Raifu Suitchi 06

Chapter 6: Uncharted Beauty

The alarm's shrill blare jolted Allen awake at 5:30 a.m. Even with no specific place to be early, he had intentionally set the alarm an hour in advance, anticipating the difficulties his new finger attachments might bring.

Showering was the least of his worries, in fact, the sensation of the long nails raking against his scalp while lathering up felt oddly satisfying. But the real test came when he tried to latch on his bra. Sofia's trick - fastening it from the front and rotating it after- did help, but he still found himself engaged in a tugging war for several minutes.

Post his skirmish with the bra clasps, Allen resolved to keep the rest of his morning uncomplicated. Browsing through Sofia's collection, he looked for an outfit devoid of any intricate closures: no zips, laces, clasps, or buckles. A soft, elastic fabric caught his attention, and he drew out a vibrant, multi-coloured mini dress. Recalling Miss Hitori's previous comments on his choice of clothing, he thought, "She's asked for colour? Today, I’ll give her colour."

However, the morning still had its set of hurdles for Allen. Next up: the makeup ritual. Turning to Sofia's blog for guidance, he quickly settled on a style labelled 'Korean Elegance'. The imposing nails transformed what was already a tricky task into a delicate dance requiring immense concentration. Handling the makeup pencils and brushes felt like a balancing act, leading to inadvertent smudges here and there, especially with the mascara. Following the tutorial, meanwhile, became a game of dexterity as he tried to manoeuvre Sofia's touchpad with the sides of his nail-enhanced fingers.

Yet, after a gruelling ninety minutes, he succeeded. His makeup was bolder than he'd aimed for, and every stroke had been a battle. With painstaking effort, he managed to use his long-nailed fingers to apply faux eyelashes and outline his lips. In the mirror, his eyes and lips appeared amplified, and thanks to the contouring, his nose seemed more refined. The result was strikingly feminine. Allen paused, taking in the unfamiliar reflection, but time was of the essence; he had to get dressed.

Easing into the dress, Allen felt it snugly fit around his hairless body. After a quick brush of his wig, he placed it atop his head, ensuring it sat correctly. Gazing into the mirror, a mix of embarrassment and pride washed over him. He would rather be anywhere else than in this get-up, but after some earlier missteps, he knew he couldn't afford another. Any more slip-ups and everything he had endured so far would be in vain.

His attention shifted to footwear. He chose a pair of glossy black stiletto pumps, even though they were higher than he would have liked. Most of Sofia's shoes leaned towards the towering, and these were the only ones immediately visible without a buckle. Remembering the buckle fiasco at the nail salon, he appreciated the simplicity of these shoes; he could easily slip them on and off under his desk at work.

Allen donned a coat, its pink hue not to his taste, but its length aptly concealed his dress and provided some warmth. He then grabbed his heart-shaped handbag, cringing at its design and regretting not having transferred its contents to another bag the night before. However, with time pressing, he took a final glance in the mirror. His distinctly feminine appearance gave him a moment's unease, but he hoped it would allow him to blend in among the women at the office and meet Miss Hitori's expectations.

Turning sideways to catch his reflection from a different angle, he couldn't help but notice the stark evidence of weight loss. His meals had become sporadic, and the continuous flow of challenges and transformations had taken a toll on his physique. The pronounced slimming was concerning.

Emerging from Sofia's apartment into the biting cold of a Tokyo morning, Allen immediately felt the sharp wind sweep up the short hem of his dress. He deeply regretted forgoing tights, as his smooth legs quivered in the chill. But despite feeling exposed and uncomfortable, the thought of hobbling back up and down the four sets of staircases to the apartment to do battle with a pair of tights using his menacing nails seemed far worse. Instead, he clutched his plush fur coat close, seeking warmth, took a deep breath, and tottered off towards the bus stop.

A sea of commuters filled the bus, compelling Allen to stand. The shoes, simple but excruciating, made the journey a torture of shifting weight between feet. The bus's frequent starts and stops demanded more balance than he could muster, especially surrounded by indifferent commuters, who often leaned or bumped into him.

Yet, the unexpected touch on his backside introduced a new level of unease. Initially dismissing it as accidental, Allen grew alarmed when the hand persisted, unmistakably deliberate in its intent. The final, firm squeeze led to an involuntary yelp. Trying to identify the violator, he was destabilized by a sudden jolt from the bus, causing him to fall into a stern-faced businessman. The encounter left Allen embarrassed, and the unwarranted attention continued. Unable to bear the harassment any longer, he hastily exited.

On the sidewalk, with trembling fingers accentuated by long, black nails, Allen unlocked Sofia’s overtly feminine phone to check the time. The digits glaring back indicated that he was cutting it close, but he should make it to work on time if he hustled. With a renewed sense of urgency, he tightened his coat against the cold, making his way briskly, yet cautiously given his precarious heels, through Tokyo's labyrinthine streets.

(See image 19)

With only three minutes to spare, a panting Allen made it to Bloom's office, his calf muscles screaming with each step. Aiko, along with the cameraman, greeted him.

"Nice nails, Allen. Though they might be a tad too long for my taste," Aiko commented, glancing at Allen's hands.

"They're not exactly to my liking either, but it's not like I had much say in it," Allen replied, subtly moving his hands away from the camera's view.

"Think about the prize money, and it might ease the discomfort. By the way, you’re booked in for another appointment after work. The car will be here at the same time as yesterday."

"Another one?" Allen groaned. “Isn’t this a bit much? I’m exhausted as it is."

Aiko shrugged, "I'm just the messenger. Remember, you signed up for this."

Sighing, Allen asked, "Where am I headed this time?"

"Some trendy spa clinic that's just launched. They didn't share too many details, but it sounds like prime content for Sofia's blog. Now, off to work with you," Aiko said, stepping away and leaving Allen with the cameraman to capture the day's unfolding events.

Allen didn’t encounter Miss Hitori that morning, and frankly, he was relieved. Navigating his new role as a receptionist was proving challenging enough, but today's added obstacle - the long acrylic nails - slowed him down considerably. Typing, in particular, was a nightmare. The once simple act of tapping keys had become an elaborate ballet of movements, requiring a finesse that he was struggling to master. After several hours, the strain showed; his hands were sore, cramping from being held in an unnatural position for so long. Still, with each passing hour, he grew a smidgen more adept, adapting gradually to the intrusive extensions on his fingertips.

However, his respite from Miss Hitori was short-lived. That afternoon, as Allen stood by the copier machine, a sharp, burning sensation spread across the balls of his feet, intensified by the unnatural arch the heels forced upon them. Every step felt like walking on pebbles, pressing into the tender soles. His calf muscles, unaccustomed to such strain, throbbed and twitched, begging for relief from the continuous tension. Engulfed in this discomfort and regretting his decision to wear the high-heeled pumps, he barely noticed her sauntering into the room.

"Sofia, my dear, how are you today? Hard at work, I see?"

"Just doing my best, Miss Hitori," Allen responded, plastering on his most genuine smile.

(See image 20)

Miss Hitori circled him, sizing him up. "You look much more yourself today, minus your beautiful long hair, of course. That dress is delightful, and ah, your favourite shoes too."

The interaction was bewildering. With the cameraman nowhere in sight, Miss Hitori was still addressing him as Sofia. Was she genuinely oblivious to the swap or playing along for some hidden reason? Debating internally on whether to clarify, Allen opted for diplomacy. After all, he needed her on his side for a positive review at week's end.

"Thank you, Miss Hitori," Allen murmured, the edges of his voice tinged with a concealed irritation. He gave a brief nod, attempting to mask his exasperation. He had hoped for a short break to alleviate the agony in his feet. But as fate would have it, Miss Hitori handed him another hefty stack of papers. "I need these copied too," she said, her tone nonchalant. Allen's heart sank further, not for the additional work but for the prolonged time he'd have to stand on his already throbbing feet. He forced a tight-lipped smile. "Of course," he managed to say. After she gracefully exited the room, he allowed himself a moment of silent frustration before resuming his tasks.

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Shortly after six, an utterly drained Allen found himself in an unfamiliar part of Tokyo, standing outside the 'New You Clinic'. Despite Aiko's description of it as a spa, the place was smaller than Allen had imagined. Nestled on the second floor of an unremarkable building, the clinic had a mere three rooms - one as a waiting area and two for treatments.

Limping slightly from the ache in his feet, Allen approached the reception desk and introduced himself as Sofia Cannavaro, mentioning his appointment.

"Good evening, Miss Cannavaro. Welcome to the New You Clinic. Would you like something to drink?" The chirpy receptionist inquired.

"Just water, thanks," Allen replied. Swiftly, the receptionist reached over and retrieved a cold bottle from a fridge to her right.

"As per our records, you're here for the October special – a full facial treatment. Is that correct?" She asked. Completely unaware of what the show had arranged, Allen merely nodded in agreement.

"Perfect! We just require a signature, and then we'll get started," she announced, extending a clipboard with a form. Simultaneously, she came around the counter, helping him with his coat. He contemplated reading the two-page waiver, but fatigue, combined with the knowledge that refusal might jeopardize his place on the show, urged him to sign without much scrutiny.

"Thank you," the receptionist said, taking the clipboard. "Your technician will be with you shortly. Please take a seat."

Minutes later, Allen found himself in a room that closely resembled a doctor's office, but with an evident beauty twist to it. Scattered equipment of all kinds surrounded a large reclining chair at the centre. The technician, a petite woman with a cherubic face, gestured towards the chair as her assistant stood smiling on the far wall.

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Cannavaro. If it's alright, I'll start by removing your makeup.” Allen felt a brief sense of relief at her words. At least that was one task off his checklist for when he returned to Sofia's apartment.

However, as she went about her work, she paused, giving Allen a thoughtful look. “Forgive me if this seems too forward, but could we also remove the wig? It'll make my job easier." He felt a stab of self-consciousness. Was his wig so noticeably artificial that she could tell instantly?

"We will begin with your brows. But before I start, is it alright if I call you Sofia?" she inquired, bringing Allen back from his spiralling thoughts.

“Yes,” Allen whispered, feeling trepidation about what was to come, especially when he surmised the imminent reshaping of his brows. He knew it was inevitable, but it was still an intimidating thought.

“Alright, Sofia, just relax and close your eyes. We’ll numb the area first. You might still experience slight discomfort." She gently applied a cold gel over his eyebrows and forehead. Within minutes, Allen felt the top portion of his face grow numb as if wrapped in a cool, insulating blanket.

“Feel that?” She prodded his forehead with a slender stick.

“Feel what?” he responded, genuinely perplexed.

“Perfect,” she beamed, “Now, let’s make you look even more beautiful, shall we?”

Allen braced himself, recognizing the warm sensation of wax being spread across his forehead, followed by the firm press of a strip. The sharp ripping noises that followed echoed in the room. Though he felt nothing, a sense of dread grew, wondering how much she had taken off. He then felt a gentle prickling sensation, reminiscent of fine needle points, on his skin.

The process felt lengthy as the woman meticulously worked on each brow. Once finished, she turned to Allen and inquired, "Would you like to see?"

At first hesitant, his curiosity soon prevailed. He nodded and took a deep breath before the technician presented a hand mirror. Gazing back at him was an undeniably more feminine face. The transformation was astonishing. His new brows, even without a touch of makeup, gave his face an entirely different dimension. The delicate arches framed his eyes, bestowing an incredibly feminine aura to his features. Gently, he ran a nail-tip over the freshly crafted brow, feeling an unfamiliar smoothness.

"Do you like them?" The technician's voice interrupted his thoughts. "They truly elevate your features and make them pop."

Allen managed to mumble, "It's quite the change. But.. Why do they feel so... flat?"

"That's microblading. I first waxed off your natural brows, then embedded pigment using a nanoneedle. Maintenance is a breeze! Just pluck any regrowing stray hairs, and you're set with perfect brows each day."

Allen was taken aback. The realization that this was a permanent change weighed on him. "So, this isn't just makeup?" he whispered.

"Right," she smiled, "Now, let's proceed with the next part of your treatment. Close your eyes, please."

His internal monologue raced. "What has she done to me? Oh! This is bad." As the voices raced through his head, Allen was faced with a choice: stay or run. Squashing the desire to flee, he convinced himself that the changes could be fixed later and reluctantly closed his eyes. As soon as he did, he sensed cotton pads placed under his eyes. Then came the gentle tugging and curling of his lashes. The sensation of the numbing agent spread across the rest of his face and lips added to his unease, coupled with the peculiar feeling of pressure and pinpricks.

When it felt like an eternity had passed, the technician's voice brought him back. "Open your eyes, Sofia. We're all done here.”

With hesitation, Allen's eyes slowly opened, revealing enormous lashes that danced dramatically with each frantic blink.

"Woah! You... glued lashes back on," Allen commented, sounding surprised as he adjusted to the feeling of weight on his eyelids.

"Yes, those eyelash extensions do add quite the dramatic effect," the technician agreed, clearly pleased with her work. "They enhance your eyes beautifully."

"Eyelash... extensions?" Allen stammered, still processing the transformation.

The technician explained, "Yes, unlike traditional falsies, these extensions are bonded to each individual lash. They last longer and look more natural. They'll spare you from daily mascara application unless you're aiming for a particularly dramatic look."

Though the idea of a simplified morning appealed to Allen, it was overshadowed by his distress at the new level of feminization. "Can I… see?" he stuttered, a tremor in his voice. He also became increasingly conscious of the strange sensation in his lips.

"Of course," the technician responded, "But before you do, I should mention there was a slight reaction to the lip fillers. This isn't uncommon. The swelling should subside in a few days, but right now, they're quite pronounced."

Words like 'swelling' and 'pronounced' caused Allen's heart to race. What had this woman done to him? Experimentally, he pursed his lips and felt an exaggerated plumpness. As the hand mirror was brought before him, his reflection was met with a gasp of shock.

He snatched the mirror from her grasp, and the reflection was even worse than he'd anticipated. His eyes immediately settled on his lips, which now resembled two swollen slugs instead of their usual form. Gently poking his top lip with a long nail, he watched it wobble. Would this change be permanent? Would he forever bear the lips reminiscent of a porn star? 'No,' she had said about the swelling subsiding. Allen clung to that thought, trying to reassure himself.

Lifting his gaze, he was taken aback by the drama of his new lashes – an addition he'd momentarily forgotten. Their impact was no less profound than his transformed lips. The voluminous, perfectly curled jet-black lashes made a striking difference to his appearance. As he opened his eyes wide, he could feel them brushing against the socket, causing an uncontrollable blink. The changes were profound; Allen didn't even realize that his face had adopted a slightly rounder and more feminine look from a series of expertly placed Botox injections.

(See image 21)

The weight of the situation pressed heavily on Allen's shoulders. Every alteration, every shift in his appearance made his heart race and his mind swirl. The overwhelming sensation was like a rising tide of anxiety, and the room seemed to close in on him. He desperately craved escape - not just from the confining walls but from the presence of the woman who had, in his perception, marred his features beyond recognition.

He met the woman's gaze briefly as he handed back the mirror, a silent exchange of emotions. Gathering himself, Allen pushed himself to his feet, his movements deliberate yet hasty. Instinctively, his hands reached for the protective comfort of his wig. Clutching his feminine handbag, he stumbled forward. With every step towards the door, he could feel a tug in his chest - a mix of anger, fear, and disbelief. And without uttering a single word, he stepped out, leaving the weight of that moment behind.

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Watching back the footage of Allen's dramatic transformation later that evening, Jin Watanabe couldn't help but smile. The challenges ahead for Allen, adapting to his new appearance would be similar to that of Riku. She too had grappled with life-altering changes, after her failed attempt at taking her own life.

Allen and Riku had crossed paths at a Tokyo nightclub. Enchanted by Allen's charisma and good looks, Riku had willingly followed him home that night. Even when he proposed recording their intimate moments and taking her anal virginity, she'd consented.

In the following weeks, despite her numerous attempts to reach out, Allen remained elusive. Night after night, Riku returned to that same club, yearning for another chance encounter. It was after six long weeks that she finally spotted him, lost in dance with another woman. Spotting an opportunity when the lady stepped away, Riku approached Allen. However, in his inebriated state, he callously dismissed her, cruelly revealing that their private recording had been shared with his friends. Crushed, Riku made her way to the rooftop.

Jin reviewed the footage again, particularly noting the scene where a receptionist informed Allen of his scheduled treatments and had him sign the consent form. Filling a glass with whiskey, Jin settled into his chair, thoughts swirling, "How long before the sissy boy quits? And before then, how much further can I push him?"