The morning sunlight pierced through the clouds, spilling over a vast, boundless expanse of emerald grasslands. A gentle breeze blew, causing the green grass to sway, and the air was filled with the fresh scent of earth and leaves.

  At the very center of this grassland—which looked as though it had remained untouched since ancient times—a brand-new body lay quietly in repose.

  It was a classic dwarven silhouette. Though standing no more than one hundred and thirty centimeters tall, he possessed an exceptionally thick and heavy frame. His muscles were firm and full; his rounded belly appeared substantial and tight rather than saggy, resembling a solid shield that carried a reassuring sense of weight. His arms were thick and powerful, his chest as broad as stone, and though his legs were short, they were rooted firmly to the earth, as if born to endure immense pressure and fierce combat.

  He possessed healthy, bronze skin. A dense, snow-white beard filled his jaw and chest, exuding a primal and potent masculine aura. A head of fluffy brown hair fluttered slightly in the breeze, adding a touch of rugged charm. Every inch of this body was a perfect manifestation of his ultimate fantasy and deep longing for the "stout, thick, and burly" aesthetic.

  Fujiwara Naoki—no, he should now be called Yggdrasil—finally opened his eyes slowly.

  He sat up gradually, carefully sensing the weight and unprecedented solidity that this new body provided. With just a slight lift of his arm, his firm biceps bulged with clarity. He looked down, taking in his broad chest, his slightly protruding round belly, and his powerful thighs.

  With a hint of shyness and curiosity, he inspected every detail of his form, including the space between those thick thighs—exactly as he had long hoped, it was stout and filled with a sense of power, a perfect fit for the ideal form he had dreamed of, just as it had appeared in his countless fantasies.

  An uncontrollable surge of joy welled up in his heart. His lips pulled back into a wide grin, and the corners of his eyes even shimmered with a hint of tears.

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  "This... this is the body I’ve always dreamed of..." he murmured to himself, his voice trembling slightly.

  He hadn't chosen to be reborn as a dwarf on a whim. During that dialogue with the Creator God, Zareon, he had stated his deepest desire without hesitation—to become a dwarf; a dwarf who was stout, thick, and heavy. This was the race he had deeply admired and yearned for since his teenage years.

  In that modern society where he still could not freely express his true orientation, he had always silently sketched and collected images of dwarves in his mind: the broad shoulders, the torso as solid as a mountain, and the unique charm born from the mixture of beard and muscle—a blend of toughness and tenderness. He never appreciated lean lines or conventional beauty; instead, he had a singular devotion to this heavy, reliable, and secure physique. He longed to embrace such a body, and even more, to possess one himself.

  And now, that long-buried dream had finally come true.

  Yggdrasil reached out his hands, gently cupping his rounded cheeks, feeling the soft texture of the dense white beard on either side. The heavy palms, the sturdy knuckles, the fluffy brown hair... every inch of skin, every detail of this body felt as if it had been custom-made to satisfy the deepest desires of his soul.

  "Lord Zareon... you truly understand me..." he praised from the bottom of his heart, his voice filled with gratitude.

  It wasn't merely simple thanks; it was a devout emotion bordering on faith. The Creator God he called Zareon had not forced any arrangement upon him, nor had He given him any unwanted commands. Instead, He had completely respected his will, fulfilling the most honest and primal longings of his soul. To him, this was not just a divine gift, but a miracle of being thoroughly understood and treated with tenderness.

  Thus, as he finally stood up to face the rising sun, he naturally closed his eyes. He pressed his palms together over his chest and, with an unprecedented level of piety, whispered a prayer:

  "Great Zareon, I thank you from my heart for granting me this ideal body of my dreams. Please allow me to fulfill my mission in this new world with this form. And may every step I take live up to the choice and grace you have bestowed upon me."

  From that day forward, every morning and every evening, Yggdrasil would face the sky and silently offer his prayer. He did not do this out of fear of the divine, but out of a heart overflowing with gratitude. He knew clearly that this body did not just satisfy his personal desires—it carried a deeper, more sacred meaning.

  He prayed to God, not to ask for greater power, but to remind himself: how precious, and how sacred, everything he now possessed truly was.