Chapter 2 : Red-Haired

I once saw a Q&A like this on the DC Inside Buddhism Gallery.

Q: I’m in so much agony because I don’t have a girlfriend. How should I control this suffering?

By chance, an internet Buddhist sage passing by answered:

A: A single drop of water will never dry up if it falls into the ocean.

What kind of nonsense is that?

It wasn’t just me— even the original poster who asked the question must have thought the same.

So they asked again.

Then what should I do?

A: Rather than longing for a girlfriend who will leave quickly, why not become the woman you admire?

Oh! That actually made some sense.

And so, the water droplet that had long envied the ocean became a part of it and lived happily ever after.

By becoming the woman itself.

“Huhaa….”

But as always, there is no paradise in escape.

Reality was far too cruel.

“Ugh… So f*cking cold… And loose…”

I meant it literally. It was f*cking cold.

— Whiiiing!

It was still the last bit of early spring, the end of March.

When I asked what day it was, that’s what I was told.

Shizuko’s mom, whose worry level had hit MAX, gave me a teary-eyed look as if asking why I’d ask something so obvious, making me regret bringing it up.

Anyway, wearing a skirt on such a windy day… It was seriously freezing.

“Haah… S-so… cold….”

I didn’t know.

I had never worn one before.

If I had been one of those guys in school who showed off their toughness by wearing soccer shorts in the dead of winter, I might have at least had some indirect experience.

But back then, I was the guy who kept studying even during breaks.

Why did I study instead of resting after class?

Because that was the survival method of a Korean male high school student.

I heard that after I became an adult, all that romance was gone, but back in my school days, at least, kids who studied weren’t really messed with.

In the brutal, wolf-like world of Korean male students, those who studied were treated as a different species—some sort of intelligence-based class—so they were left alone.

Thanks to that, I managed to get into KAIST, where only guys who had been naturally selected for intelligence (and nothing else) gathered. From there, I fast-tracked my way into the PhD course—the quickest route to becoming a full-on nerd.

“Haauu… Hey, my socks… My socks won’t go any higher….”

I tried to pull my socks up as much as possible to protect my exposed knees and thighs, but it was useless.

Not all girls’ socks were stockings, after all.

Honestly, if Shizuko had just worn stockings, it would’ve been a little better.

—Hey, hey, look over there. You can see it.

—Strawberry panties… What is she, a grade scholar? Got her hair dyed like a delinquent, but she’s wearing that?

—Puff, seriously. A Yankee with strawberry panties that even an elementary scholar wouldn’t wear?

…Well, I’m not complaining.

—01?

Tch, f*cking perverts.

If they were in Korea saying sh*t like that, they’d already be dragged to the police station.

Even if they were minors, it wouldn’t matter.

The teachers would immediately call for a disciplinary committee meeting, and the guy would get passed around like a ticking time bomb to another class.

With the label of an s*x offender attached.

As I was thinking about that, I gave up on pulling my socks up and doing forced stretches and was about to lift my waist when—

“Ah.”

I made eye contact with the big, dumb brats.

Between my legs.

Just in case, I kept my waist bent and slightly lifted my gaze.

Because a girl’s body was more flexible than a guy’s, I could do that.

Wow, if I bend a little more, I could probably do a self-69.

Strawberry panties… So childish. The lolicons must love it.

…Alright, enough with the mental gymnastics.

“Haah, ugh…”

And that’s when I realized.

The strawberry panties they were looking at—

They were mine.

“…Kyaaa! No, wait.”

I let out a girly scream without thinking.

What the f*ck?!

“You fcking bastards, what are you peeping at…?! I’ll sue you for s*xual harassment!”

Wait, that sounds like something a girl, would say too.

How would a guy normally react in this situation?

Setting aside the fact that I should be regretting walking around in a skirt in the first place…

“…Ah, s-sorry. P-please don’t report me for… I-indecent exposure….”

I ended up apologizing instinctively.

That’s just what happens after living in Korea for so long.

There was even a time when I apologized for taking out my phone on the subway.

I wasn’t some pervert collecting weird porn in my photo gallery—just storing optics experiment slides for lab meetings—so luckily, when I showed my phone, I just got a warning instead of getting reported.

Ever since then, since I was technically still serving my military duty as a research specialist, I stuck a green box of tape over my phone’s camera, just like how regular soldiers do.

—H-huh?! S-sorry!

—W-we didn’t see anything…!

For reference, my earlier curse was in Korean, while my apology was in Japanese.

They must’ve thought my first outburst was just some gibberish from shock, because as soon as I switched to Japanese, they turned red and bolted.

After seeing my face.

With expressions like aroused males.

“…umm, next time, instead of bending my waist, I should bend my knees first.”

And with that, I learned my first lesson about living as a TS Japanese girl.

When wearing a skirt, bend your knees first instead of your waist.

Well, it’s better for your back anyway.

The time I arrived at school was neither during lunch nor the morning assembly, but during the awkward break between the third and fourth periods.

That’s why those male students who had just been peeping at Shizuko’s strawberry panties were out in the courtyard.

“Hmm, well, if you were in pain, there’s nothing you could do. Your mother told me about it. As your homeroom teacher, I think it would be fine for you to take some time off and focus on recovering if things are too difficult…”

It’s not like my head hurts more or anything. It’s just that my tongue feels really weird, so I have to keep talking like this to get it back to normal.

“…I see.”

“…By the way, your hair… That’s not dyed, is it?”

“Nope. It’s something about a Marie Antoinette syndrome or whatever.”

“I see… You’ve been through a lot.”

The homeroom teacher sighed before nodding in understanding.

“I’ll explain things to the students beforehand, so let’s go in through the front door together.”

“Okay, Mangko-sensei.”

“…For now, just calling me ‘teacher’ should be fine.”

Homeroom teacher Mako slightly blushed at my pronunciation, pressing a hand to her forehead.

It was basically the equivalent of calling a Korean teacher named Kim Bojin “Bo1G” instead of “Teacher Bojin.”

All thanks to Shizuko’s messed-up tongue and speech center.

“…Are you really okay with this?”

Just before opening the door, Mako-sensei asked once again, as if making sure.

My answer was obvious.

I was confident.

“Yes.”

No problem.

Not at all.

—Click.

First, Mangko—no, Mako-sensei—entered the classroom through the front door.

I followed casually, only adjusting my skirt a little as I walked in.

But seriously, why is Shizuko’s skirt so short?

It barely reaches the middle of my thighs.

Are all Japanese middle school girls like this?

Or was Shizuko one of the more rebellious types?

‘Or maybe… it’s because she was a product.’

As I muttered that grim thought in my mind, the teacher stopped in front of the podium.

I stood beside her.

—Murmur, murmur.

At first, the room had fallen silent when the teacher entered.

But when they saw me, the murmuring started up again.

They weren’t openly talking, but their glances clearly showed their confusion—‘Who is that?’

Some even scoffed openly, looking dumbfounded.

And I—

Shizuko—

‘Yeah, I’m sure of it.’

Saw it clearly.

“Ahem, I know you all introduced yourselves during the morning assembly, but since one student was late due to health reasons, I’ll introduce her on her behalf.”

Mako-sensei, resting her hands on either side of the podium and slightly leaning forward, started speaking.

“Some of you might have been in the same class as her in first year, while others might not know her at all.”

Her tone, unlike that of most female teachers, was firm as she scanned the students.

In response, the group that had been the loudest up until now immediately fell silent.

From Shizuko’s memories, Mako-sensei was known as a strict but competent teacher, especially in student discipline.

‘Well, since she’s in her twenties, she probably got stuck with all the annoying tasks dumped on her by the senior teachers.’

And most likely, she had already grasped my situation to some extent.

The things Shizuko had been enduring in silence.

She probably hadn’t stepped in before because Shizuko never sought help and actively avoided counseling.

“This is Amamae Shizuko.

She fell seriously ill over the break, which is why her hair looks like this.

For now, even speaking is difficult for her.

So I ask that you all be understanding—”

“Teacher~”

“…Yuzurihara Miu, please wait until I finish speaking before asking questions.”

“I was just wondering exactly how difficult speaking is for her? As a friend, I’m worried~”

“Haa… Miu…”

Mako-sensei clearly had a lot to say but held back.

And then—

“…Shizuko?”

At that moment.

“Its okay~”

I stepped forward.

This was my chance.

—Murmur, murmur!

It was just a single word, saying I was fine.

But with my weird pronunciation, the class instantly erupted into chaos.

Among them, some students were covering their mouths, stifling laughter in a way that was clearly meant to mock me.

“…Pfft! W-what was that just now? Puhuh… Why does she talk like that…? Pfft.”

Yuzurihara Miu.

She was one of them.

—Step, step.

With my naturally short stride, I still walked forward, unhindered by the lack of pants restricting my legs.

Until—

“…Huh?”

I stopped right in front of Miu’s desk.

She was visibly startled.

And then, I spoke.

No.

I slammed it down.

In the cutest voice possible—

“You f*cking b*tch.”