Soon, the three of us walked to a nearby taekwondo dojang. White-uniformed students practiced sparring inside, many greeting the man warmly as "Coach Zhang" as we passed.

Zhang Ting wasted no words. He changed into his own dobok, a black belt wrapped around his waist striped with yellow tags. A staff member approached with a document: "Mr. Wu, sign this life-and-death waiver for the match."

*Seriously?* I thought. *Why do these people always demand life-and-death waivers? Is it really that formal?* At least my Stonehide Skin would protect me. Even if I lost, I probably wouldn’t die.

After signing, Zhang Ting didn’t rush to fight. He gave a nod. Moments later, a rectangular stone slab—about five centimeters thick—was placed on a table. Calm and focused, he let out a sharp shout, dropped his elbow, and shattered the slab like an egg.

"Brilliant!" The watching students cheered and clapped.

I stared at the broken pieces on the table and swallowed hard. No amateur—he possessed power and explosiveness far beyond street brawlers like Yuan Ba. Would my Stonehide Skin even hold?

Running was impossible now. Taekwondo students had already encircled us. Xu Wanrou’s voice rang out from the crowd: "Go, Wu Tong! Show these taekwondo losers the might of ancient Chinese martial arts!"

*Is she cheering me on or painting a target on my back?* Hostile glares from every direction confirmed they saw me as a challenger.

Truth was, I knew my own limits best. Though I’d mastered basic apprentice-level magic, flashy spells like Fireball or Ice Spike were out of the question in public. But Wind Blade? That might work. I activated Stonehide Skin first, then silently shaped a Wind Blade in my palm, waiting for his move.

Zhang Ting had been sizing me up too. Seeing my unsteady stance and thin frame—clearly no real fighter—he smirked inwardly. With a roar, he charged. A pro’s speed was terrifying; he closed the distance in a breath, his kick aimed straight at my face. Panicked, I flung the Wind Blade. Then—*crack!*—searing pain exploded across my face. My head buzzed. The force sent me rolling across the floor. Crimson liquid gushed from my nostrils.

*Why do they always go for the head first?!*

Strangely, Zhang Ting was also on his knees, clutching his groin, face slick with cold sweat. My stray Wind Blade had found its mark. Now we both lay incapacitated—me with a throbbing skull, him with crushed dignity. The referee declared a draw.

Zhang Ting was carried to the back for treatment. The Xu sisters helped me sit up. Xu Wanrou fretted over my bloodied face: "Jie, should we take him to the hospital?"

Xu Wanqing stayed calm, wiping my face with a tissue. "It’s just a nosebleed. Not that serious... Wait. What’s this? Has he been wearing a Skin Mask this whole time?"

That kick had knocked off my one-way glasses. I’d been hiding my face in pain, but up close, the disguise was obvious.

I scrambled to put the glasses back on—but too late. Xu Wanqing had already decided: "Wanrou, call a taxi. Take him to our house."

---

Fifteen minutes later, inside a luxury villa.

My nose had stopped bleeding. The headache lingered, but my mind was clear. The real problem loomed: they’d discovered my Skin Mask. How could I explain "face-swapping" to them—especially Xu Wanrou, my classmate?

Xu Wanrou rinsed the mask in the bathroom sink, then playfully tried it on. "Wow! It’s so lifelike! Wu Tong, where’d you get this?"

"M-My parents brought it back from abroad..." I stammered a lie.

She set the mask down, studying my real face with wide, admiring eyes. "Wu Tong... you’re actually a stunning girl! Two years as classmates, and I never knew! Why disguise yourself as a boy in high school?"

*How do I answer that? I’m not even a girl!* Revealing my magic life was out of the question. If this secret got out, my ordinary days would vanish.

As I scrambled for an excuse, Xu Wanqing spoke softly: "Everyone has secrets. Don’t push if they’re not ready to share."

*Truly a mature older sister.*

Xu Wanrou pouted but switched topics: "Your clothes are filthy from rolling around. Take a hot bath to ease the pain. I’ll find you fresh clothes."

Their three-story villa sat in an upscale neighborhood near our school—rumors of their wealth were no exaggeration. Their parents seemed absent, likely busy with work. The bathroom alone was larger than my living room, featuring a smart tub that auto-filled and regulated temperature. Soaking did ease the ache.

*Pity it’s too clean,* I mused. *No chance of finding... well, never mind.*

Humming happily in the tub, I nearly jumped out of my skin when the door swung open. Xu Wanrou stood there, laughing at my flustered attempt to cover myself. "We’re both girls! Relax! Here—wear these after your bath. Toss your old clothes in the washer."

The scare killed my relaxation. After she left, I dried off quickly. The "fresh clothes" made me pause. That lace-trimmed tee and blue-black pleated skirt... I’d seen Xu Wanrou wear this exact set during a street encounter.

*As a normal high school boy, cross-dressing is mortifying.* I reached for my dirty uniform—but my fingers brushed the skirt’s smooth fabric. A sudden, burning curiosity flared: *What would I look like in girls’ clothes now?*

Human progress thrives on curiosity. It drives us to explore the unknown, to step boldly into new eras. Thus, my curiosity about women’s clothing was only natural. The tee was easy—just pull it on. The skirt proved surprisingly simple: step in, zip the side.

The bathroom mirror reflected a freshly bathed beauty: damp, chin-length auburn hair; snow-pale skin; delicate features. Below the pleated skirt, slender legs gleamed smooth and straight. *I’ve only worn pants before...* I marveled at my own reflection, bending slightly—*would my legs taste as flawless as they look?*