Live for Me

Irene didn’t even know how she made it to the orphanage.

Carrying big bags of snacks, new clothes, and the game disc she had long wanted to buy for her, she pushed the door open…

No one.

Rosakaya’s room was about the same size as her own—just as small, but not damp.

Irene had bought her an induction cooker and a dehumidifier, plus several little hanging lamps decorated with stars, driving away the gloom and dampness.

As for herself… Irene didn’t mind damp places.

In that sense, she was a lot like a cockroach—she just needed to replace rotten things more often.

It wasn’t that she had no money, she just felt there was no need.

Inside was a secondhand PS4, the first thing Irene had bought her after leaving the radiation zone.

At school, Rosakaya had always been gloomy, but that time she smiled—a rare smile.

At that moment, Irene knew the money hadn’t been wasted.

Although Irene had only been here three years, even the body’s original owner had never had much contact with her sister.

After all, Rosakaya was… quite the oddball.

Smart, silent, unnaturally brooding, avoiding social life.

But thanks to Irene’s persistence, she was finally almost like a normal person.

And for her sake, she had even dyed her hair golden.

In a place like this, it wasn’t really an act of rebellion—rather, it meant she wanted to be more herself, more lively, to blend in with society and classmates.

That was also why Irene was confident she could change Utoya too—there was already a precedent.

Looking at the photos on the wall, Irene’s chaotic heart finally began to settle.

There were countless photos of the two of them—at class, at the orphanage, at the amusement park, at… the swimming pool? The bathroom?

Er, Rosakaya really liked taking her picture.

Though some of those photos didn’t seem very suitable for display.

Besides that, there were many of her drawings—cartoons, sketches, oil paintings.

All different poses, all different styles, but all of Irene.

As Irene stared at the photos, heavy footsteps pulled her back.

She turned her head—Rosakaya was standing silently at the door, holding something, with a few cups of leftover hot cocoa in her hands.

That was normal—not everything could sell.

But the number seemed a bit much… maybe she had rushed back in a hurry.

Strange, though—Irene had planned to surprise her, and hadn’t told her at all.

“Ah, you’re back. Good work.”

“Sis… I love you.”

Huh?

Irene’s forced smile froze.

Rosakaya’s voice was breathless, carrying a trace of something she had almost never seen in her…

Anger?

“I love you too! Ta-da! Surprise, I brought you treats.

Remember to share with your friends.

And some new clothes—throw the old ones away.

And that disc you wanted most…”

Irene made the sound effect, raising the plastic bag in her hand, though she didn’t understand why.

But Rosakaya didn’t even look at it.

She staggered into the room.

Hurt?

Irene was startled, quickly setting things aside to help her up.

Under the lamp, though, there were no wounds.

“Sis Irene is still the same…

Strong and generous with love, giving it to everyone.”

“But why… give it to someone like that…”

Irene froze, staring at the girl in her arms.

Her body cast shadows across her face, leaving only those deep green eyes brimming with tears, locked onto her.

…

Finally, Irene saw clearly.

Rosakaya was clutching a knife, wrapped with ribbons and a bow.

The tip was already pressed against Irene’s wrist.

She felt it instantly, but didn’t dodge.

No matter what, Irene believed she could never hurt her.

Still, anger rose in her chest.

So disobedient…

“Put the knife down, Rosakaya…”

Her voice rose, tinged with anger.

This girl—bringing that thing out again?

But soon Irene forced the anger down.

Before Irene came into her life, Rosakaya had been a knife-obsessed girl—what in another world might be called a “yandere.”

But with Irene’s years of effort, she had become a good girl.

Why was she… back to this again?

Of course, Irene knew—it was related to Utoya.

But she didn’t understand.

Hadn’t she explained clearly enough over the phone?

“…Sis, this is the first time you’ve spoken to me like that.

Is it for that pervert who kidnapped you? Why?”

A suppressed laugh rose from Rosakaya’s throat.

Her eyes shimmered with disbelief.

“Sis could never be like this.

All this time?

How ridiculous.

I didn’t even notice your smile had become less happy.

I thought you were just tired.

But no…”

Her hands trembled as she pulled two photos from her chest pocket.

One was from long ago—back when Irene had just crossed over, before debts, in a school uniform, holding Rosalia, smiling brightly.

The other was recent—sitting at a desk, eyes dull, face slack.

Even when she turned and smiled at Rosakaya, it was empty.

Irene didn’t even know when or how it had been taken.

At the time she had been worrying about next month’s debt, lost in frustration.

“I understand, Sis.

Sometimes when I wake, I also feel life is awful.

That I have nothing, am nothing.

I must trouble you so much.

But why can you be happy with others so easily?

And not with me…

I know I’m not good enough yet…

But please, give me time.

I love you… don’t go… don’t…”

Her voice twisted into a knotted tangle.

By the end it was sobs, hiccups, trembling.

Her whole body was hot from tension or excitement, like a small lump of burning coal pressed against Irene.

Her hair was soaked—tears or sweat, Irene couldn’t tell.

But the knife stayed pressed to her skin.

…

What to do…

Irene bit her lip in panic.

If Rosalia were threatening her outright, she might not be so nervous.

But such desperate, pleading words left her trapped.

She couldn’t lie to her.

But if she didn’t explain… she would be hurt.

She had no choice but to reveal part of the truth.

“Sorry, little sister…

I won’t lie to you.

Something unpleasant happened, but don’t worry.

I love you.

I always have.”

She took a deep breath, her voice gentle, ignoring the restless blade brushing against her wrist, threatening to cut.

“What is it… really…”

Rosalia shifted the knife uneasily.

Of course she couldn’t bring herself to use the edge.

The flat scraped instead, leaving strange warmth, like a dance along the blade, making Irene’s steady heart race.

“I’m wanted.”

“W-what…?”

“I crossed some powerful people.

The outcome may be terrible.

Reporting it won’t help—the police here can’t protect me.

So yes… the pressure is heavy.

But don’t worry.

I’ll find a way.”

Her voice stayed soft.

But to Rosakaya, it was like thunder from a clear sky.

“During this time, it’ll be dangerous.

I’ll come here less, maybe not for a long while.

Don’t worry—I’ll still send money.

But if one day Ribé comes for it…

I’m sorry, little sister, I won’t be able to protect you anymore.

You must live well.

Don’t use that knife on yourself, or anyone else.

Promise me.”

Shock—like her heart had stopped.

Her small body went ice cold.

Her breath ceased for ten seconds, then rushed out in gasps.

Like a girl in panic, she clung to her last support.

The knife clattered to the floor.

Irene sighed silently, stroking her golden short hair.

As expected, the girl in her arms broke apart.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…

I… I didn’t know…

I thought… I’m sorry…”

“I was wrong, I was wrong, don’t leave me…

This must be a nightmare…

A nightmare… wake up… wake up…”

This wasn’t a nightmare.

It was reality.

Irene didn’t like exposing her fear to others.

It was tempting, but unwise—and unsafe.

Rosakaya was dangerous too.

If she exposed herself, or if Ribé wanted to break her, Rosakaya could become bait.

All it would do was make her worry.

As for a solution?

Irene didn’t know.

She didn’t believe in her own words.

Every promise was hollow.

She was like a moth, blindly searching for an escape from fate.

Was the only choice half a million?

An immigration visa?

Then that would be her goal.

If she were to die, or fall into a fate worse than death—

At least Rosakaya wouldn’t have to live in this hell.

So.

First, she had to earn money.

But before that—

She had to see Sydney.