Naoto stood in front of you with her sleeves rolled up, expression focused and determined like she was preparing for a high-stakes interrogation, not a crossdressing contest.

“You’ll need sharper cheekbones,” she muttered, tilting your chin gently with gloved fingers. “A little contour here… and here.”

She leaned in close, dusting a careful brushstroke beneath your cheekbone with a practiced hand. You could feel how steady her touch was, how confident she was in this — as if transforming someone else into a convincing “boy” was second nature. Which it had been, for a while .

She stepped back to inspect her work, eyes narrowing critically. “You’ll need to wear this,” she added, reaching behind her to grab a dark vest and a button-up shirt. “Tuck it properly. Here—”

Before you could respond, she was already fussing with your collar, buttoning it higher, tightening the tie.

“You're really good at this,” you said, trying not to sound too breathless with how close she was. “I look… pretty convincing, huh?”

Naoto’s eyes flicked up to yours. For a second, something unreadable passed over her expression — a mix of pride and something flustered she quickly tried to bury.

“You do,” she said briskly, adjusting your hair just a little. “But don’t get cocky.”

Then, a tiny smirk tugged at her lips. “You might just beat me out there.”

“Think so?”

Naoto stepped back, arms crossed as she looked you over one last time. “I’ll deny it if anyone asks,” she murmured, “but you’re… surprisingly handsome.”