In my first year on the job—first month, no less—I couldn’t possibly slick back my hair like a seasoned office veteran and strut around in a sharp suit. Back then, I didn’t even have a hint of stubble. I looked exactly like a college student. No wonder the doctor called me *boy*, not *man*.

I’d almost corrected him to “man,” but forcing the fix would’ve felt weird. So I let it slide.

…Still, it stung a little.

But none of that mattered. What *really* mattered was what happened to that boy—*my* body! I blurted the question out and stared at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

The doctor was still wrestling with the devastating puppy-dog gaze of a cute girl, too flustered to reply. Beside him, the nurse—sweet, blunt, and utterly genuine—jumped in first:

“He… oh dear… he was so unlucky. Took the full blast head-on… his whole body… *completely well-done*. *sobs*"

"..."

Your heart’s too honest… and your mouth’s too fast.

She wasn’t mocking me. She was genuinely naive. Right after speaking, tears welled and she wiped her eyes. I just tugged my lips into a strained, bitter smile.

Heh.

“Ahem. Mind your manners,” the doctor chided her gently, then turned to me. Two words: “My condolences.”

*Sigh.*

Not really about condolences—more like a flicker of hope snuffed out. Moments ago, I’d still clung to the fantasy: *Maybe I’m okay. Maybe I can go back.*

But now… heh. Didn’t the nurse say it? *Well-done.*

Fine. From now on, I’ll be Su Xiaoxi. Live her life. Honor her parents too.

Which reminded me—I leaned forward urgently: “Excuse me… how are *my* parents? The couple sitting right in front of me?”

The doctor hesitated. My heart dropped.

*No way…*

“I’m sorry. We did all we could,” he said after a pause. “Most passengers had no vital signs by the time they reached us. You’re a strong girl. Carry their hopes forward.”

I barely heard the rest. My mind echoed two words: *It’s over.*

Not grief. Just… Su Xiaoxi’s parents were gone too. The one way I could repay her—gone. So… what now?

Simple: I’d lost my purpose.

The doctor kept talking, seeming oddly eager to comfort this pure, cute girl who looked younger than her years. I nodded absently. Then he dropped the real bomb:

“Su Xiaoxi… the hospital tried contacting relatives about your bill. Not my choice—policy. But… we found none.”

My ears perked up.

“The main party responsible can’t pay. So… you’ll need to manage on your own.”

He smoothed his white coat. “I petitioned hard to waive part of your bill. Insurance covered some. Only a portion remains… but you’ll need to pay it later.”

My eyes widened. A spark of excitement flickered in my gaze.

“Ahem—I secured the longest payment extension. Don’t worry,” he soothed. “Take your time.”

He misunderstood my excitement. I wouldn’t explain.

Living alone? Never felt bitter. But *this*—*this* was the situation I, Su Xiaoxi, now faced:

No living funds. Tuition due. Self-support required. A hospital debt hanging over me.

What did it mean? *Work.*

What’s a life goal? *This* is a life goal!

I breathed in the antiseptic air—once, twice—and felt alive again.

“I understand. Give me time. I *will* repay it.”

The kind doctor blinked at the suddenly energized girl. Bewildered, but charmed. “Good mindset. Rest well—you’ll discharge soon.” He paused. “Your advisor hopes you’ll take next week’s finals. Her words: *Retake fees are pricey. Don’t skip.*”

“Mm!” I nodded firmly. “I’ll be back at school right after.”

University relationships were shallow anyway. If I seemed distant? No one would care. If questioned? “Hit my head. Bit forgetful.”

…Except I forgot: that logic came from my *past* self—a guy. Now? As a girl? Social dynamics were *very* different.

Three days later, discharged. After thanking the doctor and nurse, I walked out with the original owner’s sole possession: the plain short dress on my body.

(Do white thigh-highs and standard-issue Mary Janes count? Nah. Too cheap.)

“First: school. Finish the term, ace finals. Then hunt for light part-time work.”

Su Xiaoxi’s frame was delicate—petite, soft. No heavy labor. But I had street smarts. Finding cute-girl-friendly summer gigs? Doable.

Streamer? Tempting… but murky waters, high startup cost. Worse: streaming drains your body and future. So many pour their prime years into the lens, then wake up skill-less.

I won’t waste Su Xiaoxi’s body. Or my future. Guest cameo? Maybe. Full-time streamer? Never.

Saturday morning breeze kissed my face. Mary Janes tapped lightly on the pavement.

My second life had begun.