(Caption) Fugitive Schoolgirl

The heavy doors of the courthouse shut behind him with a sharp clack. Adrian leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly. The wind scattered the pink wig's long strands across his face, and he pressed them down with one hand. His mind drifted back to the memory of that day on the ship.

He had boarded in secret, desperate to escape the war, hiding in a cramped cabin with his heart pounding. When the door opened, he thought it was over. Instead, a girl in a dark green plaid school uniform stepped inside. She introduced herself as Clara and whispered, "Don't be afraid. I can help you. But you'll have to become me."

Before he could react, she flipped open her suitcase. Inside were neatly packed uniforms, wigs, makeup, even a pair of heels. Adrian froze, uncertain. Clara, however, acted naturally, pressing a white blouse into his hands. "Put it on."

Reluctantly, Adrian shed his dusty old clothes and slipped into the blouse and skirt. The zipper cinched tight at his waist, making him stiff and awkward, his breathing shallow. Clara straightened the hem of the skirt, then slid sheer tights up his legs. She seated him, fixed a wig onto his head, combed it smooth again and again, and sprayed it in place. In the mirror, his reflection began to blur into someone else.

Next came makeup. Clara worked quickly, layering foundation and concealer, tracing fine eyeliner, brushing out lashes. Finally, she uncapped a rose-colored gloss. "Don't move," she murmured. Coolness touched his lips, and Adrian stared at the mirror, barely recognizing the face looking back.

When Clara slipped the brown heels onto his feet, he stood and found himself taller by a few centimeters, his steps shaky. She steadied him, teaching how to shift his weight, to walk with smaller strides, to keep his shoulders loose. He stumbled through it, but gradually found a rhythm. Clara gave him a nod. "Good. Now you're me."

With her help, Adrian left the ship under Clara's name. But soon after, the police arrested him. Only then did he learn the truth—Clara was a wanted fugitive. Though lack of evidence spared him from conviction, his own identity was gone for good. From then on, he had no choice but to keep living as "Clara" in this unfamiliar country.

Back in the present, Adrian sighed softly, smoothing down the pleats of his uniform skirt and lifting the bag on his shoulder. The heels clicked sharply against the cobblestones as he walked toward the school ahead, his stride steady yet tinged with an unshakable sense of resignation.