"Wan... Wan," a voice called out. The voice was muffled, but unmistakable. It was a familiar sound. "What is it, Yuki?" I called down the stairs. She didn’t respond. I hurried down the stairs, the cold floor tiles chilling my bare feet. I hadn’t bothered to put on socks, not expecting to be woken so early. As I reached the bottom, I saw her sitting on the old couch—one our parents had bought years ago. The house was warm, typical of Japanese homes, but the couch had seen better days. Yuki, my younger sister, had black hair and purple eyes, unlike my own black eyes. She was everything I wasn’t—always confident, always composed. But right now, her disheveled appearance would probably make the other students look down on her, especially with her temper flaring like this. “Can you get the groceries?” she asked, a mischievous laugh in her voice. “Really? That’s why you woke me up?” I groaned, still half-asleep. She didn’t answer, just looked at me with that stubborn look of hers. “I know you were playing that dumb game,” she pressed. “ And it’s 11” “And why can’t you go?” I complained. “I broke my leg at practice,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “And we have no food.” I walked into the kitchen—an old marble countertop kitchen—and opened the fridge. Inside, there were vegetables, cheese, and eggs, but nothing was already made. “There’s food in here,” I said. “Nothing already made,” she corrected me, still laying on the couch. “Are you even an athlete?” I laughed. “You need to eat better.” “I won’t take disrespect from a shut-in,” she smirked. “It’ll be good for you.” “Please, big brother,” she added, her voice pleading. I sighed. “Fine. But next time, you’re coming with me.”