Interlude: A Quiet That No One Knows.

“Hono-chan!” Mom called out.
“Take care of So-chan, okay?”

“He’s your baby brother.”

That was the first time I remember being told to take care of him.

Shinso was calm. Quiet. Almost sad.
He didn’t move like other children. Sometimes it felt like I was watching over a statue.

I remember trying to play puzzles with him.
I thought I could teach him how to solve them.

He finished the jigsaw on his own.

That should’ve made me proud.

Instead, something felt off.

Mom had entrusted him to me.
That meant he needed me.

But So-chan didn’t look like someone who needed anyone.

That feeling only grew stronger years later.

In elementary school, I accidentally broke one of the teacher’s mugs in the faculty room.
The teacher said it was fine.

I couldn’t stop apologizing.

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

That’s when So-chan tugged my sleeve.

“Nee-san,” he said quietly.
“It’s okay. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

I looked at him.

He wasn’t scared.
He wasn’t upset.

He wasn’t relying on me.

He was comforting me.

That night, Mom and Dad praised me.

They said I was a good girl.
Reliable.
Someone they could always trust.

I nodded.

And that was when it settled inside me.

If So-chan didn’t need me as his sister—
then I would become someone everyone needed.

If being a sister wasn’t enough,
then being responsible would be.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Years later, as I sorted paperwork in the student council room, I asked him to leave.

Then he raised his voice.

For the first time.

“Nee-san!”

The room changed.

It wasn’t cold yet—it was only early autumn.
But the air felt like winter had arrived.

No one moved.
No one spoke.

“Have you ever felt tired,” he asked,
“even after getting a good night’s sleep?”

I couldn’t answer.

I thought of mornings when my body felt heavy.
Of smiles I put on without thinking.
Of how much I loved being relied on—

And how heavy it had started to feel.

I didn’t let that thought finish.

“That’s enough, Shinso,” I said, calm but firm.

“You’ve helped enough. Thank you.”

I pointed toward the door.

“Your friends are waiting for you.”

“But Nee-san—”

“No more buts,” I interrupted gently.
“You wouldn’t want to keep a lady waiting, would you?”

He didn’t speak again.

He just left.

“Honoka-chan… wasn’t that a little cold?” Aya asked.

I didn’t answer.

I looked out the window.

For a moment, I almost thought about it.

Then I turned back to the paperwork.

There was still much to do.