A Brush I Might Use Later
I figured I could use it someday, so I slipped the brush into my bag.
“Aren’t you gonna try it?”
My desk mate watched the brush disappear into my bag and asked, pure curiosity in his voice. It wasn’t teasing—just genuine wonder. I peeled off the Tail Cover I’d forgotten I was wearing, set it neatly beside the brush inside my bag, and answered calmly.
“…I still want to stay human for now.”
Sure, I could use it right away if I wanted. It would probably feel amazing. But at the same time, it felt like giving up my last shred of human dignity. I couldn’t bring myself to do it in front of other people. Honestly, I wouldn’t even want my family to see it.
“It’s called the discourse conventions of a speech community. Sounds complicated when you just hear the term, but it’s really simple. Every region or country has words you’re not supposed to say, right? It’s the umbrella term for all those etiquette rules and cultural norms combined.”
It was the third day of class since I’d turned into a fox-eared girl. Fifth period was Korean class—taught by none other than our homeroom teacher.
“You guys think before you speak too, don’t you?”
“Nooo—!”
When the teacher tied the lesson to a question for the class, the prank-loving kid in the back immediately shot back a denial.
“Yeah, that tracks for you.”
“Hehehehehe.”
The teacher smoothly played along with the joke. The whole classroom filled with quiet laughter at his witty reply. I rested my cheek on my textbook and let out a small snort of amusement too.
Anyway, there was one clear change at school since I’d taken on this appearance: a hands-off policy disguised as consideration. Just a few days ago, if someone started dozing off, the person next to them would usually poke them awake. But that had completely stopped the moment I changed.
Of course, everyone else still got woken up. Just not me.
“Huaaah… hm.”
The only time I actually woke up from my nodding-off was during break. I stretched with a long yawn and sat up straight. Strangely, the sleepiness vanished the second the bell rang. I headed over to the usual trio of nerds who were gathered together even during break.
“Hey.”
“Huh? What’s up?”
Seokjun answered with a puzzled look at my short greeting. After seeing me like this for three whole days, he seemed pretty used to it now. He didn’t stutter anymore and spoke normally.
“Did the teacher say anything about me?”
“Oh, that.”
At my follow-up question, something must have clicked for him. He started explaining with a knowing look. It turned out that on the very first day I’d transformed—right after class ended and I’d gone straight home—the teacher had spoken to the class during homeroom.
He’d told them it was a medical condition, that I might be stressed, so they should treat me normally but not tease or mess with me. He couldn’t remember the exact wording, but the teacher had added that if anything even close to sexual harassment happened, he wouldn’t let it slide. The message had already spread to the other classes too.
“So that’s why.”
Only after hearing Seokjun’s explanation did I finally understand why the onlookers from other classes had been so passive. As I muttered in realization, Seokjun asked another question.
“But is it curable? Did you go to the hospital?”
“Doesn’t seem like it, but I’m heading to the university hospital today.”
I answered while tilting back a can of apple juice. The conversation with the nerd trio already felt like normal everyday chatter. It gave me the sense that I’d finally reclaimed my place at school. The rest of the classes passed without incident.
It was the time when most students were pouring out the school gates. I slipped into the crowd among them. Today, I didn’t forget to call my mom. Out of habit I lifted the phone to where my ear used to be, then caught myself with an “Oh right” and switched it to speakerphone. My ears were on top of my head now, after all.
After a few rings, the call connected and my mom’s voice came through.
“Hey, school over?”
“Yeah.”
Our conversation started with “yeah” instead of hello. I gave her the same dry one-word reply.
“Why is it so loud?”
Mom immediately asked why it was so noisy. The speakerphone was probably picking up all the background sounds, making it louder than usual.
“I turned on speaker mode.”
“Why speaker mode?”
When I explained the reason it had to be loud, Mom suddenly sounded curious about the speakerphone. I answered her question in a flat tone.
“Because my ears are on top of my head right now.”
“…Oh, right.”
After a short silence came her voice, laced with realization. She must have forgotten for a moment too. It wasn’t that she was indifferent—it was just something anyone could easily overlook. Since even I had instinctively held the phone to the side of my face, I couldn’t exactly call her out for being inattentive.
“Anyway, I’m on my way home now.”
“Got it. I’ll get ready, so come straight here.”
“Mhm.”
Without any lingering feelings, I ended the call and headed home. The moment I arrived, dropped my bag, and stepped inside, Mom and I immediately left for the university hospital. Today’s transportation was, of course, a taxi. The bus would’ve taken us straight to the stop in front of the hospital, but I’d flat-out refused. Suffer the whole way there? No thanks. I’d rather spend my allowance on a cab.
“The bus goes there in one shot, though…”
“I’d rather die.”
Mom grumbled even after we got in the taxi. I firmly stood my ground against her complaints. After some back and forth, we finally arrived at the hospital.
The university hospital was as crowded as its size suggested. Which meant there were just as many stares.
‘Ugh…’
Mom handed over the referral and finished registration. All around us, unwanted eyes kept gathering.
“Mom, what’s wrong with that big sister?”
“Mmm, she’s a sick big sister like Chae-ah.”
I soon overheard a mother and daughter talking nearby. The mom quickly steered her child away. She must have decided a cosplay girl wasn’t good for her kid’s education. These damn ears were too sharp for their own good.
I am sick, but it’s not my head that hurts. Please don’t misunderstand.
We drew a number and waited quietly.
“Which department should we go to first?”
“Hmm…”
Mom voiced the question first. Now that her firm belief in dermatology had crumbled, I could only tilt my head and wonder along with her. I wasn’t an expert; how would I know? While we were lost in vague worries, a ding sounded and the number 478 appeared. It was the ticket we’d pulled a few minutes earlier.
“Please go to the Endocrinology Department on the third floor and register there.”
Our uncertainty about which department to visit became irrelevant. The receptionist gave us a clear answer right away. Endocrinology. In my eighteen years of life, I’d never heard of it. I knew what Internal Medicine was—I’d seen the sign from the bus window. Anyway, after registration came another round of waiting.
The first words I heard the moment we entered the exam room were:
“…What the hell is this?”
The doctor was so startled he’d forgotten to use polite speech. After that came a light consultation and some basic tests.
“Ah, just a moment please.”
He suddenly stopped the examination, picked up his phone, and left me there while stepping deeper into the office.
“Yes, yes, Professor… This is Kwanghyun. I think you need to see this patient. Yes, yes. It’s the patient with the therianthropic idiopathic syndrome you mentioned once before. Yes, you’ll come right away? Yes, yes, understood.”
Even with the door closed, the conversation came through quite clearly. He seemed to be calling his superior. The doctor returned shortly after the brief exchange. The flustered look from earlier was completely gone, replaced by a relaxed, confident expression.
“Ah, yes… Hmm, this is quite a rare condition.”
His relaxed face didn’t match his hesitant tone. The uncertainty was obvious. Yeah, I already knew that. After that came a long stretch of meaningless stalling. Unlike earlier when he’d asked directly about symptoms and characteristics, he now asked pointless questions like whether anything hurt. After quite a while of this, a middle-aged man burst into the exam room amid noisy footsteps.
“Hey, Kwanghyun, is the patient here?”
“Ah, yes. Professor.”
The man’s face looked like he’d seen his savior. This must be the professor he’d spoken to on the phone. Once the professor arrived, the whole atmosphere changed completely.
“Is the patient’s guardian present?”
He skimmed the referral and a few other documents, then strode out of the exam room looking for Mom. What followed was an endless marathon. First floor, seventh floor, second floor, fifth floor, third floor—we went everywhere. We bounced between departments with names I’d never heard before. X-rays and urine tests were the basics. Ultrasounds, MRIs, CT scans—we went through every test imaginable. No matter how good my stamina was, I was completely drained.
Eventually my patience hit its limit.
“How much longer do I have to do this…?”
“Ah, ah…! Just this last one and we’re done.”
When I whined at the busy professor-types, one of the men tried to soothe me by saying this would be the last. The moment I showed I was struggling, the frantic energy of those professors visibly deflated. It felt like the cleanup was sloppy somehow. Watching them hover awkwardly near the payment counter with reluctant expressions only reinforced that feeling.
“Patient and guardian, thank you for your hard work with the tests.”
One of the men who had been rushing around earlier approached us. He smiled brightly and said, as if granting a great favor,
“For today, the hospital will cover all examination costs in full.”
But I’d done my research. My current body was an incredibly rare research sample. I wasn’t a patient to them—I was a research subject. It was only natural that his smile looked completely fake.
“Ah, and… would it be possible to see the patient regularly at the hospital going forward?”
Just as I expected, he immediately got to the main point. His kind smile couldn’t hide his true intentions. I knew this was coming.