Blurb：
Auden Park's life as "the resource farm daughter" shatters when glitched subtitles reveal her family's dark secret: every ounce of effort she pours into dieting, academics, and chasing popular boy Breton Fry secretly flows to golden child Livia Park through The System. This psychological thriller follows the overweight scapegoat's brutal rebellion - from smashing Jake's MacBook with a dictionary to weaponizing cafeteria junk food against her sister's "genetic advantages". As Livia's perfect face bloats and track star boyfriend Breton awakens from forced affection, Auden confronts the even darker truth behind stalker Orville Pike's obsession. Can the lesser daughter dismantle the sibling energy-transfer system before the subtitles' final warning - [suicide by prom night] - becomes reality?
Content：
§01The first glitched subtitle appeared during a documentary about Norwegian sweaters.
It flickered at the bottom of my laptop screen, grey and translucent, a ghost in the machine.
[The lesser daughter hasn’t realized yet.]
I blinked.
Rewound the footage ten seconds.
The stoic Norwegian man was back, describing a complex knitting pattern.
The correct subtitle read: [This technique is passed down through generations.]
I let out a slow breath, my heart thumping a dull, heavy rhythm against my ribs.
A trick of the light.
Eye strain.
I’d been locked in my room for twelve hours, mainlining caffeine and SAT prep books until the words blurred into meaningless squiggles.
My parents thought I was studying.
I was, but the knowledge never stuck.
It was like pouring water into a sieve.
My sister, Livia, never studied.
She was currently downstairs, probably scrolling through TikTok on the velvet couch, her laughter like little silver bells.
Yet, she was the one with the 4.0 GPA.
The one poised to be valedictorian.
The star of Northgate High.
I was Auden Park.
The other one.
The one with the sludge-like GPA, the perpetually exhausted eyes, and a body that seemed to inflate no matter how little I ate.
My mother called it “baby fat.”
At seventeen, the term was less a comfort and more a curse.
I pressed play again, forcing my attention back to the screen.
And then it happened again.
Another glitch.
[She doesn't know her parents are in on it, either.]
This time, I froze.
The air in my room turned thick and cold.
This wasn’t eye strain.
[The System is working perfectly. All her efforts are being transferred to the primary beneficiary.]
My breath hitched in my throat.
I slammed the laptop shut.
The sudden silence was deafening.
My gaze drifted to the framed photo on my desk.
Me and Livia, aged ten and twelve.
I was a scrawny, gap-toothed kid, clinging to Livia’s arm.
Livia was already beautiful, her smile effortless and bright.
Even then, the disparity was there.
I ate the bland, steamed vegetables my mother prepared, her voice a constant murmur about “nutrition” and “discipline.”
Livia ate pizza and ice cream, giggling as she called me a “health nut.”
Yet she was the one with the dancer’s physique, the flawless skin.
I was the one who, by middle school, was already being steered toward the “plus-size” section at the mall.
I’d always thought it was just cosmic injustice.
A cruel joke played by genetics.
But those words on the screen… they weren’t a joke.
They felt like a key turning in a lock I never knew existed.
A horrifying, impossible key.
[The poor girl is still trying so hard. It’s almost sad. No wonder she ends up killing herself when the truth comes out.]
A wave of nausea washed over me.
My own suicide?
The final subtitle, the one that broke everything, was the worst.
[Too bad for Auden. Her entire life is just a resource farm for her sister, Livia Park.]
I stared at my reflection in the dark screen.
The puffy face.
The dull skin.
The eyes that held no light.
A resource farm.
A choked sob escaped my lips, raw and ugly.
It wasn't unfairness.
It was theft.
And my own family—the people who were supposed to love me—were the thieves.
§02
The scent of garlic and roasted chicken—Livia’s dinner—wafted up the stairs, a cruel taunt.
My own dinner sat on my desk, a plastic container of what my mother cheerfully called a “power bowl.”
It was a soggy pile of quinoa, steamed chicken breast without seasoning, and limp kale.
The smell was of wet earth and despair.
I pushed it away, my stomach churning.
For years, I’d eaten these meals with a sense of grim duty.
I’d felt guilty for the special treatment, for the extra effort my mother put into my “wellness journey.”
I’d even defended her to Livia.
“Mom’s just worried about my health, Liv,” I’d say, my voice small.
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The End