Arthur fell asleep late.
After remaining for a long time staring at the ceiling, with the sweet scent filling the room and the memory of what he had seen in the mirror, his body finally gave in.
Sleep came heavy, confused, full of fragments of days mixed together.
At first they were only scraps: the shop, the noise of the forge, Tessa’s voice, Talia’s grey gaze.
Then the images began to change.
He found himself in a place he did not recognize.
A soft, warm room with low light.
There was someone near him.
He could not see the face clearly, but he felt the body.
Skin against skin.
Hands that ran along his hips, over his chest, lower.
The contact was slow, insistent, and every point where he was touched responded with an intensity he had never felt in the real world.
In the dream there was no shame.
Only heat.
Only the sensation of being pressed against another body, of fingers exploring, of warm breath against his neck.
He moved toward that contact, seeking it, and the more he did so the stronger the sensation became.
The body in the dream reacted without restraint, open, sensitive, almost hungry for every touch.
An arm pulled him closer.
A thigh slipped between his.
Lips brushed his collarbone, then lower.
Arthur—or whoever he was in that moment—let out a low sound, and the dream answered by intensifying everything.
The pleasure grew in waves, sharper and sharper, harder and harder to contain.
He felt his own body changing even inside the dream: softer in certain places, more reactive, as if it were yielding to something inevitable.
The heat rose until it became almost too much.
Then, suddenly, everything broke.
He was breathing with his mouth open.
His heart was pounding.
His body was hot, sweaty, and for a few seconds he did not understand where he was.
The weak light of dawn filtered through the window.
He was in his room.
In his bed.
But something was wrong.
He moved and felt it immediately.
The nightshirt clung to him in a strange way.
The skin under the clothes was too sensitive: even the simple friction of the fabric sent a light jolt through him.
And the scent… the scent was much stronger than when he had fallen asleep.
Sweet, intense, almost cloying in the closed room.
He sat up slowly, his pulse still racing.
He still had the body of the dream impressed on him: the memory of the contact, the pressure, the pleasure.
And together with that, an unpleasant awareness.
He raised his hands and looked at them.
Then, with a hesitant gesture, he touched his face.
The features under his fingers seemed even softer than the evening before.
He stood up, legs a little unsteady, and went to the mirror.
What he saw kept him still for a long time.
The face had lost further hardness.
The cheeks were fuller, the line of the jaw less defined.
The skin was evenly smooth, almost porcelain-like in the dawn light.
He shifted the shirt aside and lowered his gaze.
The chest was no longer completely flat as it had been the previous evening.
The hips had a softer curve.
Nothing dramatic, nothing that would be obvious when dressed, but naked—and after the dream—the changes of Phase 1 had become much clearer.
The body was being shaped.
Slowly, but decisively, toward something feminine.
Arthur felt his stomach tighten.
With a trembling hand he called up the Status.
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Name: Arthur Age: 18 Level: 1 Class: Apprentice Blacksmith (Weak) Strength: 4 Agility: 6 Endurance: 5 Magic: 3 Intelligence: 12 Dexterity: 8 Skills: – Basic Sharpening (Lv.2) – Tool Organization (Lv.3) – Excessive Shyness (Passive) [Curse: Gender Transformation – Blood of Lysara] Phase: 1/4 Progress: 30%]
30%.
From 19% to 30% in a single night.
He leaned one hand against the wall beside the mirror and stayed looking at his own image.
The dream came back to him in pieces: the contact, the heat, the way the body had responded without him being able to do anything to stop it.
And while he dreamed, the curse had kept working.
He touched his chest with the tips of his fingers, feeling that new softness and the exaggerated sensitivity.
Then he lowered his hand, as if the contact burned him.
It was still Phase 1.
The body was only being prepared, shaped.
But if one night of dreaming had been enough to bring him to 30%, what would happen when Phase 2 arrived?
Arthur moved away from the mirror and sat on the bed, the shirt still disheveled.
Outside, the first sounds of the house waking up began to be heard.
Soon he would have to go downstairs, pretend that everything was normal, hide the stronger scent, and hope that no one noticed the small changes that now, on his skin, seemed much more evident than before.
He ran a hand over his face.
The secret still held.
But for how long?