Jiro Hoshimi’s Makeover Magic

Cuteness is nothing less than magic itself.

Cute clothes and cute makeup.

They’re like armor that shields your deepest secrets, letting you sparkle no matter what you’re carrying inside.

Looking into the shop windows at Shibuya 10Q, I saw reflected back at me a girl, delicate and sweet, looking perfect in an embroidered frilly blouse and asymmetrical flare skirt.

When I smiled, my eyes sparkled with light pink and glittery eyeshadow, and my lips, coated in my favorite gloss, formed a shiny curve.

Yep, I'm absolutely adorable today!

Satisfied with my perfect, cute reflection in the window, I walked away from the shop lined with frilly, ribbon-adorned clothes.

With each step, the mint green bag on my shoulder swayed gently, and my fluffy, milk tea-colored hair danced softly in the breeze. The hem of my fluttering skirt bloomed like a flower with every movement.

Um, excuse me . . .

On my way back from browsing Shibuya 10Q, someone suddenly called out to me from behind with a hesitant voice.

When I turned around, there stood a girl in a school uniform. Through heavy bangs that covered her dark brown eyes, she stared at me with intense longing.

P-please make me into a cute girl like you . . . !

Huh?

At such a sudden request, time seemed to freeze between us.

A cute girl like me?

That's impossible.

Sorry, I'm in a bit of a hurry . . .

Ah, p-please, w-wait a minute—

When I tried to leave quickly, I heard an incredibly awkward scream from behind.

When I turned around, my entire field of vision was filled with the girl stumbling toward me as she fell, her hand stretched out desperately.

Unable to catch her or dodge in time, I tumbled to the ground along with her.

Owww!

As I groaned and sat up, something slid off the top of my head.

Wha?

Ahhh!

Our gazes were both drawn to the milk tea-colored object the girl was clutching.

It was my hair.

Glossy, milk tea-colored hair. The soft curls I'd carefully styled before leaving home now hung limply from the girl's hands like a lifeless rag doll.

Ahhh, y-your head . . . you're bald!

The girl looked up, blurting out something rude in her panic.

I had no time to escape that stare.

Huh? You're not bald—wait, is that you, Jiro?

Fortunately for her, the person whose hair she'd yanked off wasn't actually bald.

Unfortunately for me, my wig had been yanked off and my secret was out.

The secret was that the ultimate cutie, Jiro Hoshimi, was a crossdresser.

1

Everyone carries secrets, some bigger than others.

Old scars left on vulnerable areas of the heart.

Mistakes too small to call sins, but which you've definitely made.

There are parts of yourself you don't want others to know about.

We live our daily lives hiding those secrets beneath our outward personas, our fancy clothes, our friendly smiles—or beneath layers of makeup.

The secrets we keep hidden grow heavier with time, but since sharing and understanding aren't the same thing, we can't trust them to anyone.

So what do you think happens when those secrets are accidentally exposed?

* * *

Morning, Hoshimi!

Before morning homeroom, my classmate Seira Ibu came over to my desk, waving as she walked. Her long brown hair, perfectly blow-dried, swayed with each bouncing step.

Morning, Seira. Something seems different about you today?

Huh, you can tell?

When I asked, her face softened happily. Her sharp, almond-shaped eyes gave her a mature, cool impression, but in conversation she laughed easily, and her expression turned childlike—a charming contrast.

Yeah. Something about your vibe feels different today—or wait, did you get prettier?

When I said that casually, Seira froze with her eyes wide in surprise. Did I say something weird? When I looked around, I could see the nearby girls turning toward me with confused expressions . . . Was this sexual harassment?

Whoa! Wait, suddenly calling me pretty—could it be that you like me, Jiro?!

Before I could even open my mouth to apologize, Seira let out a huge, excited squeal. Judging by how she was bouncing in place, she seemed delighted.

Whoa—sorry! I think of you as just a friend, Jiro.

Huh, did I just get rejected?!

I was treated as if I had confessed and then got turned down. Could anything be sadder?

What are you guys making such a racket about first thing in the morning?

Feeling a weight on my shoulder, I turned around to find Riku Orido—a clean-cut guy with short black hair parted in the center—grinning as he draped an arm over me. Rather than seeming wholesome, his grin gave off a playboy vibe.

Listen to this, Riku! Jiro confessed to me!

Whoa! For real, Jiro?

No, I didn't. I didn't! I just asked if she got prettier!

That's totally hitting on her!

See!

It's just a misunderstanding! I meant your skin looks really good!

When I defended myself while pointing at my own cheeks, both of them finally stopped their teasing.

Oh wow, really? My skin has gotten better since I changed my toner and moisturizer, and you actually noticed, Jiro. You're so into skincare!

Well, we've talked about skincare before, so I kind of figured that was it.

Oh, and actually the new toner I'm using is the one you recommended, Jiro.

Seira launched into a full-blown skincare discussion.

Seira and I became friends when we first started high school about a month ago.

Jiro, you have really nice skin. Do you do any special care or anything?

Ever since she had approached me with that question, we've often talked about those kinds of things.

By the way, Riku and I became close because neither of us joined any after-school clubs, so we'd often walk home together. Now that he has a part-time job, we don't walk home together as much.

But seriously, you really know your stuff, Jiro. It's pretty rare for a guy.

While glancing at Seira having her skincare discussion, Riku sat down in the empty seat next to me—the seat's owner hadn't arrived at school yet.

Those words that seemed to suggest something abnormal about me, I flinched.

Huh? It's pretty normal these days, isn't it?

Really? I think it's pretty unusual.

While trying to keep my voice steady, inwardly I was on edge. The whole skincare enthusiast persona was good cover, but underneath it lay my secret that I could never tell anyone. I really didn't want it to go any further . . .

Hey Riku, just because you don't understand something doesn't mean you should say stuff like that. That's not cool.

What saved me as I was searching for an escape from this questioning was Seira's scolding of Riku.

Ah, you're right, that was a bad way to put it. My bad.

Exactly! These days it's totally normal for guys to care about skincare too!

Thanks, Seira.

I nearly got teary-eyed at Seira's support. But—

But, if a guy were to do makeup too, that might be kind of unusual though.

When she said this with a smile, my face just froze.

Y-yeah, sure.

Even as I agreed, I could feel my mouth twitching . . . This is bad—I need to change the topic before this gets too dangerous.

Looking around for something to talk about, I spotted a girl standing a little distance away, looking lost.

Shiya Kokone was the girl who sat next to me. From the way she was glancing over here, I could tell she wanted to sit in her own seat, but Riku was occupying it, and she couldn't speak up.

Riku, don't you think you should move from that seat?

I called out, hoping it would distract Riku. It did, and he also noticed Shiya.

Oh yeah, sorry. Umm, here you go . . .

As Riku hesitated while standing up, Seira curtly threw him a lifeline.

It's Shiya, right?

Shiya started when her name was called. Her shoulders twitched as she glanced briefly at Seira.

Seira either didn't notice that glance or chose to ignore it, as she spoke to Riku in an exasperated tone.

It's been about a month since we entered high school and you still don't remember your classmates' names?

No, I'm just bad at remembering people's names—sorry Shiya.

As Riku apologized with his hands pressed together, Shiya trembled and shook her head like a small animal.

N-no problem . . .

Her voice was a whisper.

I spoke to Shiya as she sat down in the now-empty seat, moving somewhat hesitantly.

Sorry about all the noise. If we're bothering you, just let us know, okay?

I smiled to reassure her, but the moment our eyes met, she looked down so fast I swear her neck might have snapped. Yikes!

Ah, um, th-thank you . . . um, . . .

Her voice was so quiet I could barely hear her in places, but I could tell she was trying to mumble my name under her breath. Even though we sit next to each other, why doesn't she remember my name . . . ?

Well, she does seem like someone who doesn't pay much attention to things around her, especially judging by her appearance.

Her medium-length hair is constantly sticking out in weird places—whether from cowlicks or bedhead, I can't tell—and her heavy bangs cover about half of her eyes, giving her a perpetually gloomy aura. Her tendency to look down only adds to the dark impression she gives others. Even I, sitting right next to her, have hardly heard her speak. To put it plainly, she's an introvert.

I can't help but think she could at least try to care a little more about her appearance, but that's probably none of my business.

Seriously, Seira, you mean to say you remember everyone's faces and names in the class?

After a whole month, you'd remember them, right? I mean, people from other classes might still be tough, but . . .

The two were still going back and forth about remembering names, but Seira's eyes suddenly lit up as if she'd remembered something.

That reminds me—have you heard about the girl who's been the subject of rumors around school lately?

Rumors?

Yep! No one knows her name or class—there's this rumor going around about a phantom student!

Seira spoke with a little drama, but Riku and I just tilted our heads in sync, confused.

Wait, you mean like one of those urban legends?

Saying there is a student who doesn't exist doesn’t even make sense.

Could you guys just shut up and listen for a sec?

After our lackluster responses, Seira gave us a smile that brooked no argument before continuing.

Apparently this female student appears in Shibuya and Harajuku—

Riku was about to say, "What is she, a wild animal?" but Seira shot him a stone cold glare that shut him up.

When girls are browsing clothes or makeup in stores, trying to decide what to buy, this female student appears out of nowhere and starts talking to them and asking, “Having trouble deciding?”

That's just a store clerk.

Yeah, that's a store clerk.

After we accidentally said the exact same thing in unison, Seira gave us both a look that suggested our responses were totally clueless.

I told you, it's a student! She’s wearing our school uniform!

Oh, I see.

Then she's a cosplay store clerk.

Since we didn't speak in unison with the same answer this time, only Riku got the what the heck is wrong with this guy look. I seriously doubt anyone would buy an actual school-issued uniform just for cosplay . . .

Hm . . . A girl in our school uniform, going up to people browsing clothes or makeup?

Something about that description suddenly clicked, and a bad feeling crept down my spine. But surely not . . .

M-maybe it's like hitting on people? I guess that happens between girls too.

I tried to play it cool without sounding fake, but Seira shook her head.

Apparently it's not even that. Like, if a girl’s struggling over what to buy, this student—

Seira made a dramatic pause, then continued . . .

She picks out cute clothes that totally suit them!

So what? I mean, she sounds like a good person.

Riku said in a deflated tone.

And if they still can’t decide, she totally hypes them up and gives them the push they need!

Damn, she's sounds like a really good person.

Right? But when they try to thank her later—by looking for her at school or asking around, no one can find her.

Ah, so that's why she's the phantom student.

Exactly! And this whole mysterious thing has caught on with some girls, so it's spreading like wildfire through word of mouth. If you're lucky enough to meet her, you get help picking out things that look good on you. And apparently she's really cute too!

Was that last bit of info necessary?

Some say she’s actually a truant student, or maybe even an adult woman with a baby face wearing a real school uniform she got somewhere.

That's getting a bit too real . . . By the way, Jiro, you've been pale and quiet this whole time—what's wrong?

Huh? Ah, it's nothing really?

Riku suddenly leaned in to look at my face, and I reflexively jerked back—my chair let out a screeching noise.

Your voice cracked though.

You okay? You don’t look so good.

Not at all! Maybe I'm just, like, sleep-deprived or something.

I tried to smile reassuringly at Seira, but—

Ahaha.

But all that came out was a dry, forced laugh.

No way?! The guy who always sleeps by ten for his skin?! What is it, are you dying?!

You can't kill him off without my permission! And wow, you really take skincare seriously, huh?

Seira and Riku’s banter echoed faintly, like it was coming from somewhere far away.

That rumor Seira told us—the one about the phantom student—it had been nagging at me. I’d started to suspect it halfway through, but now there was no doubt.

Behind my dry laugh, cold sweat poured down my back as I realized the awful truth.

That phantom student was me—crossdressing!

2

I stood in front of the uniform hanging on the hanger, feeling conflicted.

After getting home from school, I'd been standing in front of my bedroom closet for about ten minutes, groaning in frustration.

To wear it or not to wear it.

No, if I really thought about it, I knew I definitely shouldn't.

After all, I'm a guy, and what was in front of me was a girls' uniform. Just having it was weird enough.

When I had asked my sister—she graduated before I entered high school—if I could borrow her old uniform, she didn't give it a second thought.

Sure, you can have it.

She agreed without hesitation. So I’d gotten my hands on a girls’ uniform without needing to go through any shady channels. I mean, even if she knew I liked crossdressing, couldn’t she have shown at least a little resistance?

Anyway, once I had gotten my hands on a uniform that had the reputation for being cute, any hesitation about not wearing it completely vanished.

A crisp white sailor top with a brown pleated skirt. The matching brown collar and cuffs were accented with cream-colored lines, and a green scarf tied at the chest pulled it all together. The color palette wasn’t flashy, but the design was overwhelmingly cute. Not wearing it would be a crime!

Since I obviously couldn’t wear it to school, I made up for it by wearing it all the time when I went out crossdressing after school or on the weekends.

On top of that, I tend to become more outgoing when I'm crossdressing, so when I see kids shopping alone who look troubled, I end up approaching them and getting involved where I shouldn't . . .

And that’s how the rumor Seira told us about was born: a mysterious girl who doesn’t go to our school but shows up around town to help others pick out cute clothes that suit them.

Seira would never dream that this phantom student was actually a crossdressing male student . . .

How did it come to this?

Actually, it doesn't matter how—it’s not like I don’t know exactly how I got here. It’s 100% my own doing!

But still, they hadn't figured out it was me.

As I flopped onto my bed, I muttered to myself.

That’s right. Even knowing my crossdressing has turned into a rumor, here I am still planning to do it. Honestly, even I think it’s kind of ridiculous—but our school uniform is just too cute. And I want to wear cute clothes. Cute has a kind of magical power that can make people do all sorts of amazing things.

I guess I'll stick with my regular clothes instead of the uniform today.

I got out of bed and put the uniform away in the closet. In its place, I took out a white blouse with a ribbon at the chest and a pink flare skirt made of a sheer, delicate fabric, laid them on the bed, and began lining up my makeup tools on the antique-style dresser.

Switching from the uniform to casual clothes didn’t actually solve the root of the problem, but I brushed it off, thinking that since no one had figured it out so far, I’d probably be okay. People generally aren’t that interested in others anyway. Shiya was a perfect example—she sat next to me for a whole month and still didn’t know my name.

By the time I started applying my makeup, I’d already slipped into full-blown positivity.

I worked through my routine—skincare, base makeup, then eye makeup—before changing into the skirt and blouse. A swipe of my favorite lipstick, with its cute packaging and subtle shine, completed the look: a girly crossdressing style in soft pink tones that paired perfectly with the ribbons and lace.

I put on the wig I’d styled with a mix of inward and outward curls, slung my mint green bag over my shoulder, and instantly became the picture of the ultimate cute girl with soft, feminine charm.

As I stepped outside with a spring in my step, the warm breeze gently lifted my milk tea-colored hair.

I had such a good feeling about today!

Maybe going out with such a giddy, spring-like mood was my first mistake.

* * *

I passed through Hachiko Gate at Shibuya Station and walked along with the crowd flowing through the scramble crossing.

Today's destination was Shibuya 10Q, the cylindrical building known for the large numbered sign emblazoned across its upper facade.

I went through the entrance and rode the escalator up, glancing at schoolgirls in uniform heading home.

Shibuya 10Q is my favorite—it’s packed with everything from sugar-sweet girly boutiques to mature, feminine fashion. It’s a whole universe of cute, all in one place. Just browsing is fun, and I can feel my depleted cuteness levels getting refilled after all that time spent in guy mode. Naturally, my steps get lighter, my skirt swishing as I walk.

As I hopped from shop to shop—admiring mannequins decked out in frills and lace, eyeing accessories, and loading up on new affordable cosmetics—I caught sight of someone in my school’s uniform in my peripheral vision.

Uh oh!

Instinctively, I ducked behind a nearby mannequin.

The girl kept picking up a skirt, holding it against herself, sighing, putting it back, then picking it up again . . . I watched her repeat this cycle about three times from behind the mannequin. Her petite frame and baby face gave her such a youthful look, and I hesitated for a moment about whether I should approach her.

Until yesterday, I would have walked over without hesitation, wondering if I could help somehow.

But now I'd just learned that my actions had become the subject of rumors. Even though we weren't acquainted, if I carelessly talked to a girl from the same high school and my crossdressing was somehow discovered . . .

Still, I couldn't bring myself to leave this girl alone when she was gazing at the skirt with such desperate eyes and sighing so helplessly.

That skirt is cute, isn't it?

Coming out from behind the mannequin, I consciously used a higher, softer tone than usual when calling out to her. Since my voice is naturally high, just being a little mindful of my tone greatly reduces the mismatch between my crossdressing appearance and voice.

Oh, sorry, I'm just looking—wait, you're not a store clerk?

The girl who turned around looking startled gave me a puzzled expression.

Sorry for suddenly talking to you. But you seemed to be having trouble with something, so I got curious.

When I smiled at the girl who was confused by a stranger suddenly talking to her, her eyes suddenly went wide as if she'd realized something.

Ah, um, are you maybe from the same school?

While pinching the hem of her sailor uniform, the girl asked.

Eh, yeah.

I instinctively nodded without thinking about how far the rumors had spread, and immediately regretted it.

Wow, then, could you possibly be the rumored—the person who helps girls pick out clothes that suit them when they're not sure what to choose?!

Ah . . . I guess that's what the rumor says.

As expected, she knew about it, and I vaguely nodded to the girl whose eyes were sparkling. I wondered how widespread this rumor had become.

Wow, it's really true! I haven't been very interested in fashion until now, but recently a friend encouraged me and I thought I'd try to put in a little effort . . .

Perhaps because her perception had changed from stranger to the person rumored about at school, the girl suddenly warmed up and started talking rapidly.

I see, so that's why you're interested in that skirt?

Yes, but . . . I feel like it doesn't really suit me . . .

When I pointed to the skirt in her hands, she dropped her gaze and her voice grew quiet.

I can see why she's hesitating. The fluffy long skirt would probably hide her feet completely given her short stature, making her look frumpy.

But I look back and forth between the girl and the skirt once more, letting my thoughts wander.

There are clothes that suit some people and not others—that's certainly true. But just because something doesn't seem to suit you doesn't mean you should give up. That would be such a waste!

She must have felt the same way deep down, which is why she kept going through this endless cycle of putting it back and picking it up again.

Her lack of self-confidence and her inability to give up—these two feelings were at war with each other, leaving her unable to take the plunge.

What she needed now was just the courage to take that first step.

You're thinking that it doesn't suit you, right? That's absolutely not true!

I grabbed the sleeve of the girl who was trying to put the skirt back on the rack and spoke with conviction.

Let me ask you just one thing. Forget about what suits you or doesn't suit you—what do you really want to do?

I . . .

In the depths of the girl's wavering eyes, I caught a small glimmer. It was expectation—or perhaps you could call it hope. Hoping to wear what she loved and become the person she wanted to be.

I knew that feeling well. It's an emotion I'd always carried myself.

I might not look good in it, but I want to try wearing this skirt.

Then I'll make you look perfect in that skirt!

I smiled as confidently as I could at the girl who spoke hesitantly but looked straight into my eyes. As if I could fill what she's lacking.

Huh? Make me look perfect in it . . . ?

Just leave it to me! Wait here for a sec, okay?

Leaving the confused girl there, I headed around the store to find what I needed.

* * *

How's it going? Have you put everything on?

Y-yes!

Several minutes had passed since I'd sent the girl to the fitting room with the items I'd selected along with the skirt.

Okay, I'm opening it now.

With those words, she pulled back the fitting room curtain and stepped out in her new outfit. I couldn't help but clap at the sight.

Amazing! It looks great on you!

R-really?

The girl had been nervously smoothing her skirt and turning to check herself from different angles in the mirror, but gradually her expression softened and her cheeks flushed with happiness.

See, I told you, right? There's no way it doesn't suit you.

But I just did what you told me. How did you . . . ?

Looking down at her outfit, the girl tilted her head as if she were witnessing magic.

The long skirt she'd wanted was worn high on her waist and cinched with a thin belt. I'd paired it with a cropped top that hit right at her natural waistline. Despite the skirt's full silhouette, the overall look was balanced because the high waist created better proportions.

That's because . . .

Feeling a bit like a magician about to reveal their trick, I started my explanation with a touch of pride.

There are two main points. First, the high waist—wearing it higher than your natural waistline. When petite girls wear long skirts at their natural waist, their feet get completely hidden and it looks overwhelming, but when you wear it high-waisted, the hem sits higher so you can see your ankles, which looks much cleaner. Emphasizing the waistline with a belt creates what we call waist emphasis, and it makes your waist look slimmer and your legs look longer, so it improves your overall proportions.

I see . . . !

The second point is pairing it with a cropped top. Flowy long skirts have a low center of gravity, so they can look unbalanced on shorter people. But when you pair them with a cropped top, you shift the visual weight upward, creating better balance.

Amazing! So all the things you gave me with the skirt had a purpose!

Nodding enthusiastically, the girl beamed with barely contained joy. Seeing her happiness made me feel warm inside too.

Yeah, you're definitely cuter when you're smiling like that.

Huh?

When I said that casually, the girl's cheeks and ears both turned bright red . . . Wait, this blush felt different from that happy flush from before.

Um, thank you so much for thinking of all this for me . . . !

No, no, I just did it because I wanted to, so don't worry about it!

I smiled back at the girl who bowed her head, but her face stayed red as she fidgeted with her fingers at her chest. What's she doing? Finger exercises or something?

Well then, I should probably—

A-ah, um!

Since her worries seemed resolved, I was about to make my exit when someone tugged on my blouse sleeve. When I turned around, the girl had a determined expression.

Would you like to exchange contact information? I was thinking maybe you could teach me about clothes and stuff like today again . . . I-it's totally fine if you don't want to though.

N-no, but I can't really teach you anything that impressive . . .

While trying to gently refuse, my heart started pounding and cold sweat broke out on my back.

Even if I wanted to exchange contact information, my social media account name is Hoshimi. Same school, Hoshimi surname—if she searched for that, she'd definitely find out I'm a guy. That would be a disaster!

That's not true! You're super cute, but you know so much and seem confident in yourself. And being a tomboy suits you, I think that's cool too!

Tomboy . . .

An unnecessary attribute had been casually added between the compliments. A tomboy crossdressing guy who constantly approaches girls would be bad news all around!

I should have just walked past without saying anything . . . but it's too late for regrets. The only thing I can do now is avoid taking on any more risk of being discovered. The important thing is a resolute attitude!

Um, well, actually my family has a policy against having smartphones . . .

Since I made up an excuse on the spot, I wasn't all that convincing. Come on, get it together . . .

Huh? Really? That's too bad . . . But having a family policy against smartphones sounds pretty strict. Oh, maybe you're actually some kind of rich girl?!

This girl honestly believed my shoddy excuse. On top of that, now she's added the rich girl attribute too—this whole character profile is getting seriously out of hand. What the hell is a tomboy crossdressing boy rich girl?!

Um . . . well, anyway, sorry.

I tried to cut the conversation short even though I didn't really understand what I was apologizing for . . .

Okay . . . Oh, could I at least get your name?

Name . . . ?

I repeated the word with a completely serious expression, and an awkward silence settled between us. Of course I couldn't give my real name, but the only people who can't answer their own name are amnesiacs or wanted criminals, right?

Before this anxious-looking girl could pin any more unwanted labels on me, I desperately wracked my confused brain and came up with a name.

J-Jill . . .

It was way too foreign-sounding. Couldn't I have come up with something a little better?

Oh, are you maybe half-Japanese? That's so cool! Is that hair natural too?

After a moment's pause, the girl spoke up with delight, as if she'd figured it all out. I was relieved that my obvious fake name hadn't been exposed, but I also felt sick about all the lies I'd layered on in such a short time. Who the hell is Jill anyway? I'm 100% Japanese, and this hair is a wig.

The name had come from connecting the sound of my real name Jiro with Jill from my favorite brand Jill Stuart, but that just added even more false information. In the end, I'd become a tomboy crossdressing, half-Japanese rich girl. What kind of monster have I become?!

W-Well, I have to go now!

Okay! If I see you again, I'll be sure to say hi!

Before I could slip up any more, I waved goodbye to the girl with the guilty feeling of a con artist. I'm totally exhausted . . . I want to go home . . .

I had just started heading toward the stairs to the exit when I felt someone watching me from behind.

When I turned around, I saw a single uniformed girl peeking at me from behind a nearby mannequin . . . This deja vu felt really familiar somehow, but that didn't matter at the moment.

The problem was that this girl was someone I recognized. Someone very close to me, in fact.

It was Shiya Kokone—the introverted girl who sat next to me in class. Her frumpy appearance stood out like a sore thumb in the sweet and sparkly air of Shibuya 10Q.

I found myself frozen in place at this unexpected encounter.

When our eyes met, Shiya darted her gaze around like a scared animal, then began approaching with a disturbingly intense look of resolve. Oh my god, how terrifying . . .

Wait, this should be the first time I've met Shiya in this form. Surely she hasn't figured out that I'm Jiro Hoshimi—the guy who sits next to her in class, right? I mean, I wouldn't think so, but the way she's walking toward me definitely isn't how you'd approach a complete stranger . . .

Should I run?

Feeling an inexplicable fear as Shiya slowly approached me, I turned on my heel and headed toward the stairs quickly.

W-Wait . . . !

I could hear an anxious voice and the sound of hurried footsteps chasing after me from behind—clearly someone who wasn't very athletic—but I pretended not to hear.

I jogged down the stairs, and just as I reached the landing of the photo spot with heart marks covering the walls, Shiya's desperate words stopped me in my tracks, even though she was out of breath.

P-please make me into a cute girl like you . . . !

Huh?

At those completely unexpected words, I found myself stopping in front of a large heart mark on the wall and looking up at Shiya as she shakily made her way down the stairs.

Um, you're the rumored phantom student, right . . . ?

As Shiya reached the landing and asked me in broken phrases while catching her breath, I felt relieved. It seemed like she hadn't figured out my true identity—she was just approaching me as the rumored phantom student.

Wait, but I'm not wearing a uniform today, so how did you know?

I'd heard that the phantom student was becoming the subject of rumors, so I had come out in casual clothes today. How did Shiya figure it out?

W-Well, I saw you talking to that girl earlier . . .

You were watching?

Y-Your name is Jill . . . even your name is cute . . . !

I could feel an intense, obsessive passion in her eyes as she looked at me from behind her heavy bangs, and I got goosebumps all over my arms. I remembered how Shiya had been watching me from behind the mannequin earlier. Wait, does that mean? Was she stalking me . . . ?

I needed to run ASAP.

This time I was determined to escape. Even before worrying about my crossdressing being exposed, I felt instinctively threatened. I didn't really want to badmouth my classmate who sits next to me, but stalkers were a hard pass!

. . . Um, sorry, I'm really in a hurry.

Exhausted and scared, I was too drained to keep up the act and just wanted to escape as quickly as possible.

W-Wait, just a second—ahhh!

As I turned away, I heard an awkward scream from behind me.

I barely had time to look back before my vision filled with Shiya tumbling toward me, having clearly tripped, her hand reaching out in what felt like slow motion.

I had no time to dodge, and we both went crashing down onto the landing together.

Oww!!!

As I groaned and sat up, something slipped off the top of my head.

Huh? My head feels kind of light somehow?

Eh?

Oh no!

Shiya, who sat up after me, stared in shock at what she was gripping in her hand.

At the same time, my eyes widened in horror as I put my hand to my head.

Oh no. No, no, no!

What Shiya had instinctively grabbed when she fell was my lustrous, milk tea-colored long hair.

More precisely, it was the long-haired wig I had been wearing until a moment ago.

Ahhhhh, y-your head . . . you're bald . . . !

Her hand trembled as she gripped the wig, and Shiya fearfully lifted her pale face. She must have thought she'd just ripped out every strand of a gorgeous girl's natural hair.

Eh, wait, you're not bald . . . ? Th-thank goodness . . . ! But wait, why . . . ?

Her expression rapidly shifted between confusion, relief, and puzzlement, then suddenly froze as if she'd realized something.

Despite my desperate prayer that she wouldn't figure it out, Shiya managed to whisper the words in a trembling voice.

C-could you be . . . Jiro?

She didn't even remember me when we talked in the classroom . . . ! I cursed under my breath and stared up at the ceiling in despair.

Here I was, disheveled in drag with my wig ripped off, sprawled on a landing covered in cute heart decorations—this was definitely not going to make a good Instagram post, no matter how you filtered it.