Preparation for the new

Selling her dirt bike was painful; not only did she have to watch it get dragged away, but she also forgot to give away her helmet. Now, she was left with just her black helmet and her bike gloves.

"You can use a bike. Make it cute, you know? You like cute stuff, right?" Elias asked, eyeing the keychains and other trinkets on her table. Zoan didn't spare them a glance, sitting on her messy bed.

"Those are from the girls at Dawn. They like me, you know," Zoan smirked, jutting a thumb toward herself smugly. Elias scoffed, rolling his eyes and playfully slapping the back of her head.

"Don't let that get to your head," he clicked his tongue as Zoan let out a small scoff.

"Can't you even let me celebrate that?" she muttered, giving Elias a sidelong glance like an offended cat. He opened her wardrobe and sighed upon seeing multiple jackets and polo shirts.

"You need a new wardrobe," Elias said, and Zoan stood up, walking over to him to inspect the inside of her wardrobe. Nothing seemed wrong; it was her everyday outfit, after all.

Whether she wore a shirt and shorts or this for going out, it was all fine by her. "What's wrong with my wardrobe?" Zoan asked seriously as Elias turned to her.

"I'll get Thead here to sort you out. He's good at this," he replied, closing the wardrobe again.

"Father, just because Thead is gay doesn't mean he knows how to dress a woman… does he… uh, crossdress?" Zoan shot a cheeky smile at Elias, who glared back at her, his eye twitching.

"Watch your mouth when he gets here, alright?" he said, pulling out his phone to call Thead. He asked him to come over and bring some friends who were good with fashion.

While Elias was on the phone, Zoan made a series of exaggerated faces, shooting him a mean glare as she sat on her bed.

Thead was not a man known for being late; just five minutes later, he arrived with two women who could easily pass as models. Zoan spent her time ogling them, waving a hand in greeting.

"Thead, the requirements for Golden High state that every girl's hair must be at least elbow-length or below the shoulder," Elias said, arms crossed. Thead scratched his neck, glancing at Zoan, who was already being bombarded by the two women he had brought.

"We'll make do… but— Sir Elias, I'm a lawyer, not a fashion designer," Thead sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Just then, Elias slapped the back of his head, causing him to curse and rub the spot.

"I'm only asking you for one thing, and you're already whining?" Elias retorted.

"Fine, fine," Thead replied, doing his best not to grumble like a child. Elias patted his shoulder. "I trust you," he said, then walked out of the room.

Thead clicks his tongue, just as he feels an arm snake around his shoulders. He turns to see Zoan grinning broadly at him. "So, you're here to help me, huh?" she elbows him playfully.

He clicks his tongue again, pushing her away.

Snapping his fingers, he motions for the women behind them to come forward. "Girls, this is Zoan. Zoan, this is Elaine and Brit. They're here to help you—fix whatever you're wearing." He makes a so-so gesture at her outfit.

Zoan looks down at her shirt and shorts, crossing her arms in offense. "What's wrong with my outfit? It's just clothes for home," she argues, while Brit and Elaine giggle at the side.

"You have to be consistent in what you wear," Thead replies as Zoan rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue. "Fine, whatever. Hit me with what you three have," she says, flopping back onto her bean bag.

And so it begins, with Elaine showing Zoan various dresses, all of which she refuses. It isn't until Brit presents her with some outfits that could work with pants that Zoan starts to pay attention.

"No crop tops," Zoan groans, already feeling a headache forming at her temples. She massages her forehead—was this what her father felt every day with everyone badgering him and calling his phone?

God, save her now. Thead was slowly getting under her skin, making comments here and there. She was slightly tempted to throw him out of the open window. It's not like he's that heavy; she had carried much heavier people than him.

"Brit, can you pry open that window more so I can throw Thead out?" Zoan blurts out, glaring at the man, who freezes and shakes his head like a frightened deer.

Brit giggles, opening the window and letting a strong gust of wind in. Thead shrieks, threatening to lower Brit's pay if she follows Zoan's orders again, which only makes her giggle more—though she does close the window afterward.

Elaine returns, holding a couple of wigs as Thead lets out a relieved sigh. "Alright, so apparently Golden High requires all girls to have hair at least below shoulder length—and you, girl… look more like a man than a girl," he says, grabbing the black-haired wig and tossing it at Zoan.

"Seriously? This is shoulder length!" Zoan argued, turning around to show the end of her hair.

Brit and Elaine exchanged glances, both scratching their heads.

Thead sighed.

"You look like you have a lion's mane, Zoan. Use a wig; your hair can no longer be saved," he said matter-of-factly, earning an offended look from her.

"Just so you know, this is trending. It's a wolf's cut, and it looks awesome! Plus, it doesn't feel like I'm getting cooked, unlike this thing," Zoan waved the wig in her hand, letting out a groan.

"Tomorrow, Brit, Elaine, and I will be back with your uniform. Then we can fit you up and teach you how to use makeup—" Thead was cut off when Zoan made an 'X' motion with her arms.

"No makeup! I'm allergic to those," she retorted.

"Then I'll find one that won't make you break out," Thead replied, but Zoan shook her head.

"No thanks. I'd prefer looking like an idiot; it's not like I have much to lose," she said, glancing at the wig before tossing it on her head.

Elaine giggles, "You look adorable, like a—" but Brit cuts her off. "A nerd." They exchange raised brows before bursting into laughter.

Zoan stares at them in confusion, glancing at Thead, who is rubbing his forehead.

"Isn't that great?" Zoan grins, but Thead glares at her. "Father said I should keep my head low, and what kind of people keep their heads lowered?"

"Nerds," Elaine replies, her lips pursed to stifle another giggle.

"Nerds!" Brit snaps her fingers, nodding at Zoan. "Sir Elias did mention that he doesn't want you to catch anyone's attention."

Zoan turned to Thead, smirking and shrugging with a smug look on her face. "Looks like all those fashion tips you gave me were all for nothing~" she teased.

"I will dock both of your pay," Thead threatened.

In the end, Thead handed over all the clothes they had picked for Zoan, saying he would be the one to put them in her dorm when Elias managed to get one for her.

Now, she spent her time punching her punching bag in the corner of her room. Her room was large enough to accommodate at least six people—of course she would have a punching bag. Her instructor had clearly said she should practice at home if she could no longer continue with him.

Elias hadn't explicitly told her to take it down, but he had given her a look that suggested it would be better to do so.

Since he hadn't told her outright, Zoan left it up.

She struck the punching bag, not bothering to wrap her fists for protection. She wasn't a masochist, but the pain in her knuckles had jolted her awake, bringing with it the realization that she was leaving home to attend a school she wasn't used to.

Zoan paused, sighing.

She grabbed a gray towel, dabbing it on her forehead and neck before eyeing her red knuckles—they looked close to splitting open. Her father would be furious to see them; he always hated seeing her hurt.

But she was no longer a child. She could take care of herself.

Breaking away from the punching bag, she sat at her desk to tend to her fists. Maybe her father was right; she had been treating everything like a joke.

Now that things were getting serious, she was experiencing some kind of crisis. She wished Takao were here; she was an exceptional teacher. If it hadn't been for her, Zoan would have failed everything in her first year of high school.

But Takao had dreams of her own—she wanted to teach in a school, not just tutor Zoan forever. After all, nothing lasts forever.

Zoan admired her: she was awesome, smart, and undeniably cool.

Maybe she hated change. The moment her mother left for Germany, everything started shifting. She knew she wasn't always like this; she had once lived a quiet, peaceful life.

But as things began to change, she found herself forcing her own transformation. She needed a hobby—something that could help her adapt.

Zoan sighs, leaning back in her chair and staring at the ceiling, the bright lights burning her retinas.

"Ah, whatever. It's not like three years will be long. I can survive three years at Golden High," she mutters to herself, blocking the light with the palm of her hand, her knuckles almost bloodied red, a hint of ointment on them.

Zoan clicks her tongue.