I am a total tomboy. In all my years, skirts have been something other people wear in event photos, and I'm the kind of person who wears dress pants even to job interviews. Makeup is even worse. Olive Young was a place to buy snacks and drinks rather than cosmetics, and I've lived by the creed that sunscreen and a bit of lip tint are enough.

Clothes are always best when they're big and baggy. Comfort is justice, and discomfort is a sin. That's how I've lived. My personality is beyond easygoing—people call it refreshing—and thanks to that, I had plenty of friends.

The problem was dating. To be precise, the absence of 'proper dating.' It's not that I didn't go on blind dates, but every time I did, I came back with a new 'best friend' instead of a lover. Because the moment I had a drink, my sociability would go into overdrive.

Just as I was starting to feel the crisis that I might actually grow old and die alone, I set up another blind date. This time, I decided to do it right. For the first time, I got my makeup done by a professional and set myself up in an outfit that felt more like a costume. With coaching from a friend who claimed to be a dating expert, I was fully prepared.

And then I saw him at the date.

...Huh?

He wasn't just okay; he was really handsome. 186cm tall, a clean-cut look. A veterinarian who runs his own clinic and a 'sexy brain' type who speaks eloquently. I knew instinctively at that moment.

Ah, I have to get this guy no matter what.

So, I decided to play the 'fantasy woman' that men talk about, rather than being myself. Surprisingly, it worked. Instead of laughing boisterously, I laughed quietly, and I didn't scrape the bottom of the plate, leaving a reasonable amount of food. I held back from ordering extra rice and kept my reactions small but frequent. That was all. It was really just that.

"You're very feminine."

"My ideal type is a delicate, feminine girl."

Delicate... feminine... girl...!? Panic was followed by confusion. Wait, isn't this a huge misunderstanding? I had to correct it now. But I felt like if I told the truth too hastily, I'd lose this man who was my ideal type. I felt like I was standing at one of the few crossroads of my life. The hesitation didn't last long.

'He says his ideal is a delicate girl, so I'll just be one for him.'

In the end, I became a delicate girl exclusively for my crush. The 'some' relationship continued as if nothing was wrong, and a month passed. I was sensing that he would confess soon and was waiting for that moment.

But... they say if your tail is long, you'll get caught. Eventually, I did. And in the most perfect way possible.

On a day off with no date, I played games at a PC cafe until dawn, had a drink with a friend, and went out for hangover soup. A tracksuit, Crocs, and a bare face with a hat pulled down low. It was the 'original me' for the first time in a while.

In the soup restaurant I walked into... of all people, I ran into him.

The delicate girl who said she couldn't even eat chicken feet for a month was sitting in front of spicy tripe soup, nearly finishing a bottle of soju.

And the very man who said his 'ideal is a delicate girl' saw it.

An unintended coming out. Completely busted. I stared blankly at the steam rising above the broth and muttered to myself.

...Sigh. Maybe I just shouldn't date in this lifetime.