Arthur finished packing the last nail into the canvas sack and hoisted it onto his shoulder.
It weighed almost nothing, yet it already felt like too much.
Brandt watched him from the forge without saying a word, but the message was clear: don’t be late and don’t cause any trouble.
“I’ll be right back,” Arthur murmured.
He stepped out of the shop and into the noisy street of Valenford.
The morning air was still cool, but already thick with the smell of baked bread, manure, and metal.
People came and went: merchants, adventurers in creaking armor, children darting between the adults’ legs.
Arthur kept his eyes down and walked quickly.
The more he stayed in the middle of the crowd, the more he felt eyes on him.
Or maybe he was only imagining them.
The part of him that was twenty-two knew no one was really staring, but the part that was Arthur—the shy one used to feeling out of place—couldn’t shake the sensation.
Bridge Street wasn’t far.
Ten minutes at a normal pace.
He took almost fifteen because he avoided pushing or bumping into anyone.
The warehouse was a low building of dark stone with a large wooden door standing open.
Inside, a sturdy man with grey mustaches was marking something on a tablet.
“Delivery from Brandt’s forge?” he asked without raising his voice much.
Arthur nodded and set the sack on the counter.
The man opened it, checked the nails and the sharpened handles, then nodded in satisfaction.
“All in order.
Tell your father he’ll need two more batches next week.”
Arthur was about to answer when a female voice behind him made him stiffen.
“Excuse me, can I get past?”
He turned sharply.
A girl roughly his age, red hair gathered in a braid and wearing a baker’s shop apron, was trying to enter with a basket of bread.
Arthur stepped aside too quickly, his foot slipped on a damp stone, and he lost his balance.
He ended up with his back against the doorframe and the girl’s basket pressed against his chest.
For a second they stayed locked like that.
She looked up and smiled, a little embarrassed.
“Careful.
You almost made me drop everything.”
Arthur felt heat rush to his face in an instant.
The contact had been brief, but enough.
Her chest against his, the smell of warm bread and a light scent of herbs.
“S-sorry,” he stammered, pulling away abruptly.
The girl laughed softly and went into the warehouse without making much of it.
Arthur, on the other hand, stood still a second too long, his heart beating too hard.
Calm down.
It was nothing.
Just an accident.
But as he walked away at a brisk pace, he felt that small shiver behind his eyes again.
He stopped in a side alley, checked that no one was watching, and murmured:
“Status.”
The window appeared.
text
[Curse: Gender Transformation – Blood of Lysara] Phase: 1/4 Progress: 3%
Arthur stared at the number.
3%.
Just from an accidental contact and a bit of embarrassment.
“Are you serious…?” he whispered.
He closed the Status with a nervous gesture and started walking again, faster than before.
The skin of his face still burned.
And for a moment, he thought he caught a light, sweet scent coming from himself.
Almost imperceptible.
Maybe he’d imagined it.
Or maybe not.
When he got back to the shop, Tessa was bent over a bench sorting small blades.
“You’re late,” she said without lifting her head.
“Dad muttered twice.”
Arthur didn’t answer.
He left the empty sack in a corner and went back to work, trying to focus only on the metal and the sound of the grindstone.
But every now and then his hand went by itself to touch his neck, as if he could feel whether the skin was already becoming smoother.
3%.
It was only the beginning.
And he had already understood one very clear thing: if even simple embarrassment made the percentage rise, his life was about to become an extremely uncomfortable nightmare.