The morning after the ball was a rude awakening. Sunlight, once a welcome herald of a new day of training, now streamed through the gothic windows, illuminating a body Kenjiro still refused to accept as his own. Frustration, a bitter and familiar bile, rose in his throat.
"That's it!" he growled at his reflection, the voice still too soft for his liking. "No more of this… ornamental crap."
He shoved aside the silken sheets. The velvet finery from the night before was gone, replaced by another set of clothes laid out for him: a simple black t-shirt and, to his utter horror, a pair of soft purple skirts that were far too short for any man's comfort. Still, they were better than wearing another lacy dress. Ignoring the sheer lack of muscle to work with, he began—push-ups, sit-ups, squats, lunges. He moved through the motions of his old life.
His body screamed in protest. What used to be a warm-up now felt like a marathon. His limbs, fragile and unaccustomed to such strain, trembled. Sweat beaded on his brow not from exertion, but from sheer, pathetic weakness. He pushed on for hours, fueled by pure, unadulterated rage, until every fiber of his being throbbed with dull pain.
Suddenly, a piercing siren echoed through the stone halls—a jarring, modern sound in the ancient manor. It was an alarm. Moments later, a guard in ornate armor burst into his room.
"My Lord! There's been a breach! Lady Ayako requests your presence immediately!"
The guard led him at a run, his aching legs barely keeping up. They met Lysander in the corridor, his poetic calm replaced by a look of grave concern. The trio arrived at a heavy, metallic door Kenjiro had never seen before—a laboratory. As soon as they stepped inside, chaos greeted them. A flash of pink and lace blurred past. A fist connected with Kenjiro's jaw, sending him stumbling. Another blow knocked Lysander to the ground beside him.
All they saw was a fleeting image: a femboy in an outrageously frilly dress delivering the punches with brutal precision. Behind him, the shadow of another figure slipped out of the compromised lab and vanished down the hall.
By the time Kenjiro and Lysander scrambled to their feet, the lab was in disarray. Vials were smashed, papers scattered, and a large, reinforced container stood wide open. Its contents—glowing vials that looked like DNA samples—were gone.
"The Genesis Samples… they're gone!" a frantic lab assistant cried. "And Doctor Elara… he's vanished!"
The name echoed in the room. Doctor Elara, the reclusive genius femboy scientist who ran the entire facility, was now the primary suspect. A traitor.
"After them!" a guard captain barked.
The chase was on. Kenjiro, despite his exhaustion, found a new reserve of adrenaline. They raced through winding corridors and down grand staircases, following the shouts of guards who had caught glimpses of the fleeing figures. At last, they cornered them at the main castle gate. The escapee, a slender femboy with sharp features and a pristine white lab coat, was trapped—panting, with nowhere left to run. Guards surrounded him, their futuristic energy rifles raised.
"Surrender, Doctor Elara!" the captain shouted. "There's no escape!"
Kenjiro, winded and annoyed, watched as the guards closed in. But in the blink of an eye, everything changed.
A figure emerged from the shadows behind Doctor Elara as if woven from darkness itself. A femboy ninja, clad in sleek black fabric, a mask covering the lower half of his face. With impossible speed, he became a blur—disabling the guards with precise, non-lethal strikes. In seconds, they all lay unconscious.
The ninja turned toward the newcomers. He smirked directly at Kenjiro.
"Well, well. Look what we have here. The new pet. Heard you were all muscle. Don't look like much to me—with that giant butt," Doctor Elara teased, grinning.
Kenjiro's rage boiled over. The insults, the weakness, the absurdity of it all—it was too much. He smirked back, a feral grin that was pure Bombom.
"Time to knock some sense into that little brain of yours, twig."
He charged, channeling every shred of his former strength into a single, devastating punch aimed at the ninja's smirking face.
CRACK.
The sound was sickening—but it wasn't the ninja's jaw. It was Kenjiro's hand. Pain shot up his arm like wildfire. The ninja hadn't even flinched. He rolled his eyes, profoundly unimpressed.
"Pathetic. The monster's not getting out of jail. Take the L," the ninja said, forming an L with his hand.
His leg lashed out in a blur. The kick struck Kenjiro's stomach, knocking the wind from him and sending him crashing backward. His head hit the stone floor with a thud, and the world faded to black.
The last thing he saw was the ninja and the doctor disappearing into the forest beyond the gate—leaving nothing behind but chaos.