The transition between the incorporeal nature of the Second Layer and back into my uncomfortable self was something that I utterly detested, and I have just done it twice with this return to Wohl! I can see now why Mustafá wasn’t all that happy to access and work with teleports now! But that makes me wonder a little bit about what goes on in her head, does she have the same hang ups as me? Maybe she finds her own body uncomfortable or something?

Or maybe she has her own arcane reasons. Honestly, she is unpredictable to me.

Both Mustafá and I appear in the middle of my living room after our return home. She is holding that still warm bag of bread… and honestly it makes me a little nervous looking at it.

“Is that still safe to eat?” I wonder aloud, squinting a little bit.

“Yes. I told you inanimate objects are fine.” Mustafá walks over into the kitchen as she talks.

“It’s bread! It’s organic in origin! Does that still count?!” I mean, it clearly did, Mustafá didn’t turn into a human-bread hybrid.

“It’s not based on chemical composition, but on human perception. People usually regard bread and food as objects, not living beings.” Mustafá yells from the kitchen as she checks on the electric kettle. It had just started to boil. “Stop overthinking.”

I want to say more but, I decide to just sigh and let go of it for now, closing my eyes and taking a seat at the table. The mage peeks from the kitchen.

“Eggs?”

“No, I’ll just have butter on my bread…” I wave a hand, dismissively.

“You Wohlians are strange. How can you survive with such small breakfasts.” The mage returns to the kitchen, apparently she bought eggs. I can hear oil sizzling on one of my pans as the woman just shamelessly takes over my kitchen. Nothing I can do to stop her, really.

Well, it’s not like it bothers me in excess. It gives me more time to actually think about what's about to happen. This ‘Talk’ she wants to have, what could she possibly mean? Maybe she has a secret to remain so emotionless and distant? A secret to distance yourself from your emotions and become the master of your brain somehow! I mean, she is a mage, right? And that must require some insane mental discipline! She seems to have it all figured out, too!

“What if she is about to tell you to stop being a bitch and get over these ridiculous feelings and delusions of yours?”

I… would rather not believe that. I see her as completely capable of saying that but, I don’t think she will. I hope she doesn’t.

“She is not that different from you.”

Is she? I couldn’t imagine someone more different!

“She lives alone, in a small and functional apartment. She probably isolates herself too, remember the forum? No one knew much of her there either!”

She’s probably just busy or something, and a lot of people live alone in tiny apartments these days. I can’t just go around relating to people based on that.

“You have a lot of tea.” A voice suddenly wakes me up from my thinking.

Turning around, I see Mustafá standing in the kitchen’s door, holding my collection of tea boxes. She seems interested, in her own inexpressive way… and honestly, that makes me smile a little bit.

“Yeah.” I say. “Venus and I were very into tea and, taking the chance that we are in the city, we decided to try the many blends they sell here.”

“I am more of a coffee person.” She states, sitting down and settling the boxes on the table.

“Oh…” I look down.

There’s an awkward silence. Mustafá frowns.

“Aren’t you going to tell me about the tea?”

“Uh? But you said that you’re into coffee…?” My eyes return to her with some hope.

“Yes. That doesn’t mean I do not want to hear about tea.” The woman walks back into the kitchen.

“A-Ah! Well!” I gulp slightly, rubbing the back of my neck. I don’t want to start rambling about tea stories. “We got some spicy and sweet chai, some Dobradian blends, even some smoked from Zhongguo!”

“Smoked tea… brings back some memories.” Mustafá soon returns with the electric kettle, two of our cups float right behind her.

“Did you know why people started smoking tea?” I take one of the cups and set it on the table.

“Yes.” She says, setting the kettle on the table and returning to the kitchen.

“A-Ah…” Again I fall silent.

“If you want to tell me anyways, I will listen.” Mustafá soon returns with the sugar.

That’s. Surprisingly nice of her.

Does she pity me? Is this because she pities me?

“Remember what Humiko said. This woman almost never feels guilt, much less pity.”

I guess not… Maybe I should just ask.

“... Mustafá, do you pity me?”

The woman looks me straight in the eye with such intensity that I almost felt a slap waking me up. I fix my posture out of pure instinct, gulping as she slowly reaches for the tea boxes.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“You have to stop assuming that all forms of kindness are a ploy against you." Mustafá kept her eyes on me as she juggled a few boxes with her hand. "What tea?”

“U-Uh, spicy chai.” I mumble.

“People don’t care about you with such intensity that their every action towards you is a thinly veiled plan or part of a chain of actions leading to your downfall. Sugar?” Mustafá puts a bag of chai on my cup and a bag of smoked on hers.

“T-Three teaspoons. Wait, no, two.” I mumble.

She claps her hands and mumbles a command. My sugar cup flies from the kitchen along with a teaspoon, floating as they serve both me and her some sugar. Then, she begins to pour water.

“I don’t waste time with unnecessary kindness. I am not trying to get on your good side or trying to coax results out of you. If I want something, I will take it. That includes the book.” She says all this without even blinking. Yeah, she definitely barely blinks. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t be interested in your words from time to time. I am perplexed by you, and when I am perplexed, I try to understand.”

I am not sure if I should feel happy or aggravated by this.

“My words are always legitimate. Do not second guess me.” She finally says, setting the water aside and then calling for the pan with scrambled eggs. It floats in front of her as she picks a piece of bread to eat eggs with.

“Sorry…” I say, rubbing the back of my neck and picking a piece of bread as well, slowly buttering it with a knife.

“Apology accepted.” She nods, taking a bit off her bread. “Now.”

I flinch.

“T-Time to address the elephant in the room, eh?” I say with a nervous smile.

“There is no elephant in this room.” She states… is she messing with me? “Tav.”

“Yes?” I open my eyes widely. Here it comes, an answer to all my problems, finally! I lean on.

“Do you feel uncomfortable in your own skin?” She continues, taking another bite of bread.

“Y-Yes!” I nod firmly, excitedly. Come on, damn it, lay it on me! I lean on even more!

“You.” Mustafá closes her eyes.

“Yes!?” I think like I will fall at any point now but I don’t even care!

“Should go to the doctor.” The mage finally says with a sigh.

“...Oh.” I… Don’t know what I expected. But it wasn’t that.

My eyes sink for a moment. Is she implying something here? Calling me sick in the brain? Maybe I was getting a little ahead of myself with all my hopes, I–

“Let me finish.” She quickly states, forcing me to look her in the eye again. “Are you uncomfortable with how masculine your body presents?”

“H-Hey, what are you trying to imply here?” I frown.

“Do you think you may be transgender?” She finally drops the bomb.

I freeze.

“Argh no! Not that word! Anything but that word!”

“I. Uh. What? What are you—?” I gesticulate.

“You can use any pronouns without being transgender. I know this.” She interrupts my rambling. “But your disdain for your own body, your preference for femininity, the deep depression… I can be wrong, so correct me if that’s the case. But this feels like a rather typical case.”

Colours rush to my face, everything is shaking, I am stammering so much that I can’t even speak. Why? Why would she ask me such a thing? And why would she do it in the most deadpan, straightforward way possible!? Doesn’t she know tact in the slightest or something like that!?

“Tav.”

Why does she have to look so deep into it? I am not trans! I am just, you know, a weirdo. A freak. A person with some screws loose! Transgender people have completely different things than me! They go through dysphoria, they feel the rejection of society, I–

“Tav!”

What!?

“Is it that you feel you don’t deserve to say yes?”

I freeze again.

W-Well, maybe!?

Do you know how much those people suffer? How much they have to endure from the world? I haven’t been rejected like them, I can’t grab their name and flag and just, apply it to myself all willy nilly! How do you think that would make them feel!? I–

“The feelings you’ve been having, the revulsion for your body.”

It’s just low self esteem!

“Is it?”

I think!?

“Well, maybe you are in the right here. You don’t deserve to take other people’s problems and make them your own just because it suits you. What sort of asshole do you think you are!?”

See?! Urgh, this is stupid, I should tell Mustafá to just knock it off and—

“Tav.”

What!?!

“Be brave. This is a chance like none other… look at her. She’s waiting patiently, she’s listening. She will not mince words or just ‘be nice’ for the sake of it…”

…

Mustafá has been calmly waiting while I go through this meltdown. She doesn’t seem concerned, just… expecting. I take a deep breath, sipping from my drink and closing my eyes as I force everything in my mind to a sudden, violent halt. It requires such an effort that I am sure I popped a vein or something!

“...If I were to say yes… what would you say?” I close my eyes.

“I’d say: ‘Transition is not necessary for you to be transgender. But changing your appearance, and your body, may help with your intense feelings of self-rejection.’” She took a sip of her tea. “Have you spoken to your therapist about this? Do you even have a therapist?”

“I-I do, yes, but… I never even thought of this as a possibility.” I look down, taking slow breaths. This talk feels oddly liberating, but that feeling comes with a question. “Why do you care?”

“Because all this mental distress will cripple your ability to create, to explore and to experience magic.” The mage simply shrugs off my concerns.

“I guess that makes sense…” A part of me wanted, or maybe hoped that she would say something a bit less distant. But again, this is Mustafá. I should be getting used to this.

“I can’t give you treatment. I am a Doctor in Medicine, but I am not an endocrinologist. So you will have to work within the crappy, crappy Sleeper system.” She shakes her head slowly.

“Is it… really that bad?” I gulp.

“Depends on the place you’re living but, generally? Yes.” Mustafá’s face looks shadier for a moment, her eyes twinkling with a sinister light. “But do not fear, we can prescind from the pesky government if needed.”

“I-I would rather stick to the legal, please and thank you!” I immediately say, feeling some drops of cold sweat falling down my face.

“Coward.” Mustafá shrugs again. “But fine. I will make sure you receive the treatment you need. If you decide to try and go for it.”

I… can’t help but smile a little there. There’s this warm feeling, this intuition that tells me that this bastard of an old mage may actually care, at least a little, about me. Maybe she is trying to convince me that it is all for the sake of magical studies but, maybe, just maybe, she’s just a good woman after all.

“Or maybe you’re delusional.”

Maybe…

“Anyways. We have talked about this long enough.” The mage puts her finished cup of tea on the counter and points at me with a finger. “If what you want is to continue to ‘stealth’, there are other things I can recommend, like laser.”

“L-Laser..?” I tilt my head to the side.

“Laser hair removal.” The way she looks at me makes me feel even worse for being ignorant.

“Is that available to men…?” Honestly, having to do something without ‘committing’ too much to being trans could maybe be good for a start.

“If you want to avoid weird looks, I can take you to a doctor I trust.” Mustafá nods softly.

Honestly this… this is all so much…

Before I know, I am sobbing again. Ugly crying, snot and tears fall down my face as I try to cover myself for a little more. Mustafá frowns, staring at me.

“No crying.” She frowned. “I will print that and put it on a wall.”

“I-I am sorry…” I sniff.

“No apologizing either.” She crosses her arms.

“Im so— Urgh.” Saints damn it all. “Okay… I don’t even know why I am crying.”

“Distress, probably.” Mustafá slowly gets up from her chair, stretching. “I will prepare things for today’s lesson. You go clean your face.”

“Y-Yes!” With a nod, I stand up and run to the bathroom.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I wonder…

Would I really be happier if the reflection changed?