Aya woke to the sound of clattering pans and Ren's humming drifting from the kitchen. For a moment, she thought she was home again—back in her parents' house where mornings smelled of miso soup and tea. But when she blinked her eyes open, the peeling paint of Ren's ceiling greeted her, and reality settled in.
She was no longer Aya Lin, dutiful daughter. She was Aya Lin, runaway.
Stretching on the futon Ren had set up for her the night before, Aya glanced at her suitcase in the corner. It looked almost pitiful now—her skirts and blouses stuffed into it, like relics of a past life that already felt distant.
"Up, sleepyhead!" Ren called cheerfully. "Today is Operation: New You!"
Aya groaned into her pillow. "Please tell me that's not what you're actually calling it."
Ren appeared in the doorway, balancing a frying pan with exaggerated care. His silver hair was tied up messily, his grin wide enough to split his face. "Breakfast first, makeover second. Fuel before battle."
Aya sat up reluctantly. "Ren, I'm not fighting a battle. I'm… humiliating myself."
"Humiliating? Darling, you're stepping into the role of a lifetime." He posed dramatically, pan still in hand. "Four months as Akira Lin, my handsome, mysterious roommate. You'll be a legend."
Aya rolled her eyes, but the knot of nerves in her stomach wouldn't untangle. Pretending to be a boy? It sounded impossible. Yet Ren seemed to believe in her so completely that she almost wanted to try—for him, if not for herself.
---
After breakfast, Ren practically dragged her out the door.
The streets of Shinkyo buzzed with weekend life. Vendors called from their stalls, children tugged their parents toward toy shops, and couples strolled hand-in-hand beneath rows of neon signs. Aya clutched her bag tightly, trying not to notice how out of place she felt in her neatly pressed blouse.
Ren, meanwhile, looked like he belonged to the city itself—relaxed, loud, utterly at ease. He wove through crowds effortlessly, tossing her a grin every few steps. "First stop: haircut!"
Aya froze. "Wait, haircut?"
"Obviously. Akira can't look like Aya with a ponytail and bangs." He tugged her toward a small salon tucked between a bookstore and a café. The glass door chimed as they stepped inside.
The stylist, a woman with pastel-dyed hair, gave Ren a knowing smile. "Back again, Ren? What's the project this time?"
Ren gestured to Aya. "My cousin. Needs a drastic new look."
Aya sputtered, "C-cousin?!"
"Shhh." Ren winked.
The stylist studied Aya thoughtfully, then nodded. "Short layers, maybe? Something androgynous."
Aya's hands flew to her hair. "Wait, wait. Do we have to—?"
Ren's voice softened. "Aya. Trust me."
Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to nod. When the scissors finally snipped through her hair, Aya felt something inside her cut away too. Each lock that fell to the floor seemed to peel off part of her old life—the daughter who obeyed, the girl who never chose for herself.
When the stylist spun her chair around, Aya barely recognized the reflection staring back. Her hair was short now, grazing her jawline, styled to frame her face in sharp, clean lines. She looked… different. Not exactly a boy, not exactly a girl. Something in-between.
Ren's eyes sparkled. "Perfect. You're already halfway Akira."
Aya touched her hair, uncertain, yet a flicker of pride stirred in her chest. Maybe she could do this.
---
Next came clothes.
Ren piled her arms with hoodies, button-downs, baggy jeans, and sneakers from thrift shops and discount racks. "Rule number one," he declared, tossing another hoodie into the pile, "layers are your best friend. Rule number two: avoid skirts, frills, anything too fitted. Rule number three: walk like you own the ground, not like you're apologizing for stepping on it."
Aya sighed, slipping into a changing room with the mountain of clothes. She pulled on a loose hoodie and jeans, studying herself in the mirror. The fabric hid her curves, the haircut framed her face differently, and when she shoved her hands into her pockets like she'd seen boys do, she almost believed it.
Still, doubt gnawed at her. She stepped out and asked softly, "Do I really look… like a boy?"
Ren tilted his head, then grinned. "You look like Akira. And that's enough."
Aya exhaled, relieved.
---
By the time they returned to the apartment, Aya was exhausted but strangely lighter. Ren dumped the shopping bags onto the couch, then clapped his hands together. "Okay, lesson one: posture."
Aya groaned. "You're really turning this into training?"
"Of course. If you're going to survive four months, you need to sell it. Now, stand up straight. Broader shoulders. Loosen your hips. Boys don't glide; they… kind of stumble through life."
Aya tried, hunching her shoulders and widening her stance.
Ren burst out laughing. "No, no, no! You look like a penguin trying to fight someone."
She scowled. "Then show me!"
Ren puffed out his chest and strutted across the room with exaggerated swagger. "See? Confidence. It's all in the walk."
Aya couldn't help it—she laughed. Really laughed, the sound bubbling out of her chest until tears pricked her eyes. The tension she had carried since leaving home loosened, if only for a moment.
Ren grinned, softer this time. "That's better. That's the Aya I know."
She wiped her eyes, still smiling. "You're insane."
"And you love me for it."
---
Later, when Aya finally settled into the futon again, the bags of new clothes stacked neatly in the corner, she stared at the ceiling and let the quiet wrap around her.
She was still scared. Still uncertain. But for the first time since leaving home, she felt like maybe—just maybe—she wasn't running anymore.
She was becoming someone new.
Not Aya, the obedient daughter. Not Aya, the disappointment.
But Akira.
A name, a mask, a chance to breathe.
And though she didn't know what tomorrow would bring, she knew one thing: Ren was right. This was more than survival. This was the role of a lifetime