Chapter 31
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 31
Chapter Title: Younger Sister's Recollection - My Story with Oppa
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I can't even remember how old I was back then, but in my early childhood, we kept hamsters.
Their names were Hamchi and Suchi. Those two tiny lives endlessly spun the wheel in their little cage, pointlessly.
They were so small and fragile. Lives that could die if I put just a little pressure on them, or even if I eased up just a bit.
I couldn't stand how lovable they were. This tiny life trembling in my hand, this little thing that would perish if I squeezed even slightly.
One day, Suchi died.
I pressed down on its back with my finger, and Suchi writhed before dying.
Yes. I killed it. I ended that small life without a shred of guilt.
Ignorant Hamchi ended up gnawing on the dead Suchi. In that moment, Hamchi became the culprit who killed Suchi.
No one in the family suspected me. They couldn't even imagine their cute little maknae doing something so cruel.
Seeing Suchi with half its body gone, even So-young Sister, who always pretended to be strong, burst into tears. All night long. It was the first time I'd seen her cry like that. The death of that tiny life seemed to wound her deeply.
But to me, that death was pure ecstasy. The thrill of controlling a life with my own hands. In my short few years of existence, Suchi's death was the greatest stimulus I'd ever known.
Hamchi, left alone, didn't last long and died too. Was it loneliness? Or maybe because So-young Sister and the family didn't properly care for the hamster that killed Suchi.
When Hamchi died, Sister didn't cry as much as she had for Suchi. She even seemed relieved that the hamster who killed Suchi was gone.
Poor Hamchi. So pitiful. I'll believe in your innocence, at least.
After those two hamsters died, we never kept pets again.
Sister begged for a dog or cat several times, but Mom and Dad wouldn't allow it.
Dogs and cats don't live as long as people anyway. It might have been our parents' decision to spare Sister another heartbreak when they inevitably passed first.
But for me, it was just a shame. I'd long forgotten the thrill from Suchi's death, and I needed something bigger now. A new victim.
Then one day, unexpected fortune came knocking.
"Mi-so. This is your oppa. Sun-hu oppa."
"Oppa?"
Mom's words made me tilt my head. An oppa born after me, his little sister?
But the moment I saw that tiny life, its eyes darting anxiously as Mom held its tiny wrist, I fell in love.
"Oppa! Hello!"
Oppa.
Looking at him, I thought of Hamchi and Suchi from long ago. Hamsters trapped in a tiny cage, diligently spinning the wheel.
To me, oppa was a fragile little thing that seemed like it could crumble at any moment. Yet at the same time, a plucky one struggling to survive.
But oppa required far more care than hamsters. He was excessively afraid of everything in the world.
And that included me. Why was he so scared of a sister as small and cute as this?
It took a full year for oppa to accept me. The devotion I poured into him during that year is beyond words.
"M-Mi, Mi-so, Mi-so-ya."
"Yes~? What's up, oppa~?"
"Th-thank you."
I don't remember the context of why oppa thanked me then. But I clearly recall the ecstasy when he first called my name.
If Suchi's death was like getting an electric shock, this was like being struck by lightning. For reasons I can't recall, it was that moving for me.
Once oppa opened his heart to me, my hobby became listening to his heartbeat.
When I hugged him and pressed my ear to his chest, that fragile heart pounded desperately. Knowing I could stop it anytime made those beats sweeter than any music.
That was around when Mom and Dad divorced. Mom had watched us fondly as I clung to oppa, while Dad looked on with displeasure. One day they had a huge fight, and Dad left the house. Rather than leaving, he was chased out—me, Mom, and Sister all freezing him out.
After that, Dad got hit with a cheating scandal and divorced by Mom.
I don't care what happened to Dad. Oppa matters now.
My lovable, lovable oppa. Watching him struggle to survive made me want to crush him countless times.
But that would be like cutting open the goose that lays the golden eggs from that fairy tale I'd read recently. Acting on impulse would rob me of lifelong pleasure.
So I endured. For the ultimate moment, the supreme ecstasy.
That little heart pounding away, oppa grew like a weed. By the time he started school, he'd grown much bigger and cooler than me. No trace of his old fragility.
But his fragile heart remained. Oppa was still a scaredy-cat, awkward with people.
Oppa’s wounds didn’t heal. And new ones kept piling up.
At eight, you have to go to school. And oppa was a special education student due to autism spectrum disorder.
He could choose a special school, a special class in a regular school, or a regular class in a regular school.
No, not him choosing. It was Mom, his guardian, who decided.
Mom wanted him to grow up normal, mingling with regular kids. So oppa went to a regular class in a regular school.
I don’t know what oppa wanted. But it probably wasn’t what Mom thought.
In the end, Mom’s choice wasn’t great. Things didn’t go as she hoped. Above all, she hadn’t considered children’s innate cruelty.
Oppa, always trembling and unable to answer questions properly, was quickly isolated at school. The two years while So-young Sister was there were okay, but the sister four years older graduated and moved to middle school soon enough.
Once the breakwater that was So-young Sister vanished, oppa became a direct target for bullying.
Is tormenting smaller, weaker lives for thrills human nature? Like squishing tiny hamsters, the kids tormented oppa. Their pure cruelty scarred his body and mind.
My oppa, whom I cherished so carefully lest he break.
But entering school a year later, all I could do was hold his hand on the way home and bring him back. His only request was not to tell Mom.
According to him, the physical pain was familiar and fine—elementary kids’ punches were nothing.
But the real terror was burdening Mom and the family.
If he said he was okay, I didn’t want to pry and ignore his feelings.
Some kids teased me for holding hands with oppa on the way home. I ignored them. I never once let go of his hand. Even now, I think that was the right thing. If I’d let go then, I might never have held it again.
Then one day.
Mom found out about the bullying when oppa came home covered in mud, and the school turned upside down.
But that was it.
The school’s stance was that punishing “kids’ play” would be too harsh on children. Plus, too many boys were involved. Easier for them to blame oppa’s poor social skills than punish everyone, admit school violence, and transfer kids out.
In the end, the incident fizzled out. The school promised no recurrence, and that was their only measure. Oppa was clearly a victim, but no perpetrators emerged.
After that, direct bullying decreased a lot. Subtle exclusion was inevitable, but visible violence vanished from my sight.
And oppa safely made it to graduation.
On graduation day, oppa smiled happily.
It was the first time I’d seen him smile like a sunflower.
"Mi-so-ya. Thank you."
"Why all of a sudden, oppa?"
"School... I didn’t give up thanks to you, Mi-so. I graduated safely because of you. Thank you."
"...Oh my. Look at our oppa, so impressive. But what about middle school? You’ll have to go alone then. Okay without me?"
"...Yeah. It’ll be tough, but I’ll try to change. I’ll become someone who doesn’t worry Mom, Noona, or you, Mi-so."
Oppa was trying to stand on his own two feet in the world. To me, it felt like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly.
"Yeah, oppa. I’ll cheer you on!"
I gripped his hand tight, as always, for the commemorative photo. Mom, holding the camera, was in tears.
Oppa, now in middle school, really changed. He started eating heaps, shot up in height and size. He never skipped daily runs, push-ups, sit-ups, and such.
Above all, practicing scripts with Mom cured his stuttering.
He still tensed up speaking to crowds or strangers, but for him, it was huge progress.
Seeing his growth and determination, I thought middle school would be fine without me or So-young Sister there.
And indeed, oppa adapted well. He made same-sex friends; it was much better than elementary.
But trouble always erupts from the last place you’d expect.
On the first-year school trip, oppa was gang-sexually assaulted by girls in his grade.
They forcibly stripped his pants for photos and made him ejaculate on camera, then shared the videos and pics among the girls.
The scandal was big enough for news coverage. Worlds apart from his cute elementary bullying.
Eight girls directly involved were forcibly transferred.
Over twenty who shared via chat got suspensions, community service, special education.
But no punishment erased oppa’s wounds.
Oppa and our family suffered aftermath far worse than elementary days.
When oppa rejected me, Sister, and Mom just for being women, it felt like the sky was falling.
We grew closer overcoming that crisis, but I never want to relive it.
And through it, I realized something deep down.
Like the hamsters we kept caged, I had to manage oppa and his surroundings more thoroughly.
Alone, I wasn’t enough. It needed to be organized, systematic.
I needed money and manpower at my disposal. Not just middle school—high school, college, post-grad life required steady, stable income.
Becoming an idol was simply because I had the talent for it.
It was perfect as a stepping stone to internet broadcasting later.
I didn’t plan a long idol career. Just gain some fame and quit.
But debuting and getting popular took longer than expected, and quitting wasn’t easy. Maybe I underestimated it.
Delays in plans left holes in fully managing oppa in high school. But even so, hearing he had a girlfriend made me doubt my ears and head. With me here, So-young Sister, Mom—and he makes a girlfriend?
The betrayal I felt then can’t be put into words.