Chapter 112: I can’t be by your side.

The wind stroked her hair as though showing it off, the strands soft and pleasant to the touch.

The pale ash-gray fluttered, catching the sunlight and mimicking silver.

A shining halo—like an angel’s—made one imagine wings sprouting from her back.

Her beauty was already god-crafted to begin with, so of course it was only natural.

Yet the mere fact that she now wanted to appear beautiful for someone specific had changed her this much.

Under Marlin’s hands, Violet now shone brighter than before—still the same, yet somehow entirely different.

There had been no dramatic transformation.

She had simply—properly—polished the rough gemstone within herself.

Not cut into some idealized shape, but merely refined on the surface.

Even so, a person who had come to know love became beautiful.

（It smells so nice……）

Violet brought her own hair close and inhaled.

She remembered yesterday’s Marlin.

The sheer volume of hair oils she had somehow collected—enough to make one wonder where she had kept them all.

Not just skin care, but unfamiliar bath salts too, an astonishing array.

Together they had chosen this oil: a vibrant jasmine scent.

Not overpowering, yet it lingered like the fresh fragrance of living flowers.

At breakfast, Mary June had complimented it—only for their father to launch into an incomprehensible lecture about bringing perfume to the table.

The bright mood she had finally managed to cultivate had been marred by ripples.

She hadn’t even worn perfume.

（The texture is completely different too…… and my cheeks feel less dry.）

The hair now slid through her fingers like smooth silk—an endlessly pleasant sensation.

She couldn’t stop touching it.

Again and again she ran her fingers through, marveling that it no longer tangled.

Her cheeks too felt somehow more hydrated.

When she had looked in the mirror this morning, her complexion was still pale as ever, yet the shadows and dullness that once accentuated her unwell appearance seemed to have lessened.

She had never deliberately neglected her care before.

Yet paying proper attention could bring about this much change?

Of course, after only a single day the difference was subtle—perhaps even imagined.

But maybe that shift in feeling was what truly mattered.

“Violet-chan?”

“……!”

“Good morning. It’s unusual to see you on the first-year floor.”

The moment he noticed her, Yuran trotted over with small, quick steps.

Violet’s heart gave a tiny leap.

He was simply standing there, smiling with his usual sunny friendliness—yet the tension that gripped her came from the guilty conscience that had taken root inside her.

“Something wrong? If you’re looking for someone, I can come with you.”

“Thank you. But no…… it’s not like that. I didn’t have any particular business.”

Violet mumbled, gaze wavering awkwardly.

In Yuran’s mind, several less-than-pleasant scenarios immediately unfolded.

Had something happened at home?

The mere thought made hatred settle like sediment in his chest.

Yet the eyes he fixed on her showed only gentle concern—nothing more.

Her fingers fidgeted restlessly.

Her gaze remained angled downward.

The usual pallor of her cheeks had given way to a healthier flush; the slight droop at the corners of her brows lent her an air of helplessness.

The cool, composed distance she normally carried had vanished.

“……I was just thinking…… maybe I could see Yuran.”

“…………”

His round eyes widened even further.

A glossy sheen slid across the curve of his irises.

In the golden glass reflected Violet’s anxious expression.

Wanting to see the person she liked—such a feeling was beyond innocent; it felt almost childish.

Like a small child longing for a toy or a sweet—pure, unadorned desire.

Yet coming from Violet and Yuran, who had only just begun climbing the stairs into adulthood, it was unmistakably desire as well.

To wish.

To expect.

To impose something beyond one’s own control onto another person.

Would it become too heavy? Would it make movement difficult?

Would it steal precious time or actions?

She could no longer let her heart race on good will alone—because she could not accept the greed and ulterior motives that came tangled with love.

Even so—her feet had carried her here.

Was it because the heart that restrained her was weak?

Or because the strength of her feelings was powerful enough to ignore everything else?

For Violet, love had always meant both—and neither was wrong.

And she herself had inherited those qualities to a nauseating degree.

It frightened her.

Had she misjudged the boundary?

Had she crossed the line between what was permissible and what was intrusive?

Was the desire she now harbored, the action she had taken, truly harmless to anyone?

Was it still within the realm of normal, of ordinary?

“——I’m really, really happy.”

A voice sweet and fluffy—like cotton candy.

Softer and gentler than his usual bright, soothing tone, yet it piled heavily against her chest.

Light yet weighty.

Sweet yet rich.

Surely even the warmth of a hand could not melt it.

The one it had been poured into felt as though she herself might dissolve into syrup.

“I want to see you too. Always. All the time.”

His cheeks flushed red as he gave a soft, melting smile.

Childlike softness in the expression—yet the contours of his face remained sharp and defined.

They had known each other since childhood.

They had grown up together.

At some point his height had caught up to hers and begun to surpass it; she had found herself looking up at him.

The voice that had once been higher than hers had gradually deepened, roughened.

She had witnessed every change—every single one.

Yet through the gaps in his long lashes, the honey-gold color seemed to rise like fragrance.

Sweet. Heavy. Rich.

A single slow-dripping drop far, far more intoxicating than cotton candy.

“But we should head back soon, right? I wish I’d come a little earlier.”

“Yes…… we need to be back before the bell.”

“Violet-chan, what about lunch today? Do you have plans with someone?”

“Yes, with friends…… but after school is the same as always.”

“Then I’ll come pick you up at the classroom after classes.”

On the gradually emptying corridor, he waved cheerfully.

He insisted on seeing her off, and she turned her back to him.

At the corner—out of his line of sight—she stopped.

She pressed herself against the wall until her shoulder touched it.

Corner. Edge.

If she bowed her head, she could easily shut out the outside world—a simple, makeshift solitary space.

When she placed a hand against her cheek, the skin—now silky thanks to Marlin—clung softly.

Until moments ago she had been delighted, moved by the sensation.

Now, however, she was simply bewildered by the unfamiliar heat flooding her body.

She didn’t want to cry—yet the backs of her eyes burned.

She wasn’t sweating—yet her temperature kept rising.

Surely right now her cheeks were a brilliant apple-red.

——Violet had always believed her true nature was masculine.

Not because of her appearance, speech, or personality.

It was a conclusion she had drawn arbitrarily from the environment in which she was raised.

Whatever the objective truth, it was a fact that her mother had perceived Violet as male.

Regardless of biological sex or self-identification—during the time Bellrose was alive, Violet had been treated as a “boy.”

The most crucial period for forming self-awareness had been spent being raised as a boy.

That could never be undone.

Thanks to Marlin, she had come to understand the mechanics of a female body.

Growth had forced her to acknowledge that she was female.

Yet the lack of knowledge and the discrepancies born of environment were undeniable.

The imprint of being male.

A gender twisted by denial and coercion—forever warped.

Why was she female?

Why couldn’t she be male?

What exactly was so different between her true self and the Violet her mother had desired?

For so long that conviction had existed unbroken.

Now it shattered with startling ease.

Something small and soft.

Bones and muscles and vocal cords that should have been similar.

She had once thought she must protect the frail-limbed boy she looked down upon.

He had fit perfectly in her arms—whether she stroked his head or embraced him.

Yet now the bony hands, the joints a full size larger than hers, the low voice, the strong grip.

Her hands could no longer reach his head to pat it.

Her arms and back were no longer enough to envelop him.

Now it was Violet who fit entirely within his embrace.

Yuran was male.

He had long since left boyhood behind and become a man.

She had known that—had known it for ages.

（……No.）

What she hadn’t understood was that she herself was female.

That—as a woman—she loved Yuran.

“……!!”

She clapped both hands over her face to muffle the soundless scream rising in her throat.

If she shouted here, people would undoubtedly think her mad.

She could already see the enormous worry it would cause Yuran.

Even so—the unbearable shame and rationality racing through her body made her want to burrow into the ground right now.

She had realized she was in love.

She had come to know desire.

She wanted to monopolize him.

Wanted to stay by his side.

Wanted to see him.

Wanted—more and more—to get closer.

（What am I…… thinking such perverted things……!）

Wanting to be near him.

Wanting to approach him.

Wanting to touch him—

Wanting him to touch her.