Chapter 74: Mother of the double-breasted fish (6)

Part 11

After seeing off my family, looking as haggard as ever, I was about to get ready for a health checkup when a delivery arrived. Did anyone order something? Checking the sender, I saw Hyunji’s name.

Didn’t she mention stopping by to teach me makeup? I thought maybe she sent cosmetics as prep, but the box—big enough to hold my upper body—made no sense. Staring blankly, I carried it to my room. The contents were half-expected, half-surprising.

A pristine case of basic makeup products, still sealed. Beneath it, accessories and assorted clothes. Tucked against the box’s side, a letter held by the clothes read: “The boss loved the photos so much, they sent a bribe! The makeup’s what I mentioned before!” The sparse note clarified things.

“…Cosplay outfits, huh,” I muttered.

Unpacking the neatly folded, plastic-wrapped clothes, I found nothing wearable for daily life. A black robe straight out of a game, a nun outfit, a waitress dress?

“Handwritten letter instead of a text? So analog…” I said.

Still, throwing it out felt wrong. I folded the letter carefully and tucked it into a bookshelf. Might not use it, but it’s a gift. Gotta thank Hyunji later.

“…Makeup, huh,” I mused.

Thanks to Hyunji’s enthusiastic explanations, I vaguely recalled what each item was for. Won’t use it now, but I should unpack and toss the wrapping. If she visits and sees it untouched, I’d be in trouble.

Saturday. A health checkup meant I couldn’t fully relax, but I had some leeway. I’d confirmed with Youngjin’s parents that Saturdays were less busy than Sundays, and I’d planned to move at a leisurely pace. I can tidy this up and go.

“Oh…?” I said.

While unpacking, I noticed a tiny note on a mascara package: “Use with an eyelash curler!” Did she put notes on everything? I scrambled through the discarded wrappers. Thankfully, only some had notes—ones needing instructions, like “Mix highlighter with foundation and apply above cheekbones!”

“Not planning to go pro with this…” I muttered.

There were so many products—more than during the cosplay shoot, though I couldn’t be sure since I didn’t memorize them all.

“…Done organizing, I guess,” I said.

Transferring the notes to the cosmetics took longer than expected. Didn’t need to read them all now. Overdid the leisure.

“Leave it on the desk for now…” I decided.

You’d need way more for serious makeup. I was starting to get why people needed vanity tables. Heading to my closet, I tied my hair up with practiced ease. Time to “disguise” for the hospital. Grabbing a cap from the hanger, I wondered, If caps get too hot, maybe dye my hair?

When I’d mentioned dyeing, my parents were adamantly against it, saying it was too rebellious. But going from blonde to black is more proper, right?

With that thought, I finished prepping. Phone, wallet, cap—ready to leave. But…

“Hmm… it’s not a big deal visit,” I said.

The makeup set nagged at me. Unlike the clothes, it was sent with pure goodwill. Ignoring it from day one felt wrong.

“…Ughhh…” I groaned.

Glancing at the small mirror on the desk, I saw my eyes—cute despite being far from my ideal—blinking slowly on pale skin. I don’t need to doll up, based on experience.

“…Ughhh…!” I groaned louder.

Part 12

“You’re exceptionally skilled at twisting words to suit yourself,” Dr. Kang Young-hoo said.

“Thanks to that, I aced non-literature but struggled with literature,” I replied.

“You were bad at Korean?” he asked.

“I don’t recall seeing anything but a 1 on my report card,” I said.

Frowning, I saw his lips curl smugly, clearly pleased with my reaction. This guy’s changing. He used to be sharp, not this annoying.

“Your expression suggests that keeping such comments to yourself would be better for smooth relationships,” he said.

“No need to make ‘bad expression’ so wordy,” I shot back.

“Longer words reduce misunderstandings. It’s fine when I do it, but not when it’s done to me,” he countered.

As always, a file slid across the desk with a thud. No issues with today’s checkup, it seemed.

“A sudden question, but did you often hear you were feminine before your change?” he asked.

“…I was called domestic, maybe?” I replied.

“May I ask why?” he pressed.

“Uh…?” I faltered.

No answer came, just his serious gaze locking onto mine. No lies, be honest, his eyes seemed to say.

“…No special reason,” I said.

“Then what’s the un-special reason?” he prodded.

“My parents were busy, my older brother was always studying, and my younger brother was too young. I was the only one free for housework,” I explained.

“Like cooking or dishes?” he asked.

“Simple cooking, dishes anyone could do, sorting laundry, cleaning—that kind of thing,” I said.

“Hmm…” he hummed.

A short, thoughtful sound. His closed eyes and pensive look stirred unease I hadn’t felt in the playful atmosphere. The kind of anxiety patients feel when a doctor looks grave crept up, tickling my chest in the heavy silence.

“As you know, about 40 people worldwide likely have the same condition,” he said.

“…Right?” I replied.

“Forty’s enough to name a disease, but symptoms and severity vary so much we can’t yet. If we lump 40 varied cases together, what distinguishes this from other acquired physical changes, even if gender doesn’t shift?” he mused.

“Uh…?” I said, confused.

“Not the point right now,” he dismissed.

His eyes opened slowly, a hint of unease in his expression, his lips hesitating. Swallowing dryly in the heavy silence, he sighed deeply, then spoke slowly.

“Anyway, about 40 others likely share your condition,” he repeated.

I nodded quietly. Why’s he emphasizing this now? He never has before.

“And among them, you’ve adapted… quite, no, remarkably well,” he said.

“What are you getting at?” I asked.

Is something wrong with me? No, he’d have said so during the results. Someone else, then? Who? Why bring this up now?

“Seeing how well you’ve adjusted today, I have a request. You’re likely the only one in the country who could empathize with someone in the same situation,” he said.

A thought hit me—no way. His trembling voice and slow-moving lips felt deliberate.

“There’s someone your age, likely with the same condition, but they’re… reacting quite aggressively, unlike you,” he said.