Chapter 60: A big-bodied child (but still small).

The way she immersed herself in an anime character was so pitiful that it was almost heartbreaking.

My sister never once resented me or got angry at me.

But deep inside, she must have been boiling with frustration.

She must have hated me for monopolizing our parents’ attention.

Just imagining her watching an anime character and repeating to herself, “I shouldn’t hate my little sister,” every time those feelings arose…

It was painful to even think about.

How desperate must she have been to rely on an anime like that?

It was so endearing that it was hard to bear.

It made me want to cherish her even more.

I never told her that I had watched that anime too.

Instead, I started mimicking the way the character spoke.

Not excessively—just a little.

Like Tsukuyo, the younger sister in the anime, I started referring to myself in the third person.

“Seol Yoon is sad! Seol Yoon is disappointed! Seol Yoon is bored! Seol Yoon, minus 100 points!”—things like that.

I’ve never lived in Japan, so I wouldn’t know, but at least in Korea, nobody talks like that.

…Yet my sister never seemed to catch on to why I was doing it.

I was waiting to see when she would notice.

I had already known about her streaming activities for a while.

On a whim, I searched for “Legend” on every major streaming platform just to check…

Sister, why is your real name so blatantly part of your username?

Are you really trying to keep your identity hidden? Idiot.

Or maybe, deep down, she didn’t actually want to hide.

A person’s actions and emotions don’t always align 100%.

I had been waiting for her to tell me herself.

But before she even had a chance to say anything, she went and caused this mess.

The moment I saw that her stream was live, I had a bad feeling.

And the second I looked at the screen, I was already out the door, calling a taxi.

When I arrived at her place, thankfully, she hadn’t done anything irreversible yet.

I turned off the stream and pulled her into a hug—only for her to immediately start retching.

Sister, my chest is not a toilet.

I quickly moved her to the actual toilet and made sure she didn’t get vomit in her hair while I removed my stained clothes.

I had to take care of her first before worrying about laundry.

As I gently rubbed her back, I asked, “Are you okay now?”

“…Yeah.”

Was that really a yes?

I tossed my discarded clothes next to the sink and helped her out of hers.

Thick knitwear, a cosplay suit, two layers of tank tops—of course, she felt nauseous with all that on.

…Oops, I took off too much.

I helped her put one layer back on.

Then I handed her some water to rinse her mouth before asking again, “Do you feel better now? Did you get it all out?”

“…I’m sorry…”

Forget apologizing—just tell me if you’re done throwing up.

I held back the urge to scold her.

That wouldn’t fit my image.

‘Should I make her brush her teeth?’

Stomach acid lingering on teeth for too long can cause damage.

Rinsing with water wasn’t enough—brushing would be best.

But forcing her to brush now might make her throw up again, which would defeat the purpose.

“…I’m sorry…”

She kept mumbling, so I pulled her into another hug.

“Not ‘I’m sorry’—say ‘thank you’ instead.”

Quoting an anime line just for her.

“…Mom…”

Was this what it felt like to be a man hopelessly in love with a woman who only loved someone else?

I came all the way here, held her while she threw up on me, took care of her—so why was she calling for Mom?

This is infuriating.

That person is sleeping at home, while I’m the one right in front of her.

If only I were her mother instead…

I wouldn’t have let her end up like this.

A meaningless, ridiculous jealousy crept up inside me.

Holding her tight, I gently stroked her hair.

Maybe feeling comforted, she started dozing off.

Her body was so light that even if she passed out, I could carry her easily.

But… not making her brush her teeth was really bothering me.

…Just this once, I guess.

I wasn’t confident she wouldn’t throw up again, so I had her rinse one more time and then put her to bed.

At least all the vomit had landed on me, so her clothes were clean.

If she had gotten it all over herself and needed a shower, things would’ve been much more troublesome.

• I pre-washed my clothes to get rid of the stains before tossing them into the washing machine.

• Then I cleaned up the mess from her drinking session.

Although, her “drinking session” was literally just a bottle of alcohol and a bottle of cola.

Was cola her idea of a drinking snack?

Is she insane?

Was this some kind of suicide protest to shorten her lifespan?

I’m giving her a 30-minute lecture tomorrow.

If necessary, I’ll cry to guilt-trip her into feeling remorse.

With the washing machine running, I had nothing to do but check the internet.

A bunch of garbage people making comments about her body.

Getting mad over it was pointless.

If an adult seriously argued with elementary school kids, they’d just look ridiculous, right?

These guys had the mental growth of elementary schoolers at best.

They weren’t civilized human beings—just creatures that vaguely resembled them.

Getting angry at them would only drain my own energy.

Talking to them was about as useful as trying to argue with a cockroach.

Would you start a conversation with an insect just because it was chirping?

…Can’t I just spray them all with poison and get rid of them?

These human-shaped byproducts of civilization.

I checked to make sure my sister was sleeping well, then stepped outside and took a taxi to a 24-hour supermarket.

There are convenience stores everywhere, but they probably wouldn’t have what I was looking for.

I came to buy ingredients for hangover soup.

Wouldn’t it be easier to just order delivery?

Do you even know how much sugar and salt they put in delivery food?

If you think outside food tastes better, just remember—it’s because you’re trading it for your lifespan.

I returned to my sister’s place and started cooking dried pollack hangover soup.

…Seriously?

She really only eats the subscription meal kits I signed her up for?

After checking her fridge and trash can, that was my conclusion.

This hopeless sister of mine.

I should’ve prepared two meals for her instead of just one.

I was stupid to think she’d at least manage one on her own.

I need to come up with a plan, fast.

I had already showered before I left home, so I just washed my feet, brushed my hair to get rid of dust, and lightly rinsed my face.

Then I changed into pajamas and lay down next to my sister.

I reached out and placed a hand on her stomach.

Way too soft.

She’s definitely not exercising.

No wonder I never feel like her stamina improves, even after working out together.

Beginners are supposed to improve quickly at first.

Just how much does she stay cooped up inside, this foolish hikikomori?

“You can rely on your little sister, you know. Do you really think age makes that much of a difference?”

Koreans are so weird.

Even if someone lives for a hundred years, if they’re dumb, they stay dumb.

And if someone is smart, they’re smart even at ten years old.

There are plenty of sharp-minded kids and plenty of worthless adults.

So why is everyone so obsessed with age?

My sister could just let go of all that and lean on me.

She could let herself be spoiled by her younger sister.

But she never does—unless she’s drunk.

She just needs to accept that she’s an affection-starved little kid.

But maybe not being able to admit that is the most childish thing about her.

A kid in an adult’s body.

Except even her body isn’t that big.

She’s tiny.

So ridiculously cute.

Most middle schoolers are taller than her, so she gets sulky whenever she sees them on their way home from school.

When does winter break end?

It’s been too long since I attended school in Korea—I can’t remember.

I hugged my sister tightly and fell asleep.

I hope she doesn’t dream lonely dreams of being alone.

I’m right here.

I wanted to die the moment my memories started coming back.

What the hell do I do about this disaster?

Why did I put on a disguise and start streaming?

Am I supposed to go live again and show my flat chest like—”Ta-da! It was a rickroll! The truth is, I’m actually flat!”—to explain myself?

I’ve already fallen off the cliff. No matter where I look, all I see is the abyss.

Is there anyone willing to lend me a time machine?

Suddenly, I remembered that one police officer who watches my streams.

Uh, officer, does pretending to have big boobs for donation money count as fraud?

‘So warm.’

A large, soft weight pressed against my back.

Seol Yoon was hugging me in her sleep, using me as a body pillow.

How did she know to come stop my streaming disaster?

‘Did Dad send her?’

Yeah. Dad knows about my streaming, so maybe he sent Seol Yoon over.

I never told her about my streams myself.

I can’t believe she found out in the worst possible way.

I tried to sneak out, but Seol Yoon had already woken up.

“Did you sleep well, sis?”

“I have no excuse. I have committed an unforgivable crime.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? Instead of saying ‘I’m sorry,’ say ‘thank you.’”

Smooch.

She kissed my forehead.

Does she think I’m, like, a seven-year-old?

…Looking at the state of my apartment, I don’t have much to say.

Maybe I really am just a kid who happens to be old enough to drink.

“I made hangover soup. I’ll heat it up for you.”

“……”

Seol Yoon has really big breasts.

And you know what that means?

It means she has a lot of estrogen.

According to various studies, people with higher estrogen levels tend to have softer, kinder personalities.

I can’t help but feel the difference between us as human beings.

‘No! Fight! The desire to battle is the essence of a man’s spirit!’

Does that mean my love for competitive ranked games is also due to my hormones?

Is that why my chest never got bigger?

I’m definitely not upset about it.

I’m just analyzing the situation objectively, so don’t get the wrong idea.

I tried imagining myself as someone as feminine, gentle, and sweet as Seol Yoon.

It kind of made me want to throw up.

Yeah, I like myself just the way I am.

…Though I should probably stop being such a burden on my sister.

Translator’s Note:

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