In My True Form
"One thousand three hundred sixty-one."
"One thousand three hundred sixty-two."
"One thousand three hundred sixty-three."
Today, as always, Mihail swung his sword in the training grounds, wiping away the pouring sweat and heaving rough breaths. His blade cut through the air solely for the goal of growing stronger. Nothing cleared his mind of stray thoughts quite like this, or so Mihail believed—and so he swung away, banishing distractions once more.
"One thousand three hundred sixty-four…!"
After classes ended, straight to the training grounds. Weekends, too—the training grounds. Pouring sweat until he could sleep without a care was Mihail's one and only hobby, impossible to quit so easily.
If only his dreams had been sweet.
"Still swinging that sword?"
Hanna, dressed in training gear, approached Mihail as he swung mindlessly, stretching her shoulders.
"You're incredible. No wonder your skills keep shooting up."
She wore black tights and a white shirt, striking up a conversation with him for the first time in a while.
"Senior."
"…"
"Senior."
"…"
"Still mad?"
Mihail shook his head. That day's defeat was his own failing—he'd lost because he wasn't good enough. The lingering regret kept him from easily chatting with Hanna, but it wasn't personal anger toward her. Was it pride? Or guilt for fighting her with all he had, not knowing her circumstances?
Unable to find the right words, Mihail let out a deep sigh and halted his swinging arm.
"No. It's just… awkward to talk about."
Hanna snorted a laugh and gripped her sword.
"What, because I won?"
"…No."
"Liar."
She thrust her blade vigorously and continued.
"It's because I have a great teacher. One way better than my dad—in character and swordsmanship. I met him first, that's all."
"…"
"The butler's more than I deserve as a mentor."
"…"
Mihail couldn't agree with Hanna's words. He acknowledged Ricardo's skill, but calling him a good teacher? No.
Mihail had seen it. What Ricardo had done at the academy.
His swordsmanship was impressive, sure—but calling him kind scraped at Mihail's nerves.
A faint twitch creased his brow as he told Hanna,
"No, you just did well."
"Nope. The butler taught me what I needed to win. Back then, now—everything's because of him."
"…"
"Without him, I probably couldn't even hold a sword now."
"…Hah."
Mihail had plenty to say, but he bit his lip and held back. Words wouldn't reach her now.
If he's such a good guy, why does everyone hate him?
As someone who'd dealt with Ricardo, Mihail cautioned Hanna gently.
"Ricardo isn't the good person you think he is."
Hanna's expression hardened in response. No matter what anyone said, she stood by Ricardo.
"So what do you think the butler is, senior?"
"Uh…?"
"What'd he do to you to make you say that? To me, at least, he's a good person."
"I…"
Mihail clamped his lips shut, at a loss. What was the Ricardo in his mind?
After a long pause, he answered Hanna. One sentence summed up his view perfectly.
"The total opposite of me."
"So?"
Hanna swung her sword steadily and added,
"You don't know a thing about the butler, senior."
Mihail pressed his lips tight at her reply.
"…And I don't want to."
*
Darkness had fallen over the men's dormitory. Back in his room after training, Mihail slumped onto his bed with an exhausted breath.
"Gotta shower… but I'm beat."
His top grades earned him a private shower right nearby, but his weary body refused to budge.
"Haa… Still, feeling sticky means I should."
Dragging himself up with effort—Mihail knew laziness had no end—he forced his body upright.
Thud.
His listless steps carried him toward the shower, but he paused, glancing at the mirror by his wardrobe.
"What a mess."
Sweat-matted hair. Damp training clothes. Silver locks reaching down his neck.
His boyish look drew a hollow chuckle from Mihail.
"Seriously… I look pathetic."
In his early twenties, prime time to dress up—yet staring at his reflection, he sighed at his sorry state. He told himself he didn't care about looks, but deep down?
Today, the mirror showing his wretched self irked him more than usual.
"…"
Gazing at his reflection, Mihail muttered under his breath, too quiet for any eavesdropper.
'What even am I?'
His voice dripped with thick doubt, head bowing in the empty room.
'Not a woman, not a man.'
Unbuttoning his shirt, he questioned himself. What the hell are you?
'Can't go back now anyway.'
To turn back, he'd have to abandon so much. Why entertain such pointless thoughts?
He chided himself as foolish for even asking.
Still.
Some greed couldn't be helped. Staring at his mirrored form, Mihail thought,
'I want…'
To wear pretty clothes. Do makeup. Dress up.
Dreaming of the impossible, he bit his lip and paused at his shirt buttons.
His body ran opposite—sweaty and reeking. Short hair making him look like a guy. No charm at all.
Today, he felt utterly shabby. Even though it was his chosen path.
He'd convinced himself he didn't care about appearances. Or maybe he was lying to himself—forcing focus on goals to avoid thinking about it.
"Haa…"
Mihail moved his hands again. Buttons popped open with a click, revealing pale skin as the bandages binding his chest began to loosen.
Shedding the stubbornness born of his own desires, he lifted his gaze to a single garment hanging in the wardrobe.
A white dress.
Bought to show someone special. Staring at it, Mihail clamped his lips and had an impulsive thought.
'Just once… wouldn't hurt.'
Murmuring softly, he carefully pulled the dress from the wardrobe, a bitter smile on his lips.
'Yeah, just once…'
Academy shirt and pants hit the floor like shed skin. With a deep sigh, Mihail slipped into the dress he'd never worn.
"…"
Fitting like it was tailored, the flowing fabric hugged his body neatly, crafting a demure silhouette.
Bought to show that boy someday—it fit perfectly, drawing a childlike smile from Mihail.
"Pretty…"
Elated, he spun before the mirror—twirl—admiring himself. An awkward grin as he lifted the hem slightly, mimicking girls' gestures, bursting into laughter.
"Really pretty."
Mihail reveled in his true self.
This everyday joy he should embrace naturally—he savored it hidden away, alone. Thrilled. Heart fluttering.
Relishing long-lost freedom, he smiled.
But sadly, it didn't last.
Moonlight pierced the clouds, illuminating the dark room. Color slowly filled his reflection.
Short hair. Rough legs. Moonlight's cruel prank dimmed Mihail's faint smile as he stared.
"Ah…"
The smile vanished. His face twitched.
Seeing himself fully mirrored, he thought: Ugly.
Just a guy with a chest, excitedly in a dress.
Fists clenched, he glared at his reflection.
In truth, far from it—like a fairy-tale princess in beauty. Yet to Mihail, he looked wretched.
Wiping his faint smile, he scowled.
"…What kind of girl is this?"
He rushed to strip off the dress. Lingering would sour his mood further.
Crushing the fabric, he thought,
'Sorry.'
'Thought it'd look pretty. It doesn't.'
Wanted to show a pretty me.'
'Showed an awful sight instead.'
Forcing an awkward smile, he crammed the dress back toward the wardrobe. As the flowing fabric slipped from his reluctant fingers—
Ding.
A cruel alarm tickled his ear.
[Q. In My True Form]
1. Show Ricardo your true appearance. (0/1)
2. Go on a date with Ricardo. (0/1)
3. Hear Ricardo's true feelings. (0/1)
Mihail clenched his fists, staring endlessly at the blue window.