“C’mon, put it on,” a playful voice snapped like a towel in warm air.

“Stop! Do you want everyone to find out?” Panic prickled like ice on bare skin.

“So what? Didn’t we agree to tell them?” Her laugh fluttered like a paper fan.

“B-but telling them like this, don’t you think…” Her words tangled like seaweed.

“Relax. You change, I’ll strip.” Mischief glinted like sunlight on ripples.

“Kyaaa!” The cry popped like a bubble in a hot spring.

From the locker room, suggestive sounds drifted out like steam, making the women trading clothes glance at each other like startled sparrows.

They didn’t overthink it; locker rooms bred pranks like ivy, and a teasing touch didn’t set fires.

That idea had soaked in long ago, like dye sinking into silk.

By the pool in the amusement park, the girls who’d changed waited for the latecomers like cranes by a pond.

They lounged under parasols, sipping cold drinks, boredom settling like dust in shade.

Earlier, Mai had promised a surprise, something about Yun Shi, a seed tossed into still water.

No one knew what she meant, yet they trusted her, like sailors trusting a lighthouse in fog.

“Big, earth-shaking news,” she’d said, her voice tossing sparks like fireflies. “You’ll be shocked.”

Sham fanned the flames from the side, her smile a locked box, which stoked their curiosity like wind feeding a flame.

A wild idea rose like a storm front: did Yun Shi carry a sky-splitting secret?

Could it be… Yunshi Bianqi—

A tragic tale bloomed like night-blooming flowers: sold as a child, lonely as a stray cat, wandering unknown roads to find his family.

One day he’d find them, the story said, like a river finding the sea; and that person would be one of them.

Oh, what a thunderclap of a secret, rolling across open skies.

So one of us is Yun Shi’s family, they thought, hearts fluttering like moths at a lantern.

Could it be Mizuki? She had a sister, and never once mentioned a lost brother, her past as clean as new snow.

What about Yan Er? An only child, her branches single as a solitary pine.

Then… the rich girl seemed most likely, like a koi in a lord’s pond—those families always had a chance of “what if,” like a shadow child outside the gate. Somewhere, her father would be sobbing in a bathroom stall.

It was melodrama, but the rich girl swore dramas said so, her eyes shining like a TV screen.

They huddled and whispered, a flock of sparrows pecking ideas into shape, and reached that wild conclusion.

“We’ll help you get recognized,” they vowed, hands like clasped bridges. (Sham, bewildered, floated like a lost leaf.)

“You got this,” someone urged, a pat like a drumbeat.

“Go on. Claim your kin,” another said, wind at her back.

“Thank you, everyone. I’ll treat Yun Shi right,” the rich girl promised, heart bright as a ribbon.

Girls… you’ve got it wrong, the sky seemed to sigh.

“Thanks for waiting, everyone!” Mai’s lively voice rang out, a bell over water.

Heads turned like sunflowers, and they saw—

Yunshi Bianqi, the maybe-not-a-boy, wrapped in a towel like mist, blushing red as a maple leaf.

He—no, she—held the towel in a fidgety grip, fingers fluttering like moths.

Smooth, pale thighs flashed like moonlit porcelain; a few throats bobbed like fishing floats.

“So, everyone—don’t you want to know Yun Shi’s gender?” Mai sang, mischief bright as a comet.

…

Thirty seconds stretched like a dry season.

Even the air winced, shrinking like a startled cat.

The mood went speechless, a stone dropped in a well.

Yun Shi, meanwhile, wanted to sink into the tiles like rain.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Mizuki asked, confusion clouding like breath on glass.

Mai’s grin tilted sharp as a fox’s; she reached out and yanked the towel with a crisp snap.

“Eek!” Yun Shi clutched her chest like a startled bird, but it was too late; silk-smooth skin kissed the air like dew.

Everyone froze, their gazes fixed like arrows on the girl before them.

A pink skirted swimsuit fluttered like petals; pale thighs gleamed like milk; a flat belly rose to snow-white skin.

At her chest, the slightest curve tipped up like a whispered secret, shy and dangerously sweet as ripe fruit.

With her bashful look, the scene burned like fire in a paper lantern.

“Yun Shi, what are you wearing!” Yan Er burst first, her finger a spear of lightning.

Shame washed over Yun Shi like a tide; she wished she’d never agreed, wished she’d stayed a pretty boy carved from calm marble.

“Ha-ha—Little Yun isn’t dressed weird,” Sham said, laughter bubbling like a spring. “That’s her usual look.”

“What do you mean, Sham?” the rich girl asked, curiosity crouching like a cat.

“Um… I… have a secret,” Yun Shi murmured, voice soft as moss. This time it was her real voice, not the lowered mask.

The air stilled again, a lake under winter glass.

Yan Er, the rich girl, and Mizuki stared, stunned like statues, words stuck like thorns.

That… was a girl’s voice.

“Ahem. I’ll spell it out,” Mai said, her tone steady as a bridge. “Yun Shi isn’t a cross-dressing boy. If we’re being exact, her body is female.”

“Put simply,” Sham added, like a judge’s gavel, “biologically, Little Yun is a girl. Not a boy.”

Silence dropped again, a curtain heavy as rain.

“Wha—wha—wha—wha!” Shock cracked like thunder over open fields.

What was this whirlwind!

“So… Yun Shi is… a girl?!” the rich girl stammered, finger trembling like a reed in wind.

Anyone would be the same: the “boy” you hung out with, soft as a peach but still a boy, suddenly says, I’m a girl. The ground tilts like a boat in rough water.

“Yun—Yun’s a girl?!”

“No freaking way! I never noticed!” Voices popped like kernels in hot oil.

Under those stares, Yun Shi’s nerves frayed like wet paper. She inched back, retreating like a crab from a wave.

“For certain reasons… I’ve been dressing as a boy,” she murmured, the words small as falling ash. “It’s not… a big deal…”

It is a huge deal, girl, the sun seemed to blink.

“Hey now, don’t look at her like that,” Mai joked, smile soft as cotton. “You can’t accept it just because she’s a girl?”

“That’s impossible. I’m not saying I can’t accept it!”

“Yeah, no matter what Yun Shi is, she’s our friend!”

“Um, Yun Shi—no, Yun Shi-chan—in truth, you’re my long-lost sister, right?” the rich girl blurted, drama sparkling like confetti.

“Anyway, Little Yun told you because she trusts you,” Sham said, voice warm as tea. “So don’t treat her rough.”

“Mm! We won’t.”

“I’ll help keep the secret! Ah… this is how it goes on TV, right…” Their promises fell like petals, soft and sure.

Their understanding loosened something in Yun Shi; gratitude welled like spring water.

Maybe telling them was the right choice, a door opening like dawn.

She’d been scared, but there was no need; fear melted like frost in sunlight.

Mai was right—she had to face it; if not for Mai’s insistence, she’d still be a paper-thin illusion.

They’d accepted her. No need to hide.

Say it.

“Thank you. Having friends like you… I’m really, really happy.” Her smile trembled like a new leaf, and still she managed the whole sentence.

They stared, startled, because Yun Shi had never spoken like that, their thoughts glitching like a skipped record.

Suddenly, Mizuki remembered something; her eyes widened like a door blown open by wind.

“You’re—” The voice in her head and the voice before her matched like two mirrors.

“Mm. Mizuki, go,” Sham whispered, a gentle push like a breeze at her back.

Ignoring the others, Mizuki walked forward, each step a ripple toward the moon.

“Ye—” The name rose like a bird, but a slender finger pressed to her lips, light as a feather.

Yun Shi shook her head, uneasy, eyes pleading like dusk light. Don’t say it.

But Mizuki knew. She knew it like rain knows the earth.

It was her. No mistake.

“Idiot,” Yun Shi breathed, warmth sliding like honey. “Only now you figure it out.”

Mizuki hadn’t chased the wrong star.

Her love was here, bright as lantern-fire.

She reached to pull her close, tenderness unfurling like a silk fan.

“Yun—”

“Eek!”

Splash!

Before the hug could bloom, Yun Shi’s foot slipped like a fish, and she pitched into the water headfirst.

“Glub—glub—gah!” She flailed in the pool, limbs paddling like windmill blades, a small head and arm popping up like bobbing corks.

“Drowning?!” Mizuki gasped, and dove, a silver arrow cutting the blue.

Underwater wasn’t a painting; it was blur and sting, green light smearing like watercolor.

Yet through the wavering shadows, she saw the silhouette she longed for, a lighthouse beneath waves.

Yun Shi smiled, reached out a hand, and fate settled into Mizuki’s palm like a caught bird.