Another morning.
"Yawnnnn..."
Rubbing my sleepy eyes, I headed straight to the bathroom.
I wanted to roll around under the covers a bit longer, but I really had to pee.
I pulled out my precious little guy from my pants to take care of business.
"Huh...?"
My precious little guy wasn't there.
In the spot where a man's symbolic rod should be, there was now a woman's symbolic hole instead.
"Guess it hasn't changed back."
I'd prayed every morning that I'd wake up as my original self, but it seemed prayers from a non-believer didn't reach the gods.
I was still a woman.
"But..."
I poked around my lower abdomen.
"How do I even aim this thing?"
Women sit down to pee.
That's just common sense.
But following that common sense right now felt like it would bring on massive self-loathing.
I am a man.
A real man pees standing up.
In a desperate bid to preserve my masculine ego, I decided to pee standing up.
First, I pulled my pants down to my ankles.
Then I spread my legs shoulder-width apart and stood in my usual peeing stance.
Nothing in my hand to hold, but I aimed anyway.
Where was it even coming from?
Of course, a woman's body had a pee hole too, but I had no idea where it was.
I knew it was somewhere inside the slit, but...
"Eh, whatever, let's just go."
I gave my lower belly a slight push and let it flow.
Pssshhhhh!
Urine shot out refreshingly from between the tightly closed slit.
"Gahhh!"
It didn't arc in a perfect parabola—it went straight between my legs.
So instead of the toilet, it splashed right onto my pants bunched at my ankles.
"Haaa..."
The insides of my thighs were soaked.
The choice to avoid self-loathing had brought on even greater self-loathing.
"So that's why people sit down..."
I'd gained one piece of wisdom.
Common sense exists for a reason.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
I finished my shower.
"Ugh... I'm exhausted."
Was showering always this tough?
Soft, squishy breasts.
Plump, cushy butt.
Even though it was my own body, lathering them up with soap felt like I was committing a sin.
It was especially bad when washing my groin.
Every time I parted the chubby folds and wiped between them, I wondered if this was even okay.
Who could've guessed that the first time I'd touch a woman's privates, it'd be my own?
Another wave of self-loathing hit me.
I lay on the bed to cool off and checked the clock.
The carriage from the Imperial Palace would be here soon.
I'd come home from the palace yesterday to pack my things.
The Princess had offered to send people to transport my luggage, but I'd politely declined—I wanted at least one last night in my own bed.
Like a final supper.
"Gotta solve this quick, even if it's just one day sooner."
I got dressed.
First, I pulled out underwear from the drawer.
Naturally, it was all men's underwear.
"Fits okay, luckily."
My body had shrunk, but my butt was bigger, so it sorta worked.
"Is 'lucky' even the right word...?"
I shoved the stray thoughts aside.
Next, pants.
I cinched the belt tight to fit my slim waist.
The length was way too long, so I rolled up the cuffs multiple times.
Then the shirt.
"Should've started with the shirt."
It hung loose and baggy.
I buttoned it up and stuffed it forcefully into my pants.
The sleeves needed rolling too, of course.
"What a mess."
My reflection in the mirror looked utterly ridiculous.
Clown-level.
What could I do?
This was all I had to wear.
And I sure as hell didn't want women's clothes.
"Whatever, style doesn't matter."
Finally, I roughly tied back my hair, which fell to my butt, with a string.
It was so long and annoying.
I seriously considered chopping it off.
But I held back—just in case.
What if cutting it now meant my hair would be proportionally shorter when I turned back into a man?
The thought alone was horrifying.
Plus, I already had signs of balding.
Once I was ready, I waited for the carriage. Moments later, there was a knock.
Knock knock!
I grabbed my luggage and went to the door.
I opened it to find a tall man standing there.
"Huh?"
Black hair, golden eyes.
"Sir Withbel, sleep well?"
It was the Princess.
Or more precisely, the Princess turned man.
"Or did you stay up all night exploring your new female body?"
My hackles rose.
"What kinda bullshit is that?!"
The harsh words slipped out before I could stop them.
"S-sorry...!"
I flattened myself to the floor in apology.
When you've messed up, you gotta show maximum remorse to get forgiven easily.
Life hack, I guess.
"You dare call what I said bullshit?"
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"Cursing at royalty is punishable by execution."
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
I bowed my head repeatedly, groveling.
Any other royal might let it slide, but the famously crazy Princess? She'd blow a tiny slip-up into something huge and punish me severely.
"But since we're in this mess together..."
The Princess lifted my chin.
"Bark like a dog, and I'll let it slide this once. Go on, bark like a dog."
This was too much.
I had my pride, you know.
I was the future master of the Green Magic Tower, after all.
"Woof! Woof!"
But what did pride matter in the face of death?
Survival was key.
"Good boy, good boy."
The Princess patted my head.
I really felt like a pet dog.
Humiliating.
"Your cheeks are red. You really are cute, Sir Withbel."
"Woof!"
Cute?
Me, cute?
Mortifying.
"Get up. I'll forgive you this time."
"...Thank you."
To survive, you do what you gotta do.
That's survival.
I've heard merchants who lick a client's shoes clean to land a big deal.
Compared to that, this was nothing.
"Got all your luggage?"
"Yes."
I grunted and lifted the bag with both hands.
My strength had dropped after turning female, so even this was a struggle.
"Looks heavy."
"Books inside."
"Give it here. I'll carry it."
"Huh?"
The Princess reached for the bag.
"N-no! It's my stuff—I should carry it."
"I said I'd carry it."
"But how could I make Your Highness carry my luggage? I'll manage."
"I'll carry it."
Her eyes sharpened.
Killing intent brushed my nape.
Chills ran down my spine.
"W-well then... I know it's rude, but may I entrust my luggage to your merciful self, gracious Princess?"
"Hand it over."
"Thank you so much. Truly, such a merciful Princess."
I buttered her up hard while handing over the bag.
She lifted it effortlessly with one hand.
It was packed with magic tomes—heavy even for a man—but it looked light as a feather to her.
"What's with that clown outfit, though?"
Heading down the stairs, she pointed out my clothes.
"Nothing else fits..."
"Yeah, should've thought of that."
Outside, knights were lined up in front of the building.
The Princess handed the bag to one of them.
"Let's go shopping for clothes first."
"Clothes?"
"No telling how long you'll be stuck like that, so get stuff that fits. That getup looks uncomfortable anyway."
Couldn't argue with that.
I'd squeezed into my old clothes, but the size was all wrong—super uncomfortable.
Even with the belt tight, the pants wanted to slip down.
Every step, the rolled cuffs unrolled.
"I'll buy you a few outfits."
"Your Highness?"
"Think of it as a house tutor gift."
"S-still..."
"I'm buying."
"If you insist, I'll wear them every day with endless gratitude."
"You'd better."
And so, shopping it was.
"Watch your step."
As I went to board the carriage, the Princess—who had to go first—held out her hand.
"Pardon?"
"When a lady boards a carriage, the gentleman offers his hand. Escort basics."
"That's true, but..."
I stared blankly at her hand.
"I'm a man."
"You're a woman right now."
"Body maybe, but mind's all man."
"Always excuses with you, Sir Withbel."
"Mind's a man, body's a woman—so it's natural to accept the escort. I'll gladly accept the honor of Your Highness's hand."
I took her hand.
Her hand was huge.
No—mine had gotten smaller?
We'd swapped sizes, basically.
We boarded the carriage.
Daring to board before the Princess.
The thought crossed my mind, but refusing her kindness would've ended everything before I could even think it.
Everything?
My life.
The door shut, and soon the carriage glided smoothly forward.
The sound of knights marching alongside came from outside.
I sat ramrod straight, posture perfect.
Riding in a royal carriage was tense enough—but sharing it with the murderous Princess? Heart-pounding.
Glance, glance.
I kept stealing looks at her face.
Desperate not to upset her.
"Relax till we get there. I won't eat you."
"Y-yeah, heh heh..."
How could I relax?
For one, she kept staring at me.
What was her deal?
Her emotionless eyes gave nothing away—no clue what she was thinking.
Every now and then, her expression twitched faintly.
Like a smile.
Or maybe tears.
Nah, had to be my imagination.
Tears? Ridiculous.