(Caption) Angel's Overtime

The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the messy room. Dust danced in the light beams. Inside, everything was in disarray—clothes, feathers, and snack wrappers scattered all over. He, an angel by duty, lounged lazily on the sofa, wings splayed out, munching on a biscuit while glancing at a comic book on the floor. His hair was long and unkempt, with bangs almost covering his eyes, and his feathers looked disheveled and a bit yellowed. He bore no resemblance to the image of a divine messenger.

Suddenly, a flash of light lit up the room as his superior descended with a burst of pressure. He didn't even bother sitting up, just halfheartedly shielded his face with a wing.

"Just look at yourself!" the superior frowned. "You're an angel, yet you haven't gathered a single drop of faith, let alone performed any miracles! Your hair looks like it's been through a disaster zone. Are you not ashamed to call yourself a servant of the heavens?"

"It's not working hours right now. What I look like doesn't matter. Besides, I'm a male angel—it's hard to connect with humans like this. They all seem to prefer cute, girly angels."

"So you know what humans like, and yet you refuse to adapt?" Before he could react, a blinding light wrapped around him.

He wanted to protest, but his body was bound and immobilized. The superior raised a hand, and a pristine white chair materialized in the center of the room. He was forced into the chair as a mirror, cosmetics, curling irons, clothes, and accessories neatly arranged themselves mid-air. The superior's hands moved with astonishing speed, allowing no room for refusal.

First, his tangled hair was combed out, strand by strand, then smoothed with cream and curled at the ends with a hot iron. The unruly bangs were trimmed and shaped into a gentle arc over his forehead. Makeup followed: foundation covered the fatigue and blemishes on his face, eyelashes were brushed long, eyeshadow and blush were carefully applied layer by layer, and his lips were painted a glossy pink. In the mirror, his expression had softened, and his features looked doll-like.

Then came the outfit—a pale blue dress adorned with layers of lace and ribbons. He struggled against it, but resistance was futile. The undergarments and corset were fitted first, slightly reshaping his otherwise flat figure. Then came the petticoats and the outer dress, layered over one another. The hem swayed just above his knees, and the lace gently grazed his skin.

Next were the thigh-high stockings. Snow-white and silky, they were pulled snugly up his legs, the fabric clinging tightly. He felt the tension and smooth texture as they were drawn all the way up. The lacy bands at the top hugged his thighs, leaving faint impressions. Finally, a pair of shiny black Mary Jane shoes was slipped onto his feet. He looked down at them—those dainty, round-toed shoes perfectly matched the white stockings, completing the image of a girl.

He froze. The figure in the mirror wore a delicate lace bonnet, with long chestnut hair cascading smoothly down her shoulders. Blue ribbons tied up the sides, and with white wings and a frilly dress, she looked like an angelic girl straight out of a fairytale.

The superior nodded in approval. "Now you look like the perfect angel girl. If you still can't get the job done, you'll have no excuse."

"Are you kidding me…? I'm not going out looking like this…" Her voice trembled slightly, now soft and feminine.

"Overtime starts now," the superior said, ignoring her protests and gave her a firm push into the teleportation gate.

And so she stood in the human world, the breeze gently lifting the hem of her skirt as feathers drifted down. People stopped and stared. Children's eyes lit up. "It's an angel lady!" they shouted, and waves of faith energy began to flow toward her.

She looked down at her feet, clad in stockings and shiny Mary Jane shoes, and let out a long sigh. With no choice left, she began her overtime shift.