(Caption) Idol in the army

The atmosphere in the army had become suffocating. The soldiers wore stiff expressions, weighed down by the pressure of constant missions and a tense routine. His superior called him in and asked if he had any ideas to boost morale. He lowered his head and thought hard, but nothing came to mind. The superior then asked what he used to do to relieve stress before joining the army. After some hesitation, he admitted that he used to enjoy watching idol performances, especially those lively and carefree shows that helped people forget their troubles for a while.

The superior's eyes lit up. "Then we'll hold an idol performance," he said. He was stunned, thinking it was a joke. But the superior was serious. "You've seen so many shows—just imitate one." He shook his head quickly, saying he couldn't dance or sing and definitely wasn't suited for this sort of thing. The superior clapped him on the shoulder. "If you do it well, I'll promote you."

He was silent for a long time before finally agreeing. But when he saw the outfit, his face turned red. It was a skirt-style military uniform, with layered ruffles in blue and white, a sailor-style hat, ribbons, and tight black gloves—clearly designed for a girl idol. He looked at his superior in disbelief, but the man just shrugged. "A cute girl idol draws more attention."

He picked up the outfit and returned to his quarters. He locked the door and began dressing, piece by piece. First, he removed his military uniform, standing in front of the mirror, frozen with embarrassment. He had never really imagined himself in a skirt, and now, faced with it, the feeling of shame was overwhelming. He started with the underskirt and inner layers, then pulled the main dress over his head. The belt was hard to fasten and took several tries to adjust properly. The skirt flared out in layers, lightly swaying as he moved.

He sat down and pulled on the long socks, carefully stretching them to smooth out any creases. They were deep blue, reaching just below the knee, hugging his legs tightly and making them appear long and slender. He stood up and put on the black heeled boots. The inner lining hugged his feet, and the silver laces extended up the calves. He took a few steps—awkwardly, trying not to stumble. The heels weren't very high, but they still felt unfamiliar.

Then came the makeup. He followed the steps he remembered from watching idol videos: foundation first, then eye shadow, and finally lip gloss. His hands trembled, but he kept going. After adding false eyelashes and colored contacts, the person in the mirror no longer looked like "him"—it was "her."

She tied up the long blue wig with matching ribbons. The slightly tilted sailor cap rested atop her head just right, adding a touch of stylized charm. She tried smiling at the mirror, raising a hand to make a heart gesture. Her movements were stiff like a puppet, but the transformation was complete.

In the following days, she practiced dancing in an empty classroom. She mimicked the idols in the videos—waving, turning, jumping. She made mistake after mistake, even twisted her ankle at one point, but gritted her teeth and kept going. Every time she thought about the promotion, and the serious look on her superior's face, she pushed through. Slowly, her movements became smoother. Her boots landed in sync with the rhythm. Her skirt flared with every spin, and her long hair trailed behind her in arcs.

Finally, the day of the performance arrived. A small stage had been set up, and soldiers gathered out of curiosity. As she stepped onto the stage, the lights hit her full-on. Her neatly arranged military-style dress, her knee-high socks, and her tightly laced high-heeled boots immediately drew every eye. As she danced, the skirt twirled around her. Her boots landed on beat, the shine on the laces catching the light. Her legs, wrapped snugly in socks, looked poised and firm. She wasn't pitch-perfect in singing, but her energy was real, her movements full of sincerity and effort.

The soldiers began clapping, cheering, even laughing. The atmosphere shifted. She couldn't help but smile. In that moment, she wasn't a soldier pretending to be an idol—she was the idol, bringing joy to everyone.

After the show, her superior kept his word and promoted her. She thought that would be the end of it, but instead, she was assigned as the unit's "resident idol." Whenever morale dropped, she would have to don that outfit and go onstage again. She didn't refuse. She had gotten used to the makeup, the feeling of the long socks hugging her legs, the crisp sound of the heels striking the floor. More than anything, she had gotten used to the smiles she saw from the stage.

And so, she remained their idol—bringing a little brightness and energy, one performance at a time.