After being dressed in the slip, silence once again descended before Gō.

But it was broken almost immediately.

Katun, katun.

A thin, high heel sound carved into the floor, tearing through the quiet.

“…Sorry to keep you waiting♡”

Sara entered with a beaming smile, pushing a wagon inside.

Claire remained seated on the sofa, resting her cheek on her hand as she watched the scene unfold with composed elegance.

“You’re late, Sara. This is his ‘first uniform.’ Handle it with more care.”

“Fufu, sorry, Claire. But it was just too cute, it took me a while to fold it properly.”

On the wagon lay a full uniform set, folded with meticulous care.

A pleated skirt in a pale pink and gray check pattern.

Each crease was aligned with mechanical precision, giving off the solemn beauty of ceremonial attire.

The length was slightly short, a dangerous balance that could easily reveal the outline of underwear, with a fragility that made it feel as though a single bend would expose what lay beneath.

Layered above it was a white blouse trimmed with delicate lace.

The rounded collar was adorned with modest cherry blossom embroidery and a glossy ribbon swayed at the neckline.

On the lower shelf of the wagon were beige pantyhose and strap shoes decorated with small ribbons.

The pantyhose were woven from glossy fibers designed to vividly accentuate the line of the legs, not to present a ‘girl,’ but to present a ‘woman.’

None of it attempted to hide that it was attire made for late teens and without explanation it was made clear that all of it constituted this facility’s official uniform.

Every piece was a restraint disguised under the name of ‘cuteness.’

An inescapable cage called a uniform was silently presented before Gō.

Gō’s throat gave a faint sound.

‘This is… what I’ll be made to wear from now on, to live as a woman. And it’s meant to be shown… the skirt, the legs, the chest… there’s no place for a man anywhere. If I wear this… I’ll be subjected to men’s gazes. They’ll look inside the skirt, at the line of my legs, at the skin beneath those pantyhose. Licked by their eyes, sniffed out. So this is what it means to be visually violated.’

“All sizes have been adjusted. Within the facility, you will wear this uniform properly every morning.”

The one who said this was the supervising woman, reaching out while aligning the hem of the skirt without the slightest deviation.

Her voice was calm, yet carried a clarity that allowed no ambiguity, assuming obedience as a given.

Even her gaze, though softened on the surface, concealed the will of a system that permitted no resistance.

Gō could not find words and could only stare at the uniform.

“Fufu. So the innerwear is finally done.”

Claire smiled faintly from the sofa.

“At last, the beginning of the ‘real you.’ A face meant to be shown to the outside world. Clothing meant to be seen as a woman. This uniform is not something you ‘wear,’ it is something you ‘show.’ And it is the frame that defines your existence as ‘female.’ The sway of the skirt, the sheen of the ribbon, the translucence of skin. All of it is an apparatus designed to make you look cute. I am dressing your body in an expression worthy of my work. This uniform is a framework that presses you into the ‘female mold.’ It is clothing and at the same time, it defines your sex. No matter how much you deny it, this form will make you look like a ‘girl.’”

Those words pierced Gō’s body, which trembled quietly beneath the slip.

‘It’s over. From beneath the skin to above the fabric, everything needed to make me a woman is already in place.’

Because each piece of the uniform was beautiful, it carved deeper and sharper into Gō’s shame and humiliation.

‘I’ll wear this… and be seen by someone. Exposed to someone’s gaze. My legs, my chest, crawled over by men’s eyes… Once I’m dressed in this, there’s no escape. This uniform isn’t just clothing. It locks me into a cage of femininity. Cute, unbreakable, perfect. Why… why am I the one wearing something this cute...’

He wanted to scream, but he could not anymore.

Before words could form, his body began to accept it.

There was nowhere to run.

The more he resisted, the deeper the shape of ‘woman’ sank into his body.

The form of fabric meant to display femininity seemed to seep even beneath his skin, repainting the shape of ‘himself.’

The uniform simply existed there.

It did not raise its voice, nor did it physically block escape.

And yet, the longer he stared at it, the clearer it became.

The moment he touched it, something inside him that was ‘male’ would peel away, piece by piece.

That premonition alone was unmistakably real.

It was a perfect apparatus of submission, disguised as cuteness.