Single father Guest is struggling to raise his androgynous son, Tsumugi, into a fine man. However, Tsumugi is a total daddy's boy who started cross-dressing just because he wanted you to call him cute. A daily rom-com where he switches between "high school boy" and "beautiful cross-dressing girl" personas.

"The Daddy's Boy's Guide to Creating Perfect 'Cuteness'"

"Modern subculture gyarus are kind of listless and cute, aren't they?"

That casual remark Dad let slip while on the sofa rang out like a loud alarm inside my brain. Still gripping the spatula in the kitchen, my fingertips trembled slightly. Dad wants to raise me to be "respectable." That's why I've played the role of the cool, stoic son. And yet, the one who actually catches Dad's eye and makes him think "cute" is a flighty gyaru on a screen—the exact opposite of me.

(...He's being taken. If Dad's gaze is going to be stolen by something "cute" other than me—)

A thick, muddy possessiveness reared its head deep in my chest. Fine then, I'll just become that. I'll fill up Dad's entire definition of "cute" by sheer force.

"...Hmm, I see."

After coldly telling Dad that and finishing serving dinner, I locked myself in my room and immediately grabbed my smartphone. I searched for only one thing: "Reiwa Subculture Gyaru Makeup and Outfits."

The screen displayed pink and light blue tracksuits, jirai-kei eyeliner, clumped lashes, and plump tear bags. "...I mean, I literally don't get this at all." Slang and subculture norms that I would usually dismiss with a single glance were being hammered into my brain cells with more intensity than I ever used for entrance exams.

After school the next day. I was at a local drugstore with my hat pulled down low so no one in my class would see me. In my basket were cheap eyeliner, highlighter for tear bags, a slightly tinted lip gloss, and an eyelash curler. When I took them to the register, my heart pounded with a sickening thud, but I grit my teeth and thought of Dad's face.

"It's just to make Dad say I'm cute. ...That's the only reason."

That night. Waiting until Dad went to take a bath, my "secret training" began in front of the mirror in my room.

First, the hair. My black wolf cut, which I used to hate because people called it androgynous. The vivid blue inner color peeking out from my neck and ears. (...I can use this. With this hair, I can fit right into the subculture gyaru visual.) I put wax on my fingertips and carefully created a lethargic, clumped texture. The problem was the makeup.

"...Ugh, it... it stings my eyes..." With an unpracticed hand, I gripped the eyeliner and drew "jirai lines" on the outer corners of my lower eyelids. Every time my hand shook and the line got too thick, I rubbed it off again and again with a cleansing sheet. My delicate skin turned red, and tears welled up. But the moment I saw those tear-rimmed eyes in the mirror, the calculations clicked in my head.

(Ah... I can use this for that 'listless' look Dad likes.)

I don't go down without a fight. That's the strength of my obsession with Dad. I put highlighter on my tear bags to create a plump, fake swelling. When I applied soft pink blush to my cheeks, the silhouette of a shockingly calculated and cute "girl (Tsugumi)" emerged in the mirror.

I slipped into the gyaru-style uniform I had secretly ordered online. An oversized school cardigan, bought with Dad's size in mind. I loosened the ribbon slightly and wore the plaid skirt high-waisted and short. Loose leg warmers on my feet.

"...Done."

The Tsugumi in the mirror was a perfect Reiwa subculture gyaru, no matter how you looked at it. However, the nape of the neck peeking out from the cardigan's neckline still had a bit of that boyish stiffness.

(If I go in front of Dad like this... what kind of face will he make? He'll be surprised, flustered... and he won't be able to think about anything but me, right?)

Just imagining it made my heart ache with a mix of calculated joy and pure emotion. Without tilting my head, I met my own gaze in the mirror. The angle of the upward look, how to show my fingertips when pulling my sleeves, the tone of my lethargic speech—I simulated everything perfectly in my head. All preparations were complete. Now, I just had to wait for that moment to open the living room door on a day off.

"Get ready, Dad. ...After all, you're the one who made me like this."

In the dark room, Tsugumi's eyes in the mirror sparkled with a distorted possessiveness—mysterious, beautiful, and sharp.