"Yes, Sir?"
Yuki froze where she stood, half-hidden behind the wooden post of a nearby stall. She looked up just in time to see Yuzu turn toward a man who appeared to be her superior. The man sighed, running a hand over his tired face before speaking to her twin sister.
"The man who offered you that scholarship came back today," he said. "He insists it would be a waste for someone as talented as you to stay here. Why not take it, Yuzu? I'm sure Yuki wouldn't want you trapped in this village forever."
Yuki's body stiffened. Her name, spoken so casually, hit her like a stone.
She had intended only to wait until Yuzu finished speaking. But the moment she heard her own name on that man's lips, she could no longer move. Something inside her recoiled.
And so she hid. Yuki was afraid of what was in her own mind. She was also afraid of Yuzu's reaction and the reactions of the people around them.
"Yuki isn't dead, Sir," Yuzu said firmly, her voice steady but her shoulders taut. "She's still alive out there somewhere. She's waiting for me to find her."
The man looked pained at that answer. "Yuzu, how can you be so sure? Those Yakuza took her. You know what that means. No one comes back from them."
He wasn't wrong. Yuki knew it too well.
The day she was taken, her name had been erased while her existence was rewritten by them. To the world, she had died two years ago. The girl named Yuki had ceased to exist the moment they dragged her away.
"No," Yuzu said, shaking her head violently. "I refuse to believe that. If I accept that scholarship and leave this country, everything will come to an end. I'll lose my only chance to bring her home. Even if it takes years—even if it kills me—I'll keep searching until I find her again."
Yuki's throat constricted as she watched her sister's fists clench behind her back, her voice thick with desperate conviction.
The man sighed again, his tone softer now. "Yuzu…"
"My decision is final, Sir," she interrupted, bowing deeply. "I appreciate your concern—but I'll fight for her in my own way."
Yuzu turned and walked away, her silhouette framed by the golden afternoon light.
Yuki didn't follow. She couldn't. Her eyes drifted instead to the man who remained behind, speaking softly to the crowd that had begun to gather.
"Such a shame," someone murmured.
"She could've had a future," said another.
"All because of that sister of hers…"
None of them knew. None of them realized that the girl they talked about was standing right there, hidden among them.
The noise of the crowd faded into a dull roar. Yuki's vision blurred. A strange awareness crept into her heart like a slow, spreading fire.
Unlike Yuzu, who had kept living, fighting, hoping—Yuki no longer knew how to live at all. The world she'd survived in for two years had stripped her bare, taught her to obey, to endure, to disappear.
Now, surrounded by sunlight and laughter, she felt more like a ghost than a human.
Her hands trembled.
Yuzu had kept fighting for me all this time…
But I… I'm no longer the person she's looking for.
A bitter smile ghosted across her lips before twisting into a fragile laugh. Tears spilled down her cheeks as laughter and grief tangled in her throat, an awful, soundless thing that only the wind could hear.
Yuki wiped her face, steadied her breath. For the first time in years, her purpose was clear.
If Yuzu had spent her life saving her, then now, at last, it was Yuki's turn to protect her sister in the only way she could.
***
Later that evening, Yuzu returned to her stall, her eyes red from crying but her voice composed. She apologized to her manager, insisting she was sorry for being stubborn. He only nodded, understanding too well that Yuzu wasn't ready to give up on the only hope she had.
The others also offered her kind words and soft smiles. The people of the village had become her family after the Yakuza took everything else away from her. Yuzu was surrounded by kind people, and that made her feel a little better afterwards.
"Yuzu! Someone left this for you!"
A boy came running, waving an envelope while Yuzu was talking to the people who were trying to cheer her up. Yuzu thanked him, wiping her hands on her apron before carefully taking the letter.
She frowned. She rarely received mail—seldom, in fact. The envelope was plain, unmarked, but something about it made her fingers tremble.
After a while, she finally opened it.
At first, her expression didn't change. Then, slowly, shock spread across her face. Her lips parted, her breath faltered. Her eyes scanned the page again and again as though the words might rearrange themselves into something else.
And then she dropped everything and ran.
The market blurred past her.
Voices called out, confused, but she didn't hear them. She ran until her lungs burned, until her legs screamed for mercy. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she called out through the crowd—
"Yuki! Don't go!"
Her voice cracked, but she didn't stop. Maybe Yuki was still nearby—maybe if she ran fast enough, her sister would turn, would smile, would come home with her.
"Yuki!"
But no one answered.
She ran all the way back to their house—the little wooden home she had kept spotless all these years, the one she had repaired and maintained in hope that Yuki might one day walk through the door again.
"Yuki!"
Only silence greeted her.
Yuzu sank to her knees, her hands trembling as she clutched the crumpled letter to her chest. The neat, graceful handwriting was unmistakable.
I'm home, Sister.
But I can't stay.
Please don't look for me.
Live the life we once dreamed of.
Her tears fell onto the ink, smudging the last line until it bled.
"Yuki… please…"
Her voice broke into sobs. The sound filled the quiet village night, echoing down the empty road where no one answered her call.
Barefoot and shaking, Yuzu cried until the stars blurred overhead.
"Yuki… don't leave me again…"
But Yuki was gone, leaving behind only a letter, and the faintest whisper of a promise that would never be kept.