"Sweetheart, do you have a boyfriend?"
"Uh... no... but you..."
"What do you mean, 'but you'?! Are you saying I'm ugly? That's right! I am ugly! But as the saying goes, fun is fun, but when you reach that age, you've met plenty of people. They come and go, never sticking around. Are you really going to choose someone based on looks just because you have to pay? Don't you want the person by your side to be more reliable?"
"I guess that's true..."
"Exactly! I know I'm average-looking! But I'll protect you like a knight!"
Listening to this teeth-grindingly cringeworthy conversation, Morty watched the decidedly masculine Summer flirt with a slightly curly-haired puppy-boy.
Under the coffee table, the puppy-boy wore a beige midi dress and a pair of four-centimeter block heels.
Seeing this, Morty had to admit... refusing to wear women's clothes had been a wise choice...
Just this image alone felt like an embarrassing black mark he would never be able to wash away for the rest of his life!
The kind where, after being buried in the ground, he would hear someone at his grave talking about it and claw his way back out of the earth.
Then drag the little bastard—who could talk about it outside every day of the year but just had to say it in front of his grave that day—back into the coffin with him.
"Sigh, Morty, think about all the harassment women usually suffer on the streets. Now that it's all been transferred onto you, do you still think you'd enjoy it?"
When Beth said this, Morty nodded very sincerely.
As someone whose moral standards were about average among transmigrators, Morty felt this was actually fine.
Because, fundamentally speaking...
It was just a cultural difference.
Everything I accepted while living in