Not Edwin, But Chloe
The moment Chloe—not Edwin—truly realized she had become a woman was when she caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror. The instinctive knowledge of her body's changes was now visualized before her eyes. The body that moved at her mind's command in front of the mirror was no longer the one etched in her memories. And the instant she acknowledged that change came as she washed herself.
Most of the skin, scarred and toughened from endless training to withstand torture, had healed flawlessly. Not just healed, but reborn as soft, supple flesh like a baby's. As she rinsed the sweat-matted grime from her hair, she noticed its glossy sheen. Washing her face and glancing back at the mirror, long, beautiful lashes and captivating eyes drew her gaze. Piecing together all these big and small details, she reached a conclusion.
"Why the hell am I so pretty...?"
This new body was ridiculously beautiful. Compared to the noble ladies and wives she'd approached, seduced, and sometimes even bedded to get close to assassination targets, she held her own without shame. Even Edwin, whose tastes had been refined by encountering so many beauties, found this appearance more than satisfactory. The absurdity that this beauty was herself drew a hollow laugh—and even that laugh was charming enough to drive her mad.
She stopped washing and stepped out. Roughly toweling off, she wrapped one around her waist...
"Shit..."
The towel around her waist left her protruding breasts demanding coverage, practically screaming for it. This was maddening.
"What kind of body is this...?"
The curse slipped out naturally, but this was now Edwin's body.
[Coo, coo-coo, coo-coo-coo.]
"What the—when did you get here?"
Frowning as she rummaged for clothes to change into, she spotted the tamed familiar pigeon—kept for handling commissions—pecking at corn and cooing. Curious what it had brought, she checked the table where requests were placed. It was a commission from the Grand Duke.
To my esteemed Golden Darkness,
I am Haksen Evergreen.
The Grand Duke's commission began with a simple greeting. Starting with Edwin's moniker, Golden Darkness, and so on. Stripping away the flowery language, the content boiled down to this:
—My children have all met tragic ends, leaving me with just this one illegitimate child. What a heartbreaking misfortune.
—Thus, I wish to assign you as her tutor and bodyguard. To counter assassination, one needs a protector skilled in the art itself, after all.
His children had all been killed, so he wanted to safeguard the last one remaining. The contract term: five years, until his daughter turned seventeen. The payment...
"This much?"
If she saved diligently, it was enough to buy a villa in some peaceful resort and live leisurely for life.
Once the money sank in, Edwin's mind reached a rough conclusion.
"Just shake the dust off my hands?"
Shake off the past and retire from the business. Edwin had piled up too many mistakes. Just consider why she'd ended up in a woman's body. She couldn't face the 'worst possible end' imaginable for a female assassin. Add this five-year payout to her savings, buy a villa somewhere sunny, and live off the fat forever. Raising pets might be nice; adopting an orphan like herself didn't sound bad either. She only knew assassination, but with piles of cash, she wouldn't need to cling to it.
"Yeah, time to shake it off."
Edwin solidified her resolve and headed to the wardrobe to prepare male disguise clothes. Disguise was basic assassin training. Even with this body, if she wore form-correcting garments and good makeup...!
"Fuck!"
Impossible. These bursting, voluptuous breasts rebelled against any compression bandages.
"Screw it! Fine! I'll live as a woman since I'm so damn filthy!"
After unleashing a torrent of curses, a heaving Edwin grabbed a book from the corner of her hideout. A dictionary of aliases for missions. She flipped past pages crammed with familiar male names to one she'd never opened: women's aliases.
"Elfriede, Ophelia, Beatrice..."
Why were they all so long? Women's names were annoyingly cumbersome, as the saying went. Flipping for a clean three-syllable name...
"Chloe?"
There it was—neat and perfect. Easy to pronounce, not too long, pleasant ring. This was it. And so Edwin's new name became Chloe.
# Chloe boarded the continental train. The Grand Duke's territory lay in the eastern imperial lands. It would take days of nonstop travel to arrive, and to avoid attention, she chose third-class accommodations. Lugging a travel bag cumbersome for her new feminine frame, she climbed aboard.
Fuck, why's it so heavy...? I carried it fine before.
Frowning, Chloe grunted as she shoved the bag into the overhead rack. Shorter now, she had to stand on tiptoe. A pity—nine out of ten imperial facilities were designed for men, and she was undeniably a woman now.
As she struggled, an exasperated attendant approached.
"Lady, allow me."
"La...dy?"
Lady? She nearly had a fit but swallowed hard. Personally repulsive, but the man meant no harm.
"Lady?"
"Yes, please."
"Pardon me."
With exaggerated flair, the attendant rolled up his sleeves and hoisted the bag.
"Call when you disembark."
"Ah, yes..."
Frowning uncomfortably, Chloe took the window seat. Soon, the train departed. But she didn't budge an inch from her spot. Men's blatant stares—sneaking peeks at her face or openly gawking—felt oppressively thick. A few days to the eastern duchy without food wouldn't kill her. No food meant no bathroom trips. So Chloe stayed put.
Days passed like that. Then a man took the opposite seat. At least the adjacent and opposite had been women earlier, but now all filled by men. Frowning out the window, a rhythmic scratch-scratch echoed. Like writing on paper. Ignoring it, she watched the scenery for days more.
Finally nearing her stop...
"W-wait a moment."
The man opposite startled and stopped her. Glaring—what's this?—briefly...
"Th-this..."
He thrust his entire sketchbook at her.
"The, the first sketch is of you, miss... Honestly, it's my masterpiece. Could you take it...?"
His shy confession drew surrounding stares. Tsk. Taking the sketchbook, Chloe saw a woman with a faint smile gazing out the train window. Days of scratching—hyper-realistic style, apparently.
"Sure, thanks."
A casual nod of thanks, then she eyed her bag overhead. Out of reach.
"Um..."
"Y-yes! I'll get it."
Her subtle glance, and he eagerly fetched it.
"Y-you'd look even prettier smiling..."
Shy addition—and honestly, she hadn't smiled once aboard. Nodding vaguely that she got it, she alighted, then slowly examined the sketchbook.
"What the fuck...!"
Now she saw: hyper-realism wasn't why he'd delayed. He'd obsessed over his model Chloe, chewing and rechewing every angle. The book brimmed with her sleeping, window-gazing, dozing—dozens of sketches. The last, unfinished: her in a sheer negligee.
"This psycho...!"
Tempted to kill him, she glared at the departing train chugging away. Grimacing furiously, Chloe hurried toward the Grand Duke's castle.
Of course, she kept the sketchbook. Discarding it risked some creep picking it up for his fantasies—nightmares waiting to happen. Annoying, but necessary.
"Coachman! Ready to go?"
"Yes, but..."
"To the Grand Duke's castle!"
And so the hapless coachman bore the brunt of Chloe's boiling irritation.