. Compensation hourly."

No... Inorin, don't.

She tabbed through other job offer emails, comparing figures. None matched Studio Cai's hourly rate but they all had one thing in common: 40-hour weeks, OT limits, benefits.

The phone clicked off, plunging the room into darkness. In that moment I caught a glimpse of her reflection in the black screen: bloodshot eyes rimmed with dark circles, the toll of endless interviews written across her face.

Please, Inorin, don't take the offer.

I wanted to seize control of her body, throw that phone across the room, do anything to stop what I knew was coming. But I was just a passenger in this memory, helpless as Inorin picked up her phone again.

Her thumb hovered over Studio Cai's email. Through her eyes, I watched her pull up a calculator app, running numbers. 

"Kuro-chan could get that whole stationery set." She mumbled.

Stop it! I don't need any of that crap!

But of course she didn't hear me. Just like back then, I was too wrapped up in my own excitement to notice how hard she was pushing herself.

Inorin rolled onto her side, squinting at a photo stuck to her wall. It was the two of us at an arcade, me proudly displaying a stuffed penguin she won for me. Younger me's smile was so bright it hurt to look at.

"Can't let that smile fade, right? What kind of cool aunt would I be then?"

A living one, I wanted to scream. One who didn't disappear trying to make some stupid kid happy.

Her fingers moved on their own, typing out a response to Studio Cai. Each keystroke felt like a nail in her coffin.

I knew what came next. The late nights. The way she'd stumble home at dawn, only to head right back after a few hours sleep. All because some selfish brat wanted fancy stationaries and didn't think to ask why her aunt looked so tired all the time.

The "send" button glowed in the darkness. One tap, and it would all lead to her vanishing without a trace.

I wasn't worth it, Inorin. I was never worth it.