Arthur went up the stairs without saying a word.
He didn’t turn toward Tessa.
He didn’t answer the silent questions he could feel weighing on his back.
He simply reached his room, went inside, and closed the door carefully, as if even the sound of the latch could betray him.
He stayed still with his back against the wood for several seconds, breathing short, his hands trembling slightly.
His heart was beating too hard.
Tessa’s words were still ringing in his ears, clear and precise, like blows landed one after another.
You’re hiding your body too.
It almost seems like you’re becoming different.
It scares me.
He ran a hand over his face and felt the too-smooth skin under his fingers.
The sweet scent was already filling the closed room, stronger than it had ever been.
He pushed away from the door and walked toward the mirror with slow steps, as if he were afraid of what he would see.
He took off his jacket.
Then the shirts, one after another.
The reflection that appeared in front of him was becoming harder and harder to accept.
His chest was now clearly formed.
Not large, but round, obvious, impossible to mistake for anything else.
His hips curved with a soft, feminine line.
His waist was narrower.
His face had lost almost every trace of its old hardness: full cheeks, soft jaw, slightly more defined lips.
Even his shoulders, in proportion, seemed less broad.
The skin was perfect everywhere, smooth and even, and when he ran his fingers over it he felt again that exaggerated sensitivity that made him clench his teeth.
75% had already been critical.
78% was worse.
He turned sideways, then faced forward again.
Every angle confirmed the same thing: he was running out of room to pretend.
With loose clothes he could still get away with it from a distance, or under the distracted gaze of someone who didn’t know him well.
But Tessa knew him.
And she had already noticed too much.
Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, and wrapped his arms around his body.
The contact of skin against skin sent an unpleasant shiver through him.
Not from the cold.
Tessa had gotten far too close.
She had put the pieces together: the behavior, the clothes, the scent, the way he moved, the escape that morning.
She still didn’t know the truth, but she was walking straight toward it.
And the next time she looked at him with that same attention, or got close enough to notice the shape under the fabric, something could give way.
He wondered what he would do if Tessa found out everything.
The image tightened his stomach.
Shame.
Fear.
The feeling of no longer having any safe place, not even at home.
His parents.
Brandt with his practical resignation.
Ysolde with her gentle worry.
What would they say?
How would they look at him?
And outside there was still Talia, with that grey gaze that already seemed to have put too many pieces together on her own.
Arthur lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
The room felt smaller than usual.
The walls closer.
The sweet scent heavier.
Every breath reminded him that his body was no longer entirely under his control, and that the time for continuing to lie was becoming shorter and shorter.
He opened the Status almost out of habit, as if seeing the numbers could give him some form of control.
[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)
[Curse: Gender Transformation – Blood of Lysara]
Phase: 1/4
Progress: 78%]
Still the same.
For now.
But he knew it wouldn’t stay still for long.
The stress of the confrontation, the fear, the growing awareness: everything was feeding Lysara’s blood.
Sooner or later the percentage would rise again.
And when it reached 85, 90, 100… what would happen?
Phase 1 was only shaping the body.
Phase 2 would bring even deeper changes.
Changes he would no longer be able to hide with two wide shirts and a buttoned jacket.
He rolled onto his side, clutching the pillow.
For the first time since everything had begun, he had the distinct feeling that he no longer had any escape routes.
He couldn’t keep running out of the house at dawn.
He couldn’t keep inventing excuses.
He couldn’t keep hoping no one would notice.
Tessa had already seen too much.
And he had no answers to give her.
The silence of the house weighed on him.
He could hear distant footsteps downstairs, the murmur of voices he couldn’t make out.
He wondered if Tessa was talking to their parents.
If she was already saying something.
The idea made his heart speed up.
He forced himself to breathe more slowly.
She still hadn’t discovered the truth.
She only had suspicions.
As long as she didn’t have proof, Arthur could still hold on.
He had to hold on.
At least until he found a way to slow the curse, or to fully understand what was waiting for him.
But as he lay there in the darkness of the room, with his body too sensitive and the sweet scent filling the air, the awareness remained clear and cold:
the space for lying was running out.
And when it ran out completely, he would no longer have any place left to hide.