Chapter 6: — “The Burdens She Carried, The Blame He Couldn’t Escape"

[WARNING: THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES CHILD ABUSE. IF NOT SUITABLE FOR YOU, PLEASE CLICK OFF THE CHAPTER! THANK YOU]

The apartment was silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the low, uneven sound of breathing from the living room. Haruto sat cross-legged on his futon, in his small, dimly lit room. The walls were bare except for a cracked calendar pinned above his desk, a couple of textbooks stacked unevenly in the corner.

From where he sat, he could hear it clearly, the muffled clink of a bottle being set down, then the familiar sigh that always followed. His mother was on the couch again, drifting between consciousness and sleep with the sour smell of alcohol clinging to the air.

Haruto closed his eyes briefly. He had grown used to it, the smell, the sounds, the way she seemed to fade in and out like a ghost haunting the apartment. It’s just another night.

“Dinner’s ready.”

The voice came from the kitchen, strained, flat. Koharu’s voice.

Haruto blinked and stood, tugging his sleeves down over his wrists as he stepped into the narrow hallway. The light from the kitchen spilled weakly into the corridor, washing over his sister’s figure.

She stood by the dining table, her hair tied messily back, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. Dark circles clung beneath them, evidence of too many late shifts and early mornings. The table was set with three bowls of rice, a pack of frozen dumplings reheated in their plastic tray, and miso soup that still steamed faintly.

Koharu brushed her hands against her apron, though Haruto noticed how they trembled.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said quietly, stepping closer.

Her shoulders stiffened. “If I don’t, who will?” Her tone was sharp, but it was the sharpness of someone who had nothing left to give.

Haruto hesitated, reaching for the tray. “At least let me—”

“No,” she cut him off, waving him away without even looking at him. “Just sit. Eat.”

Her voice cracked ever so slightly on the last word.

Haruto lowered his hand, retreating to the table. He sat down across from her, eyes flicking to the untouched bowl in front of their mother’s usual seat. From the living room, another sigh echoed, followed by the dull clink of glass.

Dinner was modest. Plain. But Haruto could see every ounce of weight it carried, the hours Koharu had worked to afford it, the minutes she’d stolen from rest to prepare it, and the bitterness she tried to swallow with each mouthful.

He picked up his chopsticks slowly, the words forming in his throat but catching before they could leave. She looks so tired…

The three of them sat at the table, though only two pairs of chopsticks moved. Koharu ate silently, her motions mechanical, while Haruto picked at his rice, glancing at her from time to time. Their mother leaned against the back of her chair, one hand resting lazily against her temple, the other reaching absentmindedly for the cup of sake she’d brought to the table.

It didn’t take long for the silence to break.

“What is this?” their mother muttered after a mouthful, grimacing at the soup. “Instant miso again? Frozen dumplings?” She set her chopsticks down with a sharp click. “You call this dinner?”

Koharu’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look up.

“I worked all day,” she murmured, barely audible.

“And whose fault is that?” their mother shot back, her voice rising. “Wasting your time with part-time jobs like some desperate failure. If you spent half as much effort learning to cook properly, maybe we wouldn’t be eating garbage every night.”

Koharu’s hands clenched around her chopsticks. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but her silence only fueled the storm.

“Pathetic,” their mother continued, shaking her head. “Always pretending you’re so responsible, but you can’t even handle being in this house without complaining. Look at you—tired, sloppy… You’re a disappointment, Koharu.”

The words landed like knives. Haruto saw it in the slight tremble of her shoulders, the way she bit her lip hard enough to draw color. His chest tightened.

“That’s not true,” Haruto said quietly, forcing his voice steady. “Koharu does a lot. More than anyone. You shouldn’t talk to her like that.”

For the first time, Koharu’s eyes snapped to him. Haruto reached across the table, placing his hand gently over hers.

“You’re doing fine,” he whispered, trying to soften the sting of their mother’s words. “Don’t listen to her. You’re—”

The chopsticks clattered as Koharu shoved his hand away, hard enough that his knuckles smacked against the edge of the table. Her eyes burned, wet with fury and something deeper, rawer.

“Shut up,” she hissed.

Haruto froze.

“You never get it,” she spat, her voice trembling with both rage and exhaustion. “She never says this crap to you, does she? You just sit there, quiet, and she barely notices you. It’s always me she tears apart.”

Her glare sharpened, sharp enough to cut. “And now you think you get to comfort me? Like you understand?”

Haruto opened his mouth, but no words came. He wanted to say something, anything, but all he could do was sit there, trapped beneath her burning stare.

Koharu’s hand trembled as she grabbed her bowl again, but she didn’t eat. She stared down at the food, shoulders rigid, as though the weight of every word their mother had thrown at her was pressing down, suffocating her.

Haruto lowered his eyes, silent. The rice in his bowl suddenly tasted like ash.

—

The clatter of dishes echoed dully as Haruto and Koharu stacked the bowls and plates into the sink. Their mother had already retreated back to the couch, sake cup in hand, muttering to herself as the glow of the TV lit her half-conscious face.

Haruto rinsed a plate quietly, the steam from the tap fogging against his skin. Just as he reached for another dish, Koharu’s hand shot out and clamped around his wrist.

“Come with me,” she said flatly, her voice low, trembling.

Before Haruto could answer, she dragged him down the narrow hallway. Her grip was iron, tight, desperate, and angry all at once. They stopped at his room, the door slamming shut with a sharp thud behind them.

Koharu spun on him, eyes blazing. Her hair clung to her face, damp with sweat from exhaustion, but her expression carried nothing but fury.

“You know how unfair this is, right?!” she snapped, stepping closer. “Every single day, I do everything, everything! I work, I cook, I clean, I keep this whole house from collapsing, while you just go to school, and still…” Her voice cracked, bitter and heavy. “She only ever criticizes me.”

Haruto took a step back, his mouth parting, but no words came.

Koharu jabbed a finger at his chest, her breathing sharp. “She calls me a failure, a disappointment, worthless… But you? You sit there and she barely even looks at you! You get to stay invisible while I take every blow!”

Her voice dropped, raw and ragged. “It’s not fair… Do you get that? It’s not fair!”

Haruto lowered his gaze, frozen. He wanted to say something, tell her he never asked for their mother’s silence, that he hated watching her take all the cruelty alone. But his throat tightened. Nothing came out.

Koharu’s chest heaved, her glare piercing through him.

“…Say something,” she demanded, her voice shaking. “Anything. Don’t just stand there like some useless bastard!”

But Haruto remained silent, his lips pressed together, eyes hidden beneath his fringe.

The slap came without warning. A sharp sting spread across Haruto’s cheek, the sound echoing in the small room. He stumbled back a step, blinking in silence.

“Do you have any idea how unfair this is?!” Koharu’s voice cracked under the weight of both anger and exhaustion. “She... she rips me apart every night, calls me useless, worthless, when I’m the one breaking my back to keep this family standing! And you—” she jabbed a finger at him, her face twisted with frustration, “—you sit there, quiet, untouched, like you’re invisible to her!”

Haruto pressed his lips together. His head hung low, hands tightening into fists at his sides. But he didn’t answer.

“You’re just as useless as her!” Koharu spat, her eyes burning. “A pathetic little brother who hides in his room while I take all the blame!”

Another slap landed, then a shove against his shoulder that knocked him toward the edge of the bed. Haruto stayed silent, his breathing heavy but steady. The room seemed smaller with every word she threw at him, her pain lashing out in every insult.

Finally, his voice slipped out, low and hesitant.
“I… I tried to defend you at dinner. I told her not to say those things… but you wouldn’t let me.”

The words hung between them.

Koharu froze for a moment, her chest rising and falling, before her face hardened again. She grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him forward, her glare so sharp it felt like it could cut through him.

“Don’t you dare put this on me,” she hissed. Her grip tightened, pulling him closer until her breath hit his skin. “You’ll never understand what it feels like to be me. Never. You’re nothing but dead weight, Haruto.”

She shoved him back, releasing him with one last slap across his cheek. His lip stung, and when he touched it, his fingers came back faintly red.

Koharu turned on her heel, storming toward the door. Before leaving, she shot him one final look. A mix of fury and despair, then slammed the door behind her.

Haruto stayed seated on the bed, silent. The ache on his face was nothing compared to the hollow feeling in his chest.

The room was silent, except for the faint hum of the city outside. Haruto sat on the edge of his bed, a damp cloth pressed against his cheek. The sting hadn’t faded, and he knew the red mark would stay for a while. He leaned his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

“…What am I even supposed to do?” he muttered under his breath.

His mother’s bitter words still echoed in his ears, but it wasn’t her voice that weighed most heavily. It was Koharu’s glare. The way her eyes burned when she told him he was nothing.

He tightened his grip on the cloth. I tried. I really did. I told her not to listen, told her she wasn’t worthless. But she doesn’t want to hear it from me. To her, I’m just another burden… someone easy to blame.

Haruto exhaled shakily, setting the cloth down. He caught sight of himself in the mirror across the room, the swollen cheek, the small streak of dried blood at his lip. A pitiful reflection.

No wonder I turned out like this, he thought bitterly. No wonder I…

His mind flickered back to middle school. To Ren, Yuto, Keigo, the so-called friends who cheered whenever he mocked someone. Whenever he picked a target.

And to her.

Sakura’s frightened face returned to him, clear as day. The way she’d flinch, her eyes darting down, her hands tightening around her notebook. Back then, he thought hurting her made him feel stronger. Less powerless.

But now, sitting here bruised and hollow, the truth clawed at him.
“I was just… doing to her what was being done to me,” he whispered. “That’s all it was. And it was wrong. It was so damn wrong.”

He shut his eyes tight, running a hand through his hair. Regret burned in his chest, heavier than any slap.

“…I’m not gonna let it happen again,” Haruto said softly, almost like a vow. “No matter what’s happening to me here, I’ll never let her suffer like that again. Not from me. Not from anyone.”

His voice cracked at the edges, but determination held it together.

“I’ll protect her. Even if I can’t protect myself.”

The words lingered in the quiet room, a promise sealed in the lonely air.

Haruto leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling, lost in silence. For once, the pain didn’t matter. What mattered was the decision.