My Imouto Has No Money _hot_ -

“I know.”

I already knew. The electric bill was due. Her part-time job at the bookstore had cut her hours. And she’d spent her last yen on a get-well card for a classmate’s mother. my imouto has no money

I sighed, reached into my pocket, and slid a plain envelope across the table. “I know

My little sister— imouto-chan —sat across the table, poking her rice with a chopstick like it held the secrets of the universe. Her wallet, a frayed kitten-shaped pouch I’d given her three birthdays ago, lay flat and empty beside her chopstick rest. reached into my pocket

And I swore I’d never let her eat plain rice alone again.

That night, I heard her crying quietly through the paper-thin wall. Not from shame. From relief.