Otoha (1)
“I’m glad I created you.”
I’ve probably heard that line twice. The first time, I don’t remember it clearly. I was small. I remember feeling happy to be praised, but in the end, it was lonely being left alone in the hospital bed, feeling sad.
My sister, who was sick, apparently survived by receiving some kind of transplant from me. As I grew a little older, I learned about it from the people around me.
My parents must have been genuinely happy. Every time my sister achieved something, they were overjoyed. The day the doctor said she would be okay became a commemorative day. It turned into an annual celebration, a recovery anniversary party.
Even if I forget my birthday, I never forget the recovery anniversary.
Then my brother was born. He, the second in the Royal family’s side lineage, the heir to the Nijou family, developed the same illness as my sister when he was a baby.
“I’m glad I created you.”
I don’t know if it was okay to take something out of one person twice. But something of mine was transplanted into my brother, and he was saved.
After the transplant surgery, I wandered between life and death. My parents were busy taking care of my sister and nursing my brother, so when I finally opened my eyes, no one was by my side.
Yoshino started taking care of me around the time I could sit up on the bed. Perhaps the hospital complained because no one came to visit too often, or maybe I troubled the nurses too much. So, they hired someone. Now that I think about it, there were always caregivers for my sister and brother from the beginning. I wonder how I was raised. Until the transplant for my sister, I must have been nurtured carefully for that purpose. Well, I don’t know.
By the time Yoshino came, I had forgotten to eat. It wasn’t because I spent my time on IV drips, at least that’s what it seemed.
“Thanks to you, Young lady Otoha, Young lady Mihane and Young master Akesora’s lives were connected. It’s wonderful. You’re an amazing person. An indispensable person.”
Yoshino, who had grandchildren of the same age as me, hugged me gently and repeated those words. I listened to her trembling voice with a strange feeling. The rice porridge she fed me was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten.
School was fun. Apparently, only the Royals were above me, and everyone admired me. If I got good grades, the teachers praised me. The children called me cute and beautiful, and if I spoke to them, both adults and children responded.
At home, my parents treated me as if they had forgotten I existed. The servants, following the master’s lead, never spoke to me except Yoshino. It was so much fun.
The trouble came when Yoshino’s son died in battle. She had to attend to the funeral and take care of her grandchild, Murakano.
She took a break from taking care of me. The flavor disappeared from my meals. No one in the house noticed.