It wasn't surprising that Stark's home had an abundance of towels and toiletries. Given his history of bringing women back to the mansion, Pepper had made sure everything was stocked to avoid awkward situations.
….
Lemu gave her a polite nod. "Thank you, Miss Potts. I'll pay you back later for the clothes."
His formal tone and manners only made Pepper's heart ache a little more.
Such a well-mannered kid, even when he's lost everything.
She smiled, her expression softening. "It's a gift, Lemu. No need to pay me back. And call me Pepper, okay?"
Before he could protest, she quickly gauged his height with a rough gesture, then spun on her heel and rushed back out the door.
….
Lemu stood there for a moment, watching Pepper drive away.
What a gentle person, he thought.
Shaking off the thought, he glanced down at his clothes.
Even after brushing them off multiple times, faint traces of Afghan sand clung stubbornly to the fabric—a little souvenir from the desert. Worse still, the shirt and coat bore several rips and scratches, thanks to his crash-landing against Stark's Mark I armor.
At this point, they belonged in the trash.
Lemu exhaled, tugging at the frayed edges of his coat.
"Looks like it's time to retire this uniform."
Lemu's Predator skill allowed him to mimic and replicate materials, but the clothes he had worn were too damaged to be properly analyzed. Without the right materials stored in his dimensional space, recreating them was impossible.
And while he could use his slime body to simulate clothing, the texture always felt off—too artificial, too unreal.
Stark's sprawling, luxurious mansion offered no distractions. No matter how extravagant, it wasn't his. Lemu had no interest in what didn't belong to him.
What he cared about were the things he could call his own.
Stepping into the bathroom, Lemu stripped off his tattered clothes and tossed them aside. He turned on the shower, letting the warm water run as he gathered shampoo, body wash, and a fresh towel sealed in plastic.
He glanced down at his reflection in the glass. Smooth, flawless skin. Delicate features. But ultimately…
Yep. Slimes have no gender.
Not that it bothered him too much. After all, this was the Marvel Universe. Black magic, alien technologies, and reality-altering Infinity Stones were just part of the setting. If worst came to worst… tentacles were an option too, right?
Raising his left hand, Lemu studied its pale, slender form. Then, slowly, his fingers liquefied, reforming into five translucent, pale-blue tendrils that wiggled and swayed like curious serpents.
Definitely a little Lovecraftian.
It was a natural ability of slimes—one that reminded him he wasn't entirely human, no matter how convincing his appearance was.
While rinsing his hair, Lemu ran into another problem—no matter how hard he scrubbed, some grains of sand refused to come out.
That's enough of this.
Without hesitation, his body melted like wax exposed to flame, collapsing into a puddle of glistening, pale-blue liquid.
The slime rippled, sloshed, and swirled before slowly reforming into its humanoid shape. The sand that had clung so stubbornly before now lay harmlessly at his feet.
He let out a contented sigh, tilting his head back under the shower. Water streamed down his hair as his fingers glided through it—clean, soft, and as smooth as milk.
Enclosed in the warm, humid space of the bathroom, the tension Lemu hadn't even realized he'd been carrying began to ease.
It felt strangely familiar. Like the days when he had wandered alone—no family, no connections—always wary of strangers and threats. Back then, locking the door of a cheap hotel room was the only time he could let his guard down.
The sense of security was fleeting, but he savored it nonetheless.
The knock on the bathroom door snapped him out of his thoughts.
Pepper's voice came through, soft and gentle. "I left the clothes outside the door. Don't forget to grab them. Oh, and I got you some snacks—they're on the coffee table in the living room. Help yourself anytime, okay?"
"Thanks, Pepper."
He made a mental note to follow the local custom—Americans often addressed each other by first names, even with casual acquaintances.
Waiting until her footsteps faded, Lemu cracked open the door and retrieved the new clothes. He shook them out before sliding into the clean, soft fabric.
Better than patchy fur coats and tattered shirts, that was for sure.
As Lemu slipped into the new clothes, something felt… off.
The fabric draped strangely over his frame, and the cut was unfamiliar. No pants? What kind of outfit didn't include pants?
Frowning, he turned toward the mirror—and froze.
Wait a second… Who's this?
The reflection staring back at him wasn't the sharp-eyed, tough survivor he expected.
Instead, the mirror showed a delicate, doll-like girl, her features so fine and symmetrical she looked as though she had stepped out of a fantasy painting.
She wore a pale blue short dress trimmed with white lace. The sleeves extended just past her elbows, leaving slender, porcelain-white forearms exposed. The hem stopped at her knees, showing off long, smooth legs that looked too perfect to be real.
Wet, pale-blue hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her dewy, pink-tinged cheeks only added to the illusion of fragility. Her amber eyes—wide and round—sparkled like polished gemstones. Even the tiny droplets clinging to her lashes seemed perfectly placed.
Her soft lips parted slightly in astonishment.
That's… me?
Lemu stared, unmoving, for what felt like an eternity before hesitantly reaching out to touch his own face.
"…Damn it. I'm adorable."
The words escaped before he could stop them.
Then reality came crashing back. No way. No one can see me like this. If anyone does—
Lemu yanked a large bath towel off the rack, wrapping it tightly around himself like a shield. Peeking out from the door, he called out in what he hoped was a calm, even tone.
"Pepper? I, uh… there is something wrong here."
Pepper's voice floated back almost immediately. "What's wrong? Don't like the clothes?"
———
Shower this fanfic with some power stones… readers~~