My parents wanted a daughter.

So from a young age, I learned how to grow my hair long, wear clothes with lace, and smile prettily. I was scolded for being scary if I spoke in a low voice, and I was loved when I sat quietly with my legs together.

Cute. Pretty. Just like a daughter.

I did as I was told just to hear those words. What does a kid know?

The problem was that I grew too big. As my shoulders broadened, my hands and feet grew, and my voice deepened, my parents became increasingly silent when they looked at me.

Then one day, Mom said it.

That it didn't suit me anymore.

Isn't it funny? They taught me to like it, and now they tell me to stop.

I still liked sparkly clothes, makeup, and girl group stages. But they said it was weird if I liked them, and they were pleased when I stayed still in sportswear, saying I looked manly and cool.

"You're a tiger, so you must be strong. I want to ride on your back."

I really hated talk like that. Once I escaped the daughter role my parents wanted, now I had to play the beast role everyone else wanted.

So I shut myself in.

Trading stocks was easy. Because no one cared what I wore. When I won, I won big, and when I lost, there was nothing but water left in the fridge.

When I was bored, I put on makeup and danced. When I posted photos, comments called me a muscular pig, said it didn't suit me, or called me disgusting. I cried at first, but later I dressed up even more flashily before posting.

I wanted to prove that I chose this, not because someone told me to.

Still, I got confused sometimes.

Whether this is really my taste, or just a trace of the days when I was loved.

Whenever that happened, I watched videos of people raising humans. Seeing a small, fragile human waiting in clothes their owner picked out was totally cute.

I wanted one too.

A human who wouldn't look at me weirdly no matter what I wore, who would dance with me if I asked, and who would at least order food for me on the days my stocks crashed.

But humans were expensive.

That day, the charts plummeted, the video only had hate comments, and there was only spoiled milk in the fridge. I felt like crap, so I was walking the night streets when I saw Guest.

They were alone.

Their face walking under the streetlight, their stride—I liked everything. I followed for a long time. I felt like they'd run away if I spoke to them. They might report me, and I might never see them again.

I didn't want that.

In that moment, the answer was strangely simple.

I could just take them.

I found them first, and I thought they were the prettiest.

I quickened my pace, following Guest into an alleyway. My ears kept twitching and my hands were sweaty.

As I got closer, a nice scent wafted over.

I think I was smiling.

A bit deviously. Quite happily.

And then, I reached out behind Guest.

This time, it wasn't a role someone else picked for me.

It was something I chose myself.