Arthur accepted the delivery without protesting.
Brandt had asked him to take a load of tools and some finished blades to an artisan workshop outside the center, near the western gate of the city.
It was not heavy work, but the journey was long and the cart, even if not too heavily loaded, required attention.
For Arthur it was still better than remaining in the shop under Tessa’s continuous gaze.
He left in the morning, with the loose shirt and the light jacket arranged in a way that confused the lines of his body.
The sweet scent was present as always, but outdoors it dispersed better.
He walked at a steady pace, head down, trying not to draw attention.
The first part of the route went smoothly.
He left behind the more crowded streets of the market and took the road that led toward the walls.
The cart creaked every now and then on the uneven stones, but nothing worrying.
Arthur concentrated on the rhythm of his steps and on controlling his breathing.
Every time an uncomfortable thought tried to surface—Tessa, Talia, the body that was changing—he forced it away with effort.
It was halfway there that the problems began.
One of the cart’s wheels started to creak in a different, sharper way.
Arthur slowed down and bent to check.
A wooden spoke near the hub had splintered.
It was not completely broken yet, but it would not hold for long if he continued to push normally.
He swore under his breath.
He could not turn back: he had already come too far and the customer was expecting the load by early afternoon.
He could not abandon the cart either.
He looked around.
The road was not deserted, but there was no one who could help him without asking questions or coming too close.
And he did not want closeness.
He decided to proceed with great caution, unloading part of the weight and rearranging the pieces to lighten the damaged wheel.
Every time he had to bend or shift the crates, he felt the fabric of the shirt cling to his chest and hips.
The sensitivity of the skin made even those gestures uncomfortable.
He sweated, and the sweet scent seemed to intensify with the effort.
He started walking again more slowly.
The delay accumulated quickly.
The sun rose and the heat increased.
Arthur stopped several times to check the wheel and to catch his breath.
His arms ached, even though the load was not excessive.
The tiredness of the previous night and the constant tension of the last days were catching up with him.
At a certain point the spoke gave way completely.
The wheel collapsed sideways with an ugly sound of wood splitting.
The cart tilted and part of the load slid.
Arthur managed to hold it enough to keep everything from ending up on the ground, but he found himself stuck in the middle of the road, with an unusable cart and no simple way to carry the goods forward.
He remained still for a few seconds, breathing hard, hands still clenched on the wooden edge.
He could not leave everything there.
He could not go back empty-handed.
And he could not ask for help without risking having to stay too close to someone or having to explain too much.
In the end he decided to unload the lighter pieces and carry them on foot in two or three trips, hiding the rest of the load in a less visible spot near a low wall.
It was slow and humiliating work.
Every round trip consumed his energy.
The shirt stuck to his sweaty skin, his chest ached from the sensitivity and the effort, and more than once he had to stop and breathe with his back bent, hoping no one would stop to ask if he was all right.
When he finally delivered the last piece to the workshop, the sun was already much lower than it should have been.
The customer muttered about the delay, but accepted the goods without making too much of a fuss.
Arthur apologized with a few words and left quickly.
The return was even worse.
Without the cart he had to walk empty-handed, but his legs felt heavy and his head was buzzing.
Every step toward home was an effort.
The tiredness clouded his thoughts and made it harder to keep the fear at bay.
He knew he was late.
He knew they would notice at home.
And he knew that Tessa would have one more reason to look at him that way.
He entered from the side, trying to make as little noise as possible.
Brandt raised his head from the forge and eyed him.
“You’re late.”
“One of the cart’s wheels broke,” Arthur answered.
His voice came out more tired than he wanted.
“I had to carry everything by hand.”
Brandt grunted something that could have been understanding or simple acceptance, and returned to work.
Ysolde, from behind a counter, looked at him with a worried expression but said nothing.
Tessa, on the other hand, watched him for a long time, in silence, while he took off his jacket and tried to adjust his shirt without drawing attention.
She did not ask questions at that moment.
But her gaze weighed.
Arthur murmured something about having to fix the cart the next day and moved toward the stairs as soon as he could.
Every step cost him effort.
When he finally closed the door of his room behind him, he let himself slide to the floor with his back against the wood.
His body ached.
The skin was too sensitive.
The sweet scent filled the closed space.
And the tiredness made everything harder to control.
He opened the Status almost without thinking.
[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: 65%]
Another two points.
Just from the stress and the fatigue of the day.
Arthur closed his eyes and remained sitting on the floor for a long time, listening to the sounds of the house downstairs.
It was only a practical mishap.
Nothing serious.
No one had discovered anything.
And yet, while the tiredness weighed on him, he had the distinct feeling that even these small things were eroding what control he still had left.
And that sooner or later it would no longer be enough to come home tired and in silence.