Ren entered the building, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. The girls’ dormitory was even more imposing than he had imagined. The structure of the place was impeccable, with luxurious details in every corner. The white and gold walls reflected a soft light, creating a sense of coldness and distance. A perfect place for a lie, Ren thought, feeling a lump form in his throat as he observed the surroundings.


    When he reached the entrance of the dormitory, a dark wooden door opened smoothly, revealing a refined-looking woman. She was dressed in an immaculate uniform, consisting of a modest skirt and blouse, and her black hair, cut elegantly to her shoulders, added to her sophisticated appearance. Her deep green eyes resembled emeralds shining under the soft hall light.


    She looked at Ren with a courteous expression, but her eyes seemed to analyze his every movement. She gave a small smile—professional rather than warm—and bowed slightly in greeting.


    "Welcome," the woman spoke with a voice that was both gentle and firm, echoing softly in the empty corridor. "May I have your full name and class, miss, so I can provide you with the necessary information?"


    Despite the woman’s politeness, Ren felt his stomach churn again. He took a deep breath, trying to stay calm, but being addressed as "miss" still stung deeply. He didn’t want to be Yuki, but he was forced to be. It was impossible to ignore how his identity was being manipulated, forced into a frame that wasn’t his own.


    "Yuki Amagiri," he said, trying to steady his voice, which came out weaker than he intended. "Class... A-7."


    The woman quickly jotted down the information on a clipboard, her expression appearing almost approving as she looked back at Ren.


    "Perfect. Your dormitory will be ready shortly. Feel free to settle in. There will be dinner later; don’t miss it." She paused briefly, observing Ren attentively. "If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me."


    Ren couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew more than she was letting on. There was something in her gaze—a way of looking that seemed to dig into his emotions without directly saying anything. He nodded, trying to mask his discomfort.


    The woman walked away with a calm elegance, leaving Ren alone in the corridor, once again facing the reality of being someone he wasn’t supposed to be. He took a deep breath, forcing himself not to look back, and stepped forward.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    The path ahead was far from easy, but he knew he had no choice. He would have to endure. Hide behind the mask until he no longer knew where the lie began and the truth ended.


    Ren stepped away from the door, still holding his suitcase, and made his way to the reception area of the girls’ dormitory. The room was decorated with the same luxury as the rest of the building, but something about the opulence only heightened his sense of discomfort. The polished marble floor reflected his figure, a sight he wanted to avoid. It wasn’t as if he was there by choice, and every step felt like a heavier weight on his shoulders.


    At the reception desk, a middle-aged woman, elegant with her hair tied in a perfect bun and wearing golden-rimmed glasses, looked at him with a distant and professional expression.


    "Miss Yuki Amagiri, correct? How may I assist you?" Her voice was clear and emotionless, as if she were merely fulfilling a duty.


    Already tired of being addressed as "miss," Ren forced a smile, hiding his frustration. He approached the desk and, without much effort, said:


    "I need the uniform... for class A-7."


    The receptionist nodded and, without another word, pulled out a form from the desk. She glanced at Ren with calculating eyes, as if seeing more than he wanted to reveal. She paused briefly before speaking, her tone as cold as before:


    "I’ll need your measurements. Can you provide your height, weight, and the measurements of your bust, waist, and hips?"


    Ren swallowed hard, his hand tightening around the handle of his suitcase. Even though it was a simple procedure, her words seemed to echo in a way that made him feel small. It was another reminder of how lost he was and how forced and surreal everything around him felt.


    "1.58 meters. Weight... 45 kilograms," he murmured, the words leaving his mouth like they were pushed out by a tide of discomfort. "Bust... 75 centimeters. Waist, 58. Hips... 80."


    The receptionist quickly noted everything down, not even glancing at Ren as she worked, as if it were an automatic process. When she finished, she stood up with calm elegance and walked over to one of the large wardrobes that lined an entire wall of the office.


    Ren watched the enormous wardrobe, filled with clothes organized with precision in soft shades of pink, white, and lavender—colors that felt far removed from anything he wanted. He bit his lip, tension growing within him. He didn’t want to see the clothes. He didn’t want to be forced to wear any of it. But he knew there was no alternative.


    The receptionist opened one of the compartments and removed a white uniform with short sleeves, accompanied by a white skirt striped with thin black lines that reached the knees. The top was a simple white blouse with a red bow delicately tied at the collar. It was an immaculate uniform, but its feminine aesthetic and the expectation of wearing it made Ren feel even more disconnected from himself.


    She handed the uniform to him with the same blank expression as before.


    "This will be your uniform, Miss Amagiri," she said mechanically, her eyes now fixed on Ren. "Your dormitory is ready. Once you change, you may join the other students in the dining hall for dinner."


    Ren took the uniform, the feeling of revulsion growing stronger. The light fabric rested in his hands, and he couldn’t avoid thinking that it was the final piece of his identity being stripped away. He was being forced to live as a stranger, and it disturbed him deeply.


    "Thank you," he managed to say, his voice quieter than he intended.


    He walked away from the receptionist, feeling her gaze on his back, but he didn’t look behind him. When the door closed behind him, he took a few more steps down the corridor, the weight of the uniform in his hands adding to his sense of suffocation. He was so far from who he was, so distant from anything he could call his own. All that remained was to keep moving forward.