"Looks like I've grown a bit taller again." Before the full-length mirror, the golden-haired girl tiptoed against the wall, tracing the red line marked with paint to measure her height.

Indeed, she’d grown noticeably since just a few days ago—a change obvious enough that she didn’t even need the red line to confirm it.

The most noticeable growth, however, was undeniably the pair of dazzling "headlights" on her chest. For Tilisha, they’d become the most intuitive gauge of her development: if they felt fuller to the touch than last time, her height surely followed suit.

"I really wish I could grow up faster," Tilisha murmured to the mirror, gazing at the pink-cheeked loli reflection before slapping her own cheeks lightly.

*What nonsense am I spouting? Acting like a real little girl now—am I getting too into character?*

The radiant figure in the mirror shimmered under sunlight, her golden hair gleaming like stardust.

In truth, Dilin had accepted his gender and racial transformation so readily largely because he saw Tilisha as his ward. Having witnessed the elf girl’s daily growth firsthand, Dilin felt deeply moved—as if he were a father watching his tender sapling blossom under his care.

*Tilisha wondered what earth-shattering changes would come with her Divine Maiden Transformation. The thought sparked unexpected anticipation.*

These days, aside from mandatory Divine Child classes, Tilisha devoted most of her time to Divine Maiden training. Today was no exception.

Casting Divine Analysis on her reflection, she checked her status panel: only two weeks remained until her Divine Maiden Transformation.

Half the month had vanished. The Freshman Crown Cup loomed equally close.

Worry gnawed at her—the timing overlapped dangerously. Her transformation would barely finish before the tournament began.

Every Divine Maiden experienced this only once in her lifetime. Even "purebred" Maidens, let alone half-bloods like Tilisha, entered a "suppression phase" a week before transformation.

Her body’s accelerated changes would destabilize her mental state. This period of energy accumulation often triggered extreme mood swings—raging fury or crushing depression.

Tilisha knew the transformation itself required no ritual or time; it was a natural culmination. Yet her heart fluttered anxiously. Unaware this mirrored prenatal depression, her judgment clouded with baseless fears.

She tamped down the unease and began grooming.

Hair care, noble etiquette, makeup, even baking tea cakes—every skill was etched into her muscle memory since rebirth. Worse, this body harbored severe OCD and germaphobia. Before stepping out, every strand of hair must lie perfectly symmetrical, every garment immaculate. Skipping a single step made her skin crawl as if ten thousand ants marched beneath it. Only after returning home to redo her appearance would she dare leave again.

Even drinking water demanded ladylike precision: legs crossed, cup cradled like fine porcelain, sips dainty as tasting rare tea.

Dilin had never fussed over cups—wooden or porcelain—he’d always gulped water straight from the vessel. To him, thirst was thirst; efficiency trumped elegance.

When Tilisha tried gulping in this body, she choked violently.

Stuffing her fraying notebook and worn ink pen into a leather satchel, Tilisha left her dorm.

*Divine Maiden Academy today.*

Frankly, she dreaded playing tutor to those spoiled heirs. But she’d hit comprehension walls and needed cramming sessions with teachers.

*And... today would be no different.*

Reaching her seat, Tilisha’s expression stayed blank as she yanked out hidden needles, dumped prank items from her desk into the trash, and wiped away ink-scrawled greetings like "Ugly Duckling," "Freak," and "Air-Polluting Trash."

Seats weren’t fixed before class assignments, yet Tilisha always chose the front-right spot—a habit her classmates exploited ruthlessly.

After confirming her routine, they escalated from dead insects in her desk to thumbtacks on her chair and cruel graffiti. Perpetrators snickered in shadows; bystanders waited eagerly for the golden-haired "ugly duckling" to crack.

Their disappointment grew. Tilisha never reacted. Her ritual of wiping the seat with a damp cloth foiled the thumbtacks. Insults were erased without a flicker of emotion.

Bullies and spectators alike found her indifference boring. Where was the fun in tormenting a doll that never flinched?

In the back row, Aerin clenched her skirt beneath the desk, knuckles white.