If This Keeps Up, I Might Actually Die of Shame Before I Even Reach the Academy

If things continued like this, I might really drop dead from stress and humiliation before I even set foot in the academy.

The walk back to my room after the audience with the king felt like hell itself. My steps dragged as if sandbags were tied to my ankles. Every breath I took while walking down the corridor felt suffocating. The brief moment of triumph I’d felt upon realizing the king’s sloppy “protection magic” was a bluff had already vanished.

Rustle. With every step, an unpleasant scraping sound echoed from inside the dress. Thick layers of fabric scraped against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. My greatest, most horrifying weakness. I had become a body that couldn’t even go to the bathroom alone.

Lazarus’s words kept ringing in my ears. That half-dead old mage had coughed up what sounded like blood as he hammered the brutal reality into me. I couldn’t untie the laces of this complicated corset by myself. I couldn’t even pull down the humiliating diaper hidden beneath these skirts.

I’d rather you split my stomach open! Just kill me! I’m not doing this! I don’t need this fucking body, so just kill me already!

I’d screamed those words inside my head hundreds of times. I wanted to bite my tongue and end it all, but the thought of the king’s hostage situation always stopped me. The lives of my comrades—people who were like family to me—were now dangling from this frail, delicate neck of mine. I was nothing more than a thoroughly domesticated beast.

“Your Highness. It is time to increase the intensity of your training. We have very little time left until the start of the semester.”

The moment I returned to my room, Margareta dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. Her expression was more serious than I had ever seen it. Deep wrinkles carved across her forehead, and her eyes looked utterly devastated. To the head maid who always demanded perfection, my current state must have looked like a walking disaster.

A crude, brainless macho mercenary now controlling the body of the princess known as the flower of the Astria Kingdom. She genuinely believed this situation was a national crisis.

Margareta unfurled two thick parchment scrolls across the table with a sharp swish. The rough sound of paper unrolling was followed by the strong scent of ink. The pages were packed so densely with writing that the ink seemed to have run dry in places.

“What… is this?”

“This is the list of essential social etiquette and cultural accomplishments Your Highness must master over the next month and a half.”

Her voice was firm. I swallowed hard, my eyes trembling as I scanned the schedule.

“Are you fucking kidding me…”

A vulgar curse nearly slipped out before I could stop it. I bit my lip in a panic, but it was already too late. Even after rubbing my eyes and looking again, the list remained unchanged. There wasn’t a single entry for sword training. No physical conditioning. Not one line about practical subjects like mana manipulation or tactics. It was nothing but lessons on how to look pretty, act demure, hold hands with men, and twirl around in circles.

It was a meticulously crafted timetable for turning me into a decorative doll meant to be ogled by others.

“Embroidery? Why the hell would I need to stab needles into pieces of cloth?!”

I protested in horror, lifting the hands that had been clutching my skirt. They were pale, slender fingers. Smooth palms without a single callus. Veins barely visible beneath the fragile skin. These hands felt completely alien to me.

My hands were made for cutting down enemies. They were the rough, battle-hardened hands that had gripped crude sword hilts and rolled across blood-soaked battlefields. No matter how delicate and soft this body’s fingers were, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my soul had no idea how to thread a needle through a tiny hole.

“A princess must naturally know how to present a handkerchief she embroidered herself to her beloved fiancé or family members. In particular, the handkerchief you will give to His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince must be completed without fail.”

Margareta’s iron wall of logic made me clutch the back of my neck. The Crown Prince? I was supposed to stay up all night embroidering a gift for that smug little brat? My stomach twisted violently. The corset squeezed my already aching gut. Just imagining it made acid rise up my throat.

The idea of a man ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠having to shyly offer another man a handkerchief embroidered with red roses made me want to gouge my own eyes out with a dagger.

“And what about the social dances? Do I really have to memorize those too? I could handle battlefield footwork, but dancing to music?”

“Of course. A grand ball will be held on the very first day of the academy semester. Do you intend to step on His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince’s feet because you cannot even follow a single dance step, Your Highness?”

Margareta’s eyebrows twitched. She folded her fan and tapped it sharply against her palm—a clear sign that her patience was wearing thin.

“Hundreds of nobles will be watching only you at the grand ball. If you walk crudely, step on your dress hem and fall… it would be a disgrace to the royal family. Now, stand up. We will begin practicing the dances immediately.”

Margareta gestured with her chin toward the real princess currently inside my original body. The girl, who had been quietly nibbling cookies in the corner, looked up in surprise.

“Sir Knight. Come here and act as her partner. Take each other’s hands, if you would.”

My original hulking body approached hesitantly. A giant man well over 190 centimeters tall. Had I really been that big? The overwhelming sense of intimidation hit me all over again. His shadow completely swallowed me. Just looking up at him made my neck ache. Those broad shoulders, that thick neck, the rough skin covered in scars. And yet that same body was now wearing an awkward, bashful expression as it shyly extended a hand.

I reluctantly reached out. My original rough, calloused palm engulfed the princess’s delicate, smooth one.

“Eek!”

I let out a shrill, girlish shriek before I could stop myself. It felt like my hand had been swallowed whole. The calluses on my original palm scraped roughly against the back of the princess’s soft hand. The unfamiliar sensation sent chills racing down my spine.

Then the man’s other large, hot hand wrapped firmly around my slender waist.

“Hiiik…!”

My shoulders instinctively shrank. The powerful strength transmitted through the thin silk dress. The scorching body heat. The crushing pressure that made it hard to breathe. My corset-cinched waist was so narrow it felt like it could disappear entirely inside that massive grip.

Even though it was my original body, the realization that I was completely trapped in the arms of an overwhelmingly large male slammed into my brain. My damn female hormones began to riot. My heart pounded wildly. Blood rushed to my face in an instant, turning my ears bright red.

The rough male scent and heat brushed against the tip of my nose. My legs nearly gave out. Rustle. The thick diaper between my thighs rubbed against my skin once more, cruelly reminding me of my pathetic situation.

No. This is my body. It’s my fucking body! Get a grip, you idiot!

I desperately tried to brainwash myself, but I couldn’t stop my cheeks from burning. Every time the man’s solid muscles pressed against my soft ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flesh, every hair on my body stood on end. To make matters worse, the real princess—wearing my face—was blushing shyly while looking down at me. It was enough to drive anyone insane.

My own vicious, scar-covered face was now flushed pink, gazing with the sparkling eyes of a romance novel heroine. It was visual terrorism at its finest.

“One, two, three in time with the music. Bounce your hips gently and surrender your body to your partner. Do not stiffen up—press your chest against his.”

At Margareta’s merciless command, the nightmare dance began.

Fuck. Press my chest against him? Because of the corset, I couldn’t even pull my waist back. Margareta shoved my back forward without mercy.

Squish.

The two heavy mounds attached to my chest were crushed directly against the hard pectoral muscles of my original body. They had been pushed up high by the corset, creating a deep cleavage that now collided with the man’s firm chest. Every impact sent them bouncing heavily with a strange, elastic weight.

“Hng…!”

Every time my breasts were pressed, my lungs tightened. Tears of shame welled up in my eyes. To think I was rubbing up against my own body while dancing… Haa… (┬┬﹏┬┬)

Whenever my steps tangled and my body staggered, my original body’s thick forearms would firmly catch my waist. The strength was enough to lift me clean off the ground. Each time it happened, I was forced to gasp for breath, blushing furiously at the overwhelming power of the male body—a truly wretched farce.

“Oh my! My dear daughter!”

The hellish dance lesson was in full swing when the door suddenly burst open. A noblewoman in a lavish dress swept into the room, filling the air with the soft scent of roses. It was the queen. The real princess’s biological mother. The woman who had given birth to this cursed body—and one of the most dangerous people in the palace right now, since she knew nothing about the soul swap.

“M-Mother…!”

The real princess, still held in my arms, momentarily lost her mind. She nearly burst into tears and cried out to her real mother using my massive, muscular body. The word “Mother” was about to escape from that rugged male mouth.

Thud!

I panicked and kicked her hard in the shin with my high-heeled shoe. The real princess let out a choked grunt and clamped her mouth shut. The giant body clutched one leg, groaning in pain. Even though it was a woman’s kick, the sharp heel delivered plenty of damage.

“Oh dear, were you practicing dance with the knight? I’m sorry for interrupting. My poor daughter, your face looks so pale. I heard you’ve had a fever since yesterday.”

The queen approached with elegant steps and suddenly pulled me into a tight embrace without warning.

“Ugh…!”

I gasped, completely unable to dodge. Squish. The queen’s own ample, enormous breasts mercilessly crushed against my corset-enhanced chest. It was a woman-to-woman hug. The thick scent of high-class rose perfume and powder flooded my nose. Every breath carried the luxurious scent of cosmetics.

It was an intense skinship with an older noblewoman—the kind I had never experienced in my life. Something a man could never imagine. A lowly commoner mercenary daring to be held by the king’s lawful wife? Under normal circumstances, this would be high treason worthy of immediate execution and the extermination of my entire clan.

Yet here that same queen was, believing me to be her own daughter, hugging me tightly, rubbing her cheek against mine.

“My poor baby. You must have been in so much pain. Has your fever gone down a little?”

The queen gently stroked both my cheeks with a tender voice. Her delicate fingers wiped away the cold sweat on my forehead. Then she pressed her red lips softly against my brow.

The moment those soft lips touched my forehead, it felt like electricity shot down my spine. My macho soul inside shattered into a million pieces.

I just got a forehead kiss from the queen? And not only that, I’m being held in her arms and called “my baby”?

My mind went completely white. I had never been this flustered even when I blocked an orc’s axe with my bare hands on the battlefield. The queen’s warm body heat and motherly touch were mercilessly trampling something deep inside me.

“Ah… Y-yes… M-Mother… I mean, Your Majesty. I-I am quite all right.”

My face burned so fiercely from shame that it felt like it might explode. My throat tightened, and only a tiny, mosquito-like voice came out. Not knowing where to look, I could only stare blankly at the queen’s dazzling necklace.

The queen saw my flushed face and looked even more concerned. She seemed to interpret my trembling eyes as the suffering of someone battling a high fever.

“Your face is burning up like this and you say you’re fine? Margareta, we mustn’t push the child too hard. Let her rest for today and put her to bed early. Understood?”

“As you command, Your Majesty.”

Margareta lifted the hem of her dress and bowed deeply with perfect etiquette. Her expression remained stiff, but she could not disobey the queen’s order.

The queen gently patted my slender shoulders. Then, as if reluctant to leave, she lightly pinched my cheek once more, her eyes overflowing with affection.

“Rest well, my dear. I will visit again tomorrow.”

Swish. Swish. The sound of the queen’s voluminous skirts brushing against the floor grew distant. Clack. The heavy door closed, and I remained frozen like a statue until her footsteps completely disappeared.

“Haaaa… Fuck…”

The moment the tension broke, I collapsed straight to the floor. The corset dug painfully into my side, but I couldn’t even register ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the pain. My luxurious silk skirts crumpled horribly beneath me. Rustle. Rustle. As my bottom hit the floor, the thick diaper pressed down heavily once again. The sticky, sweaty discomfort in my groin reminded me of reality.

Embroidery. Being held in a man’s arms during social dance and rubbing my chest against him. Enduring sticky skinship and kisses from a fake mother who knew nothing. And this pathetic lower body that couldn’t even go to the bathroom despite feeling like my bladder was about to burst.

The mental shock I had suffered in a single day was greater than the time I had been surrounded by hundreds of orcs on the battlefield. My dignity had been driven straight through the floor and buried in the planet’s core.

“Your Highness. Profanity is strictly forbidden. Vulgar language is a disgrace to the royal family.”

At Margareta’s cold delivery of harsh facts, I buried my face deeply in both hands. The face my palms touched was far too small and soft, and I felt like I might cry again.

This damned princess’s life. Only a month and a half remained until the start of the semester.

“If this keeps up, I might really die from stress and humiliation before I even reach the academy.”

Or maybe I’d lose my mind while pissing myself inside this thick diaper. Either way, it was an endless hell.