—A Few Moments Later—
After washing his face, Shinichi returned to the kitchen, tying an apron around his waist. His ponytail swayed gently behind him as he moved. With the apron snugly in place, there was something undeniably charming about the sight—his delicate features and calm demeanor made him look irresistibly... cute.
"Yosh! Let's get on it!" he said, clapping his hands with a determined smile. The sound echoed softly in the still kitchen.
Rolling up his sleeves, Shinichi got to work preparing breakfast—and a lunch box for later. His movements were smooth, practiced. He chopped, stirred, and fried with effortless grace, filling the air with the warm scent of home-cooked food.
Soon, his breakfast was neatly arranged on a plate, and the lunch box he packed looked almost too pretty to eat—every detail crafted with care, from the heart-shaped egg to the precisely arranged veggies.
Wiping down the counters, he hung the apron neatly and sat down at the table with a soft sigh of satisfaction.
"Itadakimasu," he murmured to no one in particular before picking up his chopsticks and digging in.
When he was done, he quietly said, "Gochisousama deshita."
Then, as always, he took his dishes to the sink and washed them with care.
With his morning routine complete, he made his way back to his room to change.
Slipping off his pink pajama top, Shinichi reached for his clothes... and paused.
His eyes drifted to the mirror.
And then, he froze.
There, reflected back at him, was his half-naked self. Slender frame. Delicate collarbones. Soft, pale skin that almost glowed in the morning light. There was no denying it.
He looked like a girl.
His brows furrowed, arms instinctively crossing over his chest—as if to shield a body that felt… alien. Like someone else's.
"I really do look like a girl, don't I?"
The thought echoed in his mind as he bit his lip. "Would any girl even like me like this...? Maybe… if she liked girls, I guess."
The question lingered like fog, refusing to clear.
Shinichi drifted into a quiet daydream—one where someone fell in love with him, where he got married, where he was seen... accepted.
Sigh...
He blinked, snapping out of it with a quiet breath. His eyes returned to the mirror, scanning every inch of himself.
Gentle jawline. Rounded cheeks. Slender neck. Narrow waist. Everything looked soft—too soft.
His shoulders slumped.
But just as he was about to turn away, his gaze dropped lower.
And froze.
There it was.
The unmistakable tent in his pants.
His cheeks flared crimson.
"W-Why am I getting hard… looking at myself?" he muttered, horrified. The thought rang in his mind like a cracked bell—sharp and impossible to ignore.
His breath hitched as a wave of warmth surged from his neck down to his chest. His mind spun, conjuring images he hadn't asked for—himself with longer hair, in a dress, smiling shyly...
"Haaa…"
He groaned and shook his head violently, trying to banish the thoughts.
"Don't think, don't think," he whispered, voice shaking.
His heart pounded like a drum, loud and relentless.
Yet—despite the panic—curiosity crawled beneath the surface.
Slowly, hesitantly, he raised his eyes back to the mirror.
And what he saw made his breath catch in his throat.
That wasn't a boy staring back.
That was a girl.
Flat-chested, yes—but undeniably feminine. Ocean-blue eyes wide with confusion. Long black hair tied into a ponytail. Fragile shoulders. Slim waist.
His reflection.
"That's... me?"
For a heartbeat, he couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. If someone walked in right now, they wouldn't even question it. They'd just assume it was a girl standing there.
Snapping out of it, Shinichi spun away from the mirror, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Don't think about it, don't think about it!" he chanted, clenching his fists.
But the image had seared itself into his mind.
That girl... was him.
"Aaaargh! This is all that salon Onee-san's fault!" he suddenly shouted, pacing in circles. "She begged me to let her try a 'new style'—and I only agreed because it was free!"
He groaned, dragging his fingers through his bangs.
"I needed a haircut, sure—but why'd she have to style it like that?! That's not a boy's haircut! I'm a boy! A boy!"
He paused. Glanced downward. The tent in his pants hadn't disappeared.
"…Ugh."
Silence settled around him again. Awkward. Heavy.
What was he even feeling?
Embarrassment? Curiosity? Shame? Something else?
After a long, uncertain moment, his eyes slowly turned back toward the mirror.
"…Should I look again?" he whispered, fingertips brushing the edge of the mirror.
"It's not like I'm doing anything wrong," he told himself. Just looking… just understanding.
And so, Shinichi looked again.
As his gaze met the reflection, a strange thrill ran through him. His breath caught. Heart fluttered.
"I… I really do look cute, huh?" he whispered, the words barely audible.
Flushed cheeks. Tousled ponytail. Soft collarbones. The person in the mirror looked like a character straight out of a shoujo manga.
He couldn't look away.
His chest rose and fell with each breath, emotions stirring like leaves in the wind.
"What… am I even feeling?" he wondered aloud, hugging his arms close.
It wasn't just about looking feminine anymore.
It was about how that made him feel.
Exposed. Beautiful. Confused.
Overwhelmed.
His fingers trembled as they drifted toward the waistband of his pants, heart hammering in his ears.
The mirror reflected everything—the dazed look in his eyes, the warmth in his cheeks, the delicate, uncertain figure barely lit by the morning sun.
And then…