I had a very, very long dream.

In that dream world, there was no conflict, no suspicion. Family love and friendship bloomed like flowers on the other shore.

I dreamed of another version of myself.

She wore a simple white dress, bare little feet brushing the grass. On an endless plain, she closed her eyes in prayer toward the faint morning glow.

I heard her ethereal, clear singing voice—

“The world’s fading song sings of our journey to the end.”

“In that fleeting moment, I met you—reborn in life’s light.”

“O distant homeland… may I walk with you?”

“…”

Through the dawn light ahead of her, I glimpsed a faraway future.

Curiosity and confusion pulled me forward: “Excuse me…”

What left my lips was a gentle, clean female voice.

“Theresia.”

The girl turned, backlit by the sunrise. Her face was identical to mine.

“I hope you find your own heartfelt wish…”

“…”

I woke to my phone vibrating.

Just like any other day, the alarm did its job faithfully.

Groggy, I sat up, silenced it, lowered my little head, and glanced at my body in a plain nightgown.

Days of exercise had melted much of the softness around my abdomen. No visible abs yet, but the muscles felt noticeably firmer than before hospitalization.

Last night’s messy sleep left my shoulder-length hair scattered across my shoulders, tickling softly.

My slender legs unconsciously settled into an M-shaped posture. The soft sheet pressed gently beneath my thighs—a strangely cozy feeling.

A faint lavender body lotion scent lingered around my tidy little bed.

“Mmm…”

A tiny yawn escaped. Finally awake, I stretched lazily on the mattress.

Another strange dream.

Bare little feet touched the cool floorboards. I slipped on slippers and shuffled to the sink.

Glancing at my messy reflection, I stuck out my little tongue and smoothed my bangs.

New day. Let’s go.

Ponytail tied, underwear on, sportswear zipped—I stepped out of the dorm.

Outside: a hushed morning, just like the dream.

Faint light shimmered along the distant horizon.

Happiness… what is it?

At the campus sports field, I began my usual warm-up.

I am Bi Xin Xue, an ordinary 17-year-old college student.

Once vain, starved for family attention, friendless—I spiraled. Took an online loan for the latest smartphone. When the debt swelled to nearly 20,000 yuan, I jumped into a river, seeking escape.

Waking in the hospital, a soul from another world now lived within me.

Confused at first by the gender shift, he soon rallied—accepted my memories, embraced this new self.

Our fates intertwined.

I no longer wonder, “Who am I, really?”

Jogging under the morning sun, I felt that uniquely feminine sway.

Tonight, I’ll stop by the lingerie shop for a proper sports bra. Letting these two little troublemakers bounce freely while running? Not ideal.

Dad’s 1,000 yuan covers next month’s payment. A few weekend gigs for five or six hundred more? Easy.

With urgency eased, smaller things matter—like new clothes.

Yes, a fuller chest is lovely—certain otaku adore it. But too large brings awkwardness: sag without care.

Especially for daily exercisers. Regular bras won’t hold. Without a good sports bra shaping them, these two little bunnies bouncing daily might lose their form.

Though… thanks to great genes, their shape has stayed beautifully perfect since they bloomed.

*After class, head straight to Sixth People’s Hospital to cook for Grandpa. Mom should be back by then.*

Wiping sweat on the fieldside bench, I whispered inwardly.

Tuesdays and Wednesdays: packed schedules for Software Tech Class 2.

Teachers used to say, “College is all play!” or “Work hard now—college is easy!”

Naive middle schoolers believed it: skip classes, grab certificates freely.

They don’t know real college life.

Sometimes harder than high school—and the exhaustion runs deeper than physical.

“Xiao Xue, who’s your client today?”

Back in the dorm after classes, Chen Xiaorui watched me change into the Kurumi Tokisaki cosplay outfit—dinner forgotten—and tilted her head. “Is that… the legendary Japanese schoolgirl uniform?”

“Just a standard academy uniform.”

Pulling on black pantyhose over the skirt, I teased, “Did *you* get a gig today, Xiao Rui?”

“Nope! Deleted my account. Too risky.”

She made a sour face. “Smile for creepy clients for sixty yuan? I’d rather argue with my boyfriend.”

“Ahaha, finally appreciating him?”

I rolled the pantyhose up, slipped my feet in. “So tonight’s with him?”

“Nah. Qing said he needs quiet time.”

“What happened?”

“He hoarded RTX 2080 cards… then RTX 3080 dropped prices. Lost money, I guess?”

Chen Xiaorui shrugged. “I don’t get hardware.”

“A CS student who doesn’t know computers?!”

“Hey—graphics cards are hardware! We do software. Knowing how to install one is plenty.”

She pulled her desk chair close. “Seriously, Xiao Xue—avoid gigs with creepy old guys. Short on cash? Tell me. We’re besties, right?”

“Mm. I will.”

Standing, I smoothed the pantyhose snug from ankle to waist, then adjusted the skirt. “Mostly practicing social skills.”

This Kurumi Tokisaki uniform fits the season perfectly: crisp shirt, long-sleeved blazer, short skirt, pantyhose—ideal for the crisp air.

Only the matching schoolgirl leather shoes feel odd.

A gift from Wang Lei. Cuter than my high school pair. Not for running. The chunky heel clicks *clack-clack-clack* with each step, tilting my feet slightly—like mini heels.

“Off I go!”

“Stay safe, dear~”

“So cheesy.”

“Learned it from you. Nya~”

Outside campus, I hailed a taxi to Sixth People’s Hospital, ducked into the alleyway, and reached Liaojia Village.

“Pork ribs?”

“Sweet potato leaves?”

The evening market buzzed. In my short skirt and black pantyhose, heads turned—nearly 100%.

“See that girl who passed? So cute!”

Lately, my hearing sharpened strangely.

Whispers clearly beyond normal range reached me crystal clear.

“The one in black pantyhose?”

“Yeah! That figure—wow.”

“Not local… some young miss passing through?”

I silently reminded myself:

*Get used to it, Bi Xin Xue. You must.*

Unlike casual wear, this uniform subtly cinches the waist.

It highlights curves—especially a fuller chest.

“Mom, at the hospital?”

Ignoring stares, I called after leaving the market.

“Yes. I bought ribs. Cooking for Grandpa now.”

“Think I can’t cook? Mom, relax—I guarantee it’s edible.”

“Be there in thirty.”

“Tch. Doubting my skills…”

Cheeks puffed, I returned to Grandma’s rental with ingredients.

Original Bi Xin Xue couldn’t cook. But *I* can.

Post-graduation, I haggled for cheap groceries, learned recipes online—nearly three years of kitchen grit.

Cooking isn’t muscle memory. Steps, seasonings, timing—I remember them all.

Marinate ribs. Prep veggies. Wash, trim, stir-fry…

Thirty minutes later, containers of sweet and sour pork ribs and stir-fried sweet potato leaves in hand, I arrived at the hospital.

Mom directed me to the park near the ward—Grandpa could walk now.

“Xiao Xue! Over here!”

By the lakeside pavilion, Grandpa stood energetically beside the fountain with Mom, Dad, and Grandma, phone raised, waving me close.

“Come! Grandpa’s feeling better—let’s take a family photo.”