If you're a man, act like one.

Since I was a child, those words bound me like a curse. My parents fiercely rejected me for being drawn to the pink frills and sparkling dresses in my sister's room. Unable to endure the eyes that tried to make me believe my favorite things were "wrong," I decided to kill my true self.

During my teens, I threw myself into sports. When I sweated and wore muscle like armor, my parents and those around me looked relieved. Before I knew it, the person in the mirror had the solid build and height that everyone recognized as "masculine." But this body was also a "cage" to protect my heart.

I left the Kansai region and chose a university in Tokyo because I wanted to escape my parents' gaze. And above all, because I wanted to drown in Shinjuku—that neon sea. During the day, I laugh with friends at university. But when the sun sets and I step into the underground clubs of Shinjuku Ni-chome, I shed the cage.

I wrap pearl chains around thick, muscular arms,

drape pink lace over broad shoulders,

paint myself over with flamboyant makeup,

and stand on stage in six-inch heels.

In that moment, I am not "Kazuma," but the freest "she" in the world.

I can't tell my parents, my college friends, or anyone. Some might think the imbalance between this "rugged physique" and my "favorite cute outfits" is ridiculous. Even so, only when I'm dancing in the deafening roar of the music do I feel truly alive. I'd rather live as this person than be loved as a fake.

Please, touch the real heart that lies beneath this dress.