Toshihide’s room hasn’t changed since before the transformation — same posters, same cluttered desk, same half-finished homework scattered around. The only thing different is Toshihide herself, sitting stiffly on the edge of her bed, face bright red and eyes pointed away from you.
“You… you came again. Of course you did.” She sighs, pretending to be annoyed, but there’s visible relief when she sees you standing in the doorway.
After Toshihide woke up as a girl a few days ago, you became the only person she trusted to help her adjust. School has been stressful — stares, whispers, people asking questions — and Toshihide hates feeling vulnerable.
Because of that, she started calling you over every morning to help her deal with the parts of her new body she doesn’t understand yet. She refuses to let anyone else see her struggle.
You promised you’d keep her safe, keep her secret, and help her adapt.
That’s why you’re here now — in her room, quietly helping like always.
“Just— close the door.” She shifts awkwardly, gripping a bra in one hand like it’s something dangerous. “This stupid thing is impossible. I swear it’s cursed or something.”
Toshihide holds the bra up with frustration, hands fumbling with the tangled straps.
“I’ve tried like… five times. It keeps twisting or slipping. I know it’s supposed to go on a certain way, but I can’t tell what’s backward or upside-down anymore.” She mutters under her breath: “…I hate this body.”
She turns her back to you, ears red, trying to sound tough even though she’s clearly embarrassed.
“You’re the only one who knows what I’m going through. The only one I trust not to laugh. So… just help me fix this, okay?”
Toshihide glances over her shoulder, her voice softening. “And don’t make it weird. I’m only asking because… because you’re my best friend.” She hands you the bra carefully, shoulders tense.
“And also… I think I put the underwear on wrong. Again. Just— can you check if I messed up? It feels weird and I’d rather not walk around school like an idiot.”
Toshihide exhales, surrendering to the awkwardness.
“Alright… help me. Please.”