Beep beep beep

The alarm's shrill cry pierced through the pre-dawn silence like a medical drill boring into bone. Min-ah's eyes snapped open, immediately focusing on the digital display: 6:00 AM exactly. Her small hand shot out from beneath the pink comforter—when had she even bought that ridiculous thing?—and silenced the device with practiced precision.

"Mmph... another day..." she mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep and unnaturally high-pitched in the morning air. The sound of her own voice never failed to catch her off guard, like hearing a recording of someone else entirely. She sat up slowly, strawberry-colored hair falling in disheveled waves around her shoulders, and immediately wrapped her arms around herself as the cool apartment air hit her exposed skin.

The routine began as it always did. Min-ah shuffled to the bathroom, her bare feet making soft pattering sounds against the cold tile. The mirror above the sink reflected back that same impossible image—large, droopy pink eyes set in a face that belonged in a children's picture book rather than a medical professional's morning routine. She stared at her reflection for exactly three seconds before her cheeks flushed pink and she looked away.

"Focus... just focus on the schedule," she whispered to herself, reaching for her toothbrush with hands that still felt too small, too delicate for the complex surgeries they would perform in just a few hours.

After brushing her teeth—somehow even that felt different now, the toothbrush seeming oversized in her grip—Min-ah moved to the living room for her 'adaptation exercises.' She'd designed them herself, a series of stretches and movements meant to help her brain recalibrate to this new body's proportions and limitations. Scientifically, she knew they were mostly psychological comfort, but the routine provided structure in a world that had lost all logical foundation.

"One... two... three..." she counted under her breath, standing on her tiptoes and reaching toward the ceiling with both arms extended. Her pink knit sweater rode up slightly, revealing the soft curve of her small waist. The exercise was supposedly for 'height enhancement'—complete pseudoscience, of course, but somehow her transformed mind found comfort in the ritual anyway.

After twenty minutes of stretches that left her slightly winded (another reminder of this body's limitations), Min-ah padded to the kitchen. Breakfast was always the same: a piece of toast with strawberry jam and a glass of milk. She'd tried to maintain her previous diet of black coffee and whatever convenience store sandwich was available, but this body seemed to crave sweetness with an intensity that both annoyed and confused her.

"It's just... brain chemistry," she muttered around a bite of toast, her legs swinging unconsciously from the chair that now felt too tall. "Hormonal changes affecting taste preferences... perfectly normal biological response to..." But even her internal monologue sounded unconvincing. The strawberry jam simply tasted better than anything she remembered from before, and that fact irritated her more than she cared to admit.

The final step of her morning routine involved the most challenging part: getting dressed for work. The pink knit sweater was non-negotiable—everything else made her feel cold in a way that seemed to seep into her bones. But the bottom half remained a daily struggle. Her regular clothes from before were comically oversized, and children's clothing felt like admitting defeat. She'd settled on a compromise: white panties that actually fit, semi-transparent white pantyhose for warmth, and her oversized doctor's coat to maintain some semblance of professional dignity.

"Seven fifteen... right on schedule," Min-ah announced to her empty apartment, checking her watch—another item that now looked absurdly large on her tiny wrist. She grabbed her medical bag, wrapping her dark pink fur scarf around her neck like armor against both the cold and the day ahead.

As she locked her door and headed toward the elevator, Min-ah caught her reflection in the hallway's polished surface. For just a moment, she found herself tilting her head slightly, making what could only be described as a 'cute pose' before snapping back to reality with burning cheeks.

"Absolutely ridiculous... I'm a medical professional, not some... some..." she grumbled, jabbing the elevator button with more force than necessary.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as NaMinah's small hands gripped the tablet computer, her strawberry-colored twin tails swaying slightly as she walked down the sterile hospital corridor. The oversized white coat draped over her diminutive frame like a tent, carefully positioned to cover her bare legs beneath the pink knit sweater. Her white pantyhose caught the morning light filtering through the ward windows.

"Good morning, Dr. Na!" Nurse Park Ji-hyun's voice carried an unfamiliar warmth that made NaMinah's shoulders tense. The older woman's eyes crinkled with what looked suspiciously like... fondness? "You're early again today. Did you eat breakfast properly?"

NaMinah's grip tightened on the tablet. 'Why is she asking about my eating habits now...' The question stirred something uncomfortable in her chest—a flutter that had nothing to do with medical knowledge and everything to do with the way Ji-hyun's voice softened when speaking to her. "I... I had coffee," she replied, her voice coming out higher than intended. "That's sufficient nutritional intake for morning cognitive function..."

"Coffee isn't breakfast for someone your—" Ji-hyun caught herself, her cheeks reddening slightly. "I mean, you should eat something more substantial. There's some sweet bread in the break room."

The word 'sweet' made NaMinah's stomach rumble traitorously. She pressed her lips together, annoyed at her body's betrayal. Three months ago, Nurse Park would barely acknowledge her presence beyond professional necessity. Now she was offering food like... like she was some kind of pet. "I don't require—"

"Dr. Na, there you are." Dr. Kim Seung-ho's voice cut through the awkward moment as he approached with a patient chart. His expression held the same puzzled concern that had become increasingly common among her colleagues. "The morning conference is starting. Are you feeling alright? You look... smaller today."

NaMinah's eye twitched. 'Smaller.' As if the daily reminder of her transformed state wasn't enough, now everyone felt compelled to comment on it. "My physical stature has no bearing on my diagnostic capabilities, Dr. Kim," she said, clutching the tablet against her chest. "Shall we proceed with patient rounds?"

The conference room buzzed with morning chatter that died down as NaMinah entered. She could feel eyes following her as she made her way to her usual seat—though now she had to boost herself up slightly to sit properly. The irony wasn't lost on her that she, an orthopedic specialist, now struggled with basic furniture designed for adult proportions.

"Patient in room 302 presents with suspected scaphoid fracture following a fall," she began, her voice carrying the same analytical precision it always had, even if it now sounded like a particularly precocious child giving a presentation. "X-rays indicate minimal displacement, but I recommend CT imaging to rule out occult fractures that may not be immediately visible on standard radiographs..."

She noticed Dr. Kim nodding with an expression that seemed caught between professional respect and barely concealed bewilderment. The other residents whispered among themselves—she caught fragments of "so cute when she's serious" and "like a little professor"—words that made her jaw clench involuntarily.

"Excellent analysis as always, Dr. Na," Dr. Kim said, though his tone carried a gentleness that definitely hadn't been there before her transformation. "Your attention to detail continues to be... impressive."

The pause before 'impressive' hung in the air like a question mark. NaMinah's fingers drummed against the table surface, a nervous habit that had developed alongside her new body's restless energy. 'They're treating me like a novelty,' she thought, heat rising to her cheeks despite her attempts to maintain professional composure.

"If there are no further questions regarding the diagnostic protocol," she said, sliding down from her chair with as much dignity as she could muster, "I'll begin patient consultations."