I Am Your Guardian (2)

I came back to the living room with a steaming cup of instant ramen, and there she was, sitting patiently with the bread bag torn open but untouched, waiting for me. At first, I thought she was scared stiff because she was near my laptop. That whole disaster a few days ago—the first intense pleasure she'd experienced as a woman had been a runaway frenzy from the TS disease, her whole body burning up until she was trembling and screaming.

It made sense that for her, even hovering near electronics was a pretty horrific trauma. So I figured she couldn't even glance at my laptop screen and was just staring up at me intently.

"Why didn't you at least eat some bread first?"

"Still... we should... eat together..."

Ah. I was overthinking it again. It wasn't trauma or anything—she'd just been holding out to eat with me.

"Yeah? Good girl."

I tossed the praise out plainly, without hiding my feelings, and her lips, which had been pressed tight, twitched up just a bit, like she was pleased. But then she realized she'd smiled, and she hurriedly covered her face with the baggy sleeve of my shirt, whipping her head away.

Does she hate me seeing her emotions like that? Or does she not want me to know she's starting to feel a little stable?

No matter how many times—over a hundred, even—I hammered home that she could keep living here, she still seemed gripped by this deep anxiety that I'd kick her out the second her emotions fluctuated. She was probably terrified that showing even a hint of normalcy would get her thrown out on the street.

Sigh... If she's gonna be like this, she should just shamelessly plant herself here and make the country take responsibility for her till the end.

I scooped up a big bite of the perfectly cooked ramen and shoved it in my mouth, suddenly imagining us two living together like this forever.

She'd keep clinging to that attachment blanket of hers, doing little chores and errands around the house. Turning this cramped living room into her own little world.

And since I just stared at forex charts and worked from home, we could technically hole up in this tiny world together for life if we wanted.

Pfft... nah, that's too fantasy. If we're never going out, who's gonna take out the mounting trash for sorting?

I let out a chuckle at my own ridiculous daydream and slurped down a mouthful of broth. Setting the ramen cup on the table, I grabbed the mouse and logged into the city hall website. I was about to search for temporary ID reissuance procedures, but there was no need to dig around.

Right smack in the middle of the main page was a huge dedicated banner:

"Oh. Right there on the main page. Guess ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠there are quite a few people like you, panicking and hiding out."

"Yeah..."

For people like her, who couldn't adapt to their overnight body change and dreaded even stepping out into the world, they'd gone and made a special online guide page. I'd always felt sick to my stomach paying taxes every month, but today—just a tiny bit—I felt like they were worth it.

I clicked the banner on the main screen, and a guide popup immediately appeared.

She was sitting right next to me, curious about the screen, and scooted her butt closer bit by bit until her face was nearly brushing my shoulder. I could feel her faint body heat through my side as she stared breathlessly at the monitor.

The TS disease guide page was pretty long. Scrolling down, the top covered procedures for standard ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠TS cases—the most common. I had to scroll all the way to the bottom to find the identity recovery application for complete mutation cases like ours.

"Look at this—the ones who need it most, shoved in the corner like nobody searches for it."

I grumbled on her behalf and clicked into the application section. But instead of a friendly how-to, the screen was dominated by a wall of precautions filling half the page, followed by blood-red warnings screaming in emphasis.

Damn, that's a lot.

With fingerprints and irises completely changed, it made sense—they had to warn against people hijacking someone else's entire identity. From the state's perspective, hitting with brutal warnings first was probably standard.

But her reaction, pressed right up against me, was different. Her narrow shoulders started trembling as she read down those red letters.

I reached out ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from the keyboard and gently pressed my index finger on her shaking shoulder—just a light touch.

"You're clean, no fraud. Don't freak out. What's wrong?"

"Eek...!"

She let out a short scream at my touch, instinctively hunching her shoulders. But she didn't pull away or flee to the sofa corner. She just stayed huddled quietly by my side.

"Alright, let's see what we actually need."

I scrolled past the scary warnings and checked the required documents list. Compared to the harsh tone, the process itself was surprisingly simple.

Family identity guarantee, paternity DNA test results, doctor's diagnosis or opinion certifying the outbreak.

Just those three, and it'd be handled almost like regular TS patients. For a normal family, parents would probably rush around hospitals crying and gather the papers if their kid suddenly lost fingerprints and turned female overnight.

But... that had nothing to do with us. Her family were the ones who'd called their sick child cursed and thrown her out in the pouring rain. No way they'd stamp as guarantors, let alone do a paternity test.

We'd have to skip family guarantee and go with the strictest, most rigorous alternative.

"Direct guarantor designation and application, huh..."

I read the small print aloud, swallowing a hollow laugh inside. The hospital had called me a kind-hearted guardian and let it slide, but in front of the cold, rigid national bureaucracy, I was about to legally vouch that this woman was the old Han Junseo I knew—taking full responsibility.

Ha. Objective documents proving prior identity are mandatory, and if it's false guarantee... heavy penalties equivalent to identity laundering or illegal immigration brokers?

They weren't seeing me as a friend helping out the poor girl—they were treating me like a potential criminal or con artist trying to game the system.

"So we're all in once we hit this—no turning back. You ready?"

I tossed it out playfully to lighten the darkening mood, but she wasn't just trembling faintly in her shoulders—her pupils shook wildly as she stared at the monitor, in total turmoil.

Sigh... yeah. Finally hitting her hard, realizing her position.

To the national system, a girl with no fingerprints or family guarantee was a ghost that didn't exist. Proving a ghost's existence by staking a normal friend's life was terrifying for her, naturally.

I moved the mouse to check the box:

Then I hovered the cursor over the big blue

button below it, let go of the mouse, and turned to her.

"You press it."

"Me...?"

"Yeah. You're the one getting your identity back, not me. First button's gotta be by your hand."

"B-but... the laws earlier..."

"Told you. We're really all in now."

At my firm words, she stared up at me for a long moment. Her hesitant, wavering eyes finally hardened with a small resolve. She cautiously stretched out her tiny hand and placed it lightly over the mouse where I'd left it.

"Okay..."

She took a small deep breath, then pressed down firmly—click—on the application button.

The screen transitioned, filling with dense blank fields demanding piles of personal info.

"Original resident registration number... parents' names, phone numbers, even elementary, middle, high school, and university—all of it."

It was less an application and more a demand to empty out every detail of her past from her head to prove it.

"Eh, this is just like filling out a resume—pretty standard. I'll scoot over; you do your part."

I slid my butt aside to free up the laptop spot, and she carefully shuffled over, stretching her arms forward to start tapping the keys.

She's staking her life and identity on this heavy, serious task... but damn, it's kinda cute.

Like a little girl who'd stolen her dad's clothes, seriously pecking at a laptop as big as she was. I was lost in that silly thought, gazing at her profile, when it happened.

As she leaned forward to type, her huge breasts squished the touchpad at the bottom of the laptop, sending the cursor flying wildly across the screen.

"Ah...!"

Shocked by her own chest's blunder, her face turned tomato-red. She yanked her butt back and shoved her breasts under the table, stuffing them away.

Watching it all up close, I bit my lip hard to stifle the laughter bubbling up—quite the ordeal.

Anyway, swallowing her embarrassment, she steeled herself again and typed her details at a decent clip. Then a new section appeared at the bottom for guardian/guarantor info.

My turn.

"My go now. Scoot over."

"Yeah..."

She slid aside just a bit, and I sat back in my original spot. But she'd barely moved, so her body ended up plastered right against my arm.

Said we're all in a boat... but I didn't say I'd be the one carrying you.

I grumbled inwardly but didn't push her away. In a moment this scary and uncertain, what she needed more than perfect papers was the warm body heat of the most trustworthy person right there beside her.

Feeling her warmth through my arm, I checked the fields I had to fill.

"Mine's similar too. Almost the same as yours, minus my parents' info."

It was a brutal background check, prying into a whole life's worth of details. Only after filling every dense field could we finally hit next.

The next page was for attaching proof documents to verify her identity. Unlike the suffocating interrogation before, this one felt oddly sparse.

State consideration for complete mutation cases? No fixed formats or mandatory forms—just a big empty attachment field telling the applicant and guarantor to scrape together whatever proved it and scan it up.

With family DNA or fingerprints impossible, they had no rigid manual.

"So, use every means possible and prove it yourself."

I muttered casually, mouse in hand, and her shoulders hunched again beside me.

"Wh-what do we do...?"

She looked up at me with anxious, trembling eyes. All we had objectively was that thin OB-GYN opinion letter and receipt. Proving she was once Han Junseo with just that? No wonder she felt the world going dark.

I let go of the mouse and shrugged it off.

"What else? We'll just crash into it and see."

Her eyes stopped shaking at my flat tone and fixed on my lips.

"Upload the doctor's note first. If it's not enough, hit a few more hospitals tomorrow for diagnoses. If they reject for lack of docs, beef it up and resubmit. Keep bugging them till they approve."

It was a brutally practical, dumb-simple solution instead of comfort, but it seemed to oddly reassure her. Her pressed lips relaxed a touch, and she nodded small but firmly.

"Yeah..."

Right. Keep at it till it works. We'd just buttoned the first hole and raised anchor on the application. That empty attachment field was just the first ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠light squall our shaky little boat faced as we set off.