Gender Change Application

The air outside the dungeon was cold.

It felt even colder for being air I was still alive to breathe.

The problem was that I was feeling the cold in places I had no business feeling it at all.

"Are you all right?"

A rescue worker asked.

Instead of answering, I clutched at my waistband.

"Before you ask if I'm all right… could you maybe give me a blanket first?"

My voice was still foreign. I was the one who'd spoken, and even I flinched. The rescue worker flinched too. He looked at my face, then at the torn hunter gear hanging off my shoulders, then back at my face. I could see him forcibly stopping his gaze from dropping lower.

That expression was even worse.

"Ah—yes. A blanket. Here you go."

He hurriedly unfolded a foil emergency blanket. I all but snatched it and wrapped it around myself. I had never known a single thin sheet could be such a precious thing. Inside a dungeon, potions were a lifeline. Outside a dungeon, a blanket was human dignity.

I glared into empty air.

"Shut up."

"Pardon?"

The rescue worker jumped.

"No—not you."

"Then who…?"

"My life."

He didn't ask again. A good man. Or at least a man who knew better than to poke at weird people.

The area in front of the dungeon entrance was chaos. Collapse alarms were still blaring, and guild staff were throwing up control lines. Park Do-yun's party was already outside. Some of them looked fine; some were bleeding.

Seo Ha-rin was sitting in front of the medical team. She looked at me. At a strange woman wrapped in a foil blanket. Our eyes met. She didn't recognize me. Of course she didn't. I was reasonably confident I wouldn't recognize myself in a mirror either.

"Who's that?"

One of the party members asked.

Park Do-yun looked me over. His gaze snagged on my shoulders, started to slide toward the inside of the blanket, then climbed back up to my face. I cinched the blanket tighter.

"Looks like a new survivor," he said.

The fact that he had left me behind in that collapsing passage had already been scrubbed from his head, apparently. Or maybe he did remember—he just couldn't imagine that the woman in front of him had been that porter.

Anger flared through me. It didn't last long. My pants started slipping again under the blanket. I gritted my teeth and grabbed the waistband. Reality outran rage. And shame outran reality. The second the rescue worker's eyes flicked to my waist, I was already adding another item to the list of memories I would erase from my life if I could.

"How am I supposed to hide this?"

"What was that?"

the rescue worker asked.

"I didn't say anything."

I tried to look as casual as possible. Looking casual was something I was good at. It just always made me look more suspicious instead.

Which was how I ended up being hauled to the Guild Clinic.

The Guild Clinic was clean. So clean it made me more uncomfortable. White walls. White bed. White curtain. White gloves. And a female medical officer standing in front of me.

"Please put the blanket down for now."

"That's a little difficult at the moment."

"I need to check for injuries."

"Could you just check the shoulder?"

"I need to verify the full mana flow as well."

"Does verifying mana flow really require looking under the clothes?"

The officer was quiet for a moment. Then she said, in a thoroughly professional tone:

"Hunter. I understand that you're very shaken right now."

"Yes."

"I am also shaken."

Weirdly, that was persuasive. I ended up sitting on the bed. I kept a death grip on the blanket the entire time. Even the sound of her adjusting her gloves made my shoulders twitch. I hated myself for it. I was acting like someone smuggling contraband. The contraband was my body.

The officer checked my hunter ID.

"Han Yu-jin."

"Yes."

"Male. Twenty-three. F-class. Registered skill is… Organizing Belongings."

Don't read that. Please do not read that out loud.

Her eyebrow moved, just a fraction.

"But your current physical data is…"

She stopped. I pulled the blanket higher.

"You don't need to read that part."

"It says female."

"I asked you not to read it."

I was gripping the blanket with both hands.

"Hey."

The medical officer looked up.

"Is something wrong?"

"No. My status window is just being a jackass."

"Your status window?"

"Yes."

"Your status window… talks?"

I shut my mouth. Another lesson learned. Even in a stranger's female body, the rule held: open your mouth wrong and you lose.

There were times, even outside a dungeon, when you had to keep quiet.

The officer brought over a mana meter—a small metal disc that compared registered mana wavelengths when you placed your palm on it. Normally used to catch forged hunter IDs.

"Hand up, please."

I put my hand on it. The machine hummed low.

The officer's expression got even stranger.

"You are who you say you are."

"Right."

"But the gender is different."

"I'm aware."

"Height's different too."

"I'm aware."

"Weight as we—"

"That's enough."

She closed her mouth. The machine did not.

I wasn't sure if she could see those lines. She seemed to have roughly guessed my situation, though. She pulled a temporary patient gown out of a side drawer.

"Put this on at least. Your current gear is the wrong size—it's a hazard."

I took the gown. It was thin. Ridiculously thin.

"And this is safer than gear?"

"At least it won't fall off."

I had no counterargument. I went behind the curtain. And for three full minutes, I did nothing at all.

Not because I didn't know how to change clothes. The problem was that I had to confirm, with my own hands, a body that had never once been mine. Everywhere my hands touched was foreign. The shoulders were narrower. The waist dipped in at an angle that felt wrong. And my chest—I kept becoming aware of it. Every movement made fabric brush against skin, and every tiny sensation climbed straight into my skull.

I clenched my teeth.

"This is not my body," I muttered under ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my breath.

The status window answered for me.

"Shut up."

"Why is it going up?"

"Don't cognize."

I managed to get the gown on. More precisely: I got it on, but something about it kept nagging at me the whole time. The way the ties sat was foreign. The way the fabric touched skin was foreign. The fact that I felt less anxious sitting with my knees together was irritating.

When I opened the curtain, the medical officer was holding paperwork. She looked me up and down, then said, very briefly:

"Not bad."

"What isn't?"

"It fits better than I expected."

I didn't answer. Speaking felt like losing.

Identity verification did not end in the clinic. The real hell was the reception desk.

Guild first floor. Reception. The hallway was crowded. I stopped cold for a second. Hunters lining up to enter dungeons. Parties settling magic stone payouts. A man arguing over medical fees. Women browsing requests at the guild board. And me, cutting through the middle of it all in a patient gown.

I dropped my gaze.

"Die."

"Don't talk back."

A few people nearby glanced at me. I shut my mouth.

A woman sat behind the reception desk—black hair tied neatly back, white shirt under a guild vest. Mid-to-late twenties. Soft eyes, but the curl of her smile looked ready to tease someone at any moment. She took my hunter ID and the paperwork.

"Hunter Han Yu-jin?"

"Yes."

The receptionist looked at my face. Looked at the photo on the hunter ID. Looked at my face again. The me in the photo was a hollowed-out man—sunken under-eyes, hair cut carelessly, the expression of someone who had already half given up on life. The me standing here now… I still didn't know exactly what I looked like.

She was silent for about three seconds. Then:

"You're the same person?"

"Yes."

"By which set of criteria?"

I gripped the edge of the desk. Three comebacks shot through my head. First: I don't know either. Second: Please stop asking. Third: Can't you just process it? I picked the least pathetic one.

"Isn't that a bit much to ask?"

"It's a necessary work question."

"You're smiling."

"It's a work smile."

That was a lie. That was not a work smile. That was the smile of someone who had just found an interesting form.

She flipped through the documents.

"Mana wavelength match. Biometric response match. Identity confirmed. However—gender, height, weight, skeletal structure, voice, and external appearance all differ from previously registered information."

"Do you have to read all of that?"

"It's the record."

"Could you maybe read it a little quieter?"

"I am already reading it quietly."

I looked around. The male hunter at the next window was listening. When our eyes met, he whipped his head away. Somehow that was worse.

I froze staring at the status window.

"Why is interest up there?"

"Pardon?"

The receptionist tilted her head. I coughed.

"Nothing."

I gritted my teeth.

"Not doing it."

"Not doing what?"

the receptionist asked.

"Nothing."

The status window was quietly threatening me. I drew a breath. Fine. Just this once. Without a temporary hunter ID I couldn't enter dungeons, and without dungeons I couldn't earn money, and without money the rent would pile up. Rent was scarier than pride.

I lowered my eyes as far as they would go. And in a voice so small even I wanted to throw up hearing it, I said:

"I… don't really know what happened either."

The receptionist's hands stopped. I died a little inside.

"I almost died in the dungeon, and my status window suddenly changed my body, and… honestly, it's hard just standing right now."

That part was true. Not acting pitiful—my legs really were shaking. My voice came out much weaker than I'd intended. The end of it trembled slightly.

Her expression shifted a little. The teasing hadn't vanished. A thin layer of concern had just settled on top of it.

"Ah—"

I made a small sound. A strange heat rolled through me from the inside. Too alien to call "getting stronger." My face burned. The back of my neck prickled. Other people's eyes on me felt sharper, more distinct.

Charm +1. It felt like this?

The receptionist stared at my face.

"Are you all right? Your face is red."

"It is not red."

"It's quite red."

"It's the lighting."

"Guild lighting is white."

"…Yes."

That was it. Done.

She held back a laugh and pulled out a stamp.

"I'll process this as a temporary correction for now. Official change will require a re-examination in three days."

"Three days?"

"Yes. Your body could change again in the meantime."

Hope leapt out first. Too easily.

"Does that mean I might go back to normal?"

She paused mid-page-turn and looked at me.

"There's a possibility."

"Really?"

"A very low one."

Hope died. She stamped the form. Thump. The sound was far too cheerful.

"Your temporary hunter ID will be issued today. Existing equipment is banned from use. With a low body sync rate, we don't recommend any strenuous dungeon entry."

"Then how am I supposed to make money?"

"You'll have to start with guild odd-job requests."

"So F-class just got more F-class."

"There are upsides, though."

"Like what?"

She held out my temporary hunter ID. New information was printed on it.

"You'll need to retake the photo as well."

I nearly dropped the ID.

"I have to take it looking like this?"

"Yes."

"I'm in a patient gown."

"Only the upper body shows."

"That makes it worse."

For the first time, she laughed out loud.

"Don't worry. Guild photos always come out badly."

"That is zero comfort."

My body heated up again, just a little. I quickly planted a hand on the desk. The receptionist asked immediately:

"Are you dizzy?"

"No."

"Then why are your legs like…"

Only then did I realize my knees were pressed together. A posture I had never once thought about in my old body. And now it was the only way sitting felt less unstable. Realizing that made it even more humiliating.

"Just die already."

"The status window again?"

the receptionist asked. I didn't answer. She propped her chin on her hand and looked at me.

"Hunter Han Yu-jin."

"Yes."

"Is your status window… a little strange, by any chance?"

My heart dropped.

"No."

"For someone who says no, you glare at empty air an awful lot."

"My eyes have always been a little bad."

"Your hunter ID record says vision is fine."

"It got worse today."

She laughed.

"All right. I'll leave it at that."

Leave it at that. Leave what. I didn't want to ask. She pulled out a small notepad and wrote something down.

"For today, I'll put you in a temporary room at the guild lodging. Go to the equipment shop tomorrow. If you wander around in a patient gown, people will file reports."

"Reports?"

"Not public indecency. Protected-person reports."

"That's even more miserable."

"And—"

She set the note on top of my hunter ID.

"Start by buying basic women's underwear and everyday clothes."

I froze. The words came out so naturally that the impact hit even harder. Underwear. Everyday clothes. Women's. All three of them were combinations that had never existed in my life.

"Do I… absolutely have to buy those?"

The receptionist glanced—very briefly—at the shoulder strap of my patient gown. Truly brief. And I felt that glance with my entire body.

"Yes," she said. "In that state, you'll regret it just walking down the stairs."

I couldn't argue. I was already regretting simply standing still.

As if it had been waiting, the status window rose.

I slowly closed my eyes. Monsters, at least, never asked for your size.

The receptionist kindly gave me directions.

"There's a general store across from the guild building. A lot of beginner female hunters go there, so it should be fine."

"I don't think it's going to be fine."

"Everyone feels that way at first."

"This is a first in several senses."

"Then you really do have to go."

I clenched the temporary hunter ID and the note. My fingertips were hot. My face was hot. I'd returned the blanket to the clinic; the only thing covering my body now was a thin patient gown. The first floor of the guild was still packed with people. I had to walk through them. All the way to the general store. To buy underwear.

My feet wouldn't move.

I glared into empty air.

"Why is there a time limit?"

"My heart is not stabilized."

"My heart is still a man's."

The status window was silent for a moment. Then it floated up a single, deeply smug line.

I nearly crumpled the temporary hunter ID in my fist. The receptionist saw it and held back another laugh.

"Hunter Han Yu-jin."

"What is it?"

"Watch the stairs."

"Why would you say that out of nowhere?"

Her gaze dropped very slightly toward the lower half of my patient gown, then came back up.

"You still look awkward walking."

I couldn't answer. She was right. Too right, which made it worse.

I took a step toward the guild first floor. The hem of the gown brushed my thigh. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Even that tiny sensation made my shoulders flinch.

"Don't raise it."

"Then turn it off manually."

I gritted my teeth and walked. My toes kept turning inward. Eyes followed me across the guild hall—curious eyes, worried eyes, eyes making the wrong kind of assumptions. A few of them were definitely not my imagination.

I lifted my head. Not because the status window had told me not to avoid stares. Because bowing my head felt even more like losing. My face was still burning, though.

Damn it. This wasn't a reward for surviving. The dungeon hadn't managed to kill me. Instead, it had started dismantling my life—slowly, and with maximum inconvenience.

The guild's automatic doors opened. Across the street, the general store's sign came into view. Pink lettering. I stopped right there.

"Don't talk to me about first-purchase bonuses."

The real problem was money. I dug through my pockets. A crumpled bill and a few coins. Current funds: 3,200 won. The status window helpfully confirmed it.

I locked up in front of the general store door. Size measurement. Those two words stabbed straight into my brain. There was one thing I didn't know right now. No—there were far too many things I didn't know. Among them, the most urgent:

I did not know my size. And I was going to have to ask someone.

I looked up at the sky. Dying inside the dungeon might honestly have been less humiliating.

The door opened automatically. From inside, a clerk smiled brightly.

"Welcome! Looking for anything in particular?"

I opened my mouth. No voice came out. The status window stayed helpful to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bitter end.

I looked at that sentence and thought, with complete sincerity:

This status window has no intention of making me stronger. It intends to sell me out.