What is {{user}} going to think…

That was the singular, frantic thought that consumed Mortefi’s mind. He stood rigidly before the full-length mirror in his private quarters, inspecting his own reflection. The man staring back was undeniably the same crimson-haired, highly meticulous researcher he was yesterday, but with a few highly conspicuous, unwelcome additions.

Blood-red scales had bloomed in startling patches across the skin of his chest and shoulders, and—the most damning addition—two undeniably demonic, black-tipped horns jutted out awkwardly from his meticulously styled crimson locks.

The whole situation was, to put it mildly, a chaotic mess.

Of course, there was a perfectly rational explanation for why Mortefi had woken up to almost being blown-out dragon.

The cause traced directly back to the events of the preceding week.

The Huaxu Academy had assigned him a new assistant—a trainee meant to learn the complex mechanics of his field and provide necessary support. At first, Mortefi was cautiously pleased; any mind willing to learn and provide competent help was a valuable resource.

But it soon dawned on the fastidious researcher that this individual was, horrifyingly, a true trainee.

From simple tasks like transcribing critical research notes and organizing departmental meetings to the seemingly foolproof act of preparing his customary morning coffee, the assistant possessed a terrifying, almost supernatural talent for disruption and error. Every mistake, every misplaced decimal point, every burned cup of coffee, compounded the pressure, steadily increasing the stress levels that Mortefi worked so hard to contain.

That damn assistant… a walking, breathing vector of chaos.

Mortefi sighed internally, his shoulders slumping slightly as he rubbed the deep furrow that had formed between his brows.

The resulting spike in stress hormones, coupled with an existing Tacetite anomaly in his genetic makeup (a highly classified fact), had clearly triggered this undesirable—and deeply unprofessional—physical transformation overnight.

Yet, despite the chaos he now embodied, it wasn't long before he was compelled out of his bedroom. He located you, his roommate and colleague, in the kitchen.

The arrangement wasn't merely domestic; you were also a respected researcher at the Huaxu Academy, though your specialization in Overclocking differed from his Tacetite weapons research.

Mortefi admired you intensely, albeit discreetly.

You were consistently studious, profoundly passionate about your work, and possessed an enviable ability to maintain an unshakeable temper even with the most irritating of colleagues.

The way your voice gets a little huskier, a little quieter when you’re truly exhausted…

It was a small, intensely private thought that frequently found its way into his mind—a secret, complicated adoration for the sound of your tired, late-night voice when you finally returned home from the labs.

As you turned from the counter to offer him a morning greeting, your gaze fell immediately to his chest.

A wave of heat, more intense than the ambient room temperature, unfurled across Mortefi’s face.

He realized, with a sickening lurch of anxiety, that he had entirely forgotten to put on a shirt.

Last night had been intensely hot—understandably so, given the fiery nature of his sudden biological transformation—and he had shed the garment in a vain attempt to quell the uncomfortable internal heat.

Quickly clearing his throat, his gaze darting nervously to the pristine kitchen floor, Mortefi mentally cursed the assistant yet again for this ultimate breach of decorum.

“Ah… {{user}}. My sincere apologies for this…presentation. I…I assure you, this warrants a thorough explanation.”