The first thing I registered was the scent: a sickly sweet, overwhelmingly floral perfume that seemed to cling to the air like a wet shroud. It was the kind of scent I associated with my grandmother's vanity table cloying, expensive, and absolutely not what a seventeen year old college student's room should smell like.
My eyelids fluttered open, struggling against a sudden, inexplicable weight. It was early, the soft light of a spring morning filtering past the blinds, but the room felt... different. The posters on my wall the one of the '98 Skyline GTR, the one of the underdog soccer team I rooted for looked muted, almost pastel.
I pushed myself up, running a hand through my hair. Wait. My hair.
Instead of the short, practical, dark brown strands that usually felt like dry straw against my scalp, a torrential cascade of something unbelievably soft and thick slid through my fingers. It wasn't just soft; it was the color of sakura petals at peak bloom, a luminous, impossible pink that seemed to glow in the morning light.
A bolt of icy dread shot through me, sharper than the floral scent.
I scrambled off the bed, my feet hitting the polished wooden floor. But they weren't my feet. They were small, delicate, with high, perfect arches and painted toenails a ridiculous, shimmery shade of pale rose.
I didn't waste another second. I sprinted to the full length mirror next to my closet.
What stared back was a stranger.
No, worse than a stranger. It was a character from a high budget, ultra girly shojo manga.
My heart didn't just pound; it thrashed, trying to escape the slender cage of my ribs. The person in the mirror was indisputably beautiful so beautiful it almost hurt to look directly at her. She had massive, liquid amethystcoloredeyes that sparkled with an almost unsettling intensity. Her skin was flawless, like fine porcelain dusted with a faint, natural blush.
And the hair. The impossibly long, pink, silken river of hair framed a delicate, heart shaped face.
I slapped my hand against my cheek, and the girl in the mirror slapped hers back. The sound was soft, a whisper, not the solid thwack my hand usually made.
"What in the... kami sama!" I whispered, but the voice that came out was a high, sweet, chime like soprano utterly unfamiliar and embarrassingly feminine.
I was KenjiOki. I was 5'10", built from years of wrestling practice and late night ramen. I had a thick, deep voice and an even thicker history textbook I should have been studying. This...this pink haired princess was not me. This was a nightmare. A horrific, gender bending nightmare.
I frantically inspected the rest of me. The chest was definitely not flat. The shoulders were narrow. I was wearing a ridiculously frilly, pink silk nightgown that felt like it was woven from spider silk. Every curve, every line, was undeniably, irrevocably female.
The only thing that was the same was the mind screaming in panic inside this unbelievably attractive head. Kenji is still here!
I tried to rationalize. A dream? A prank? Some kind of weird medical condition?
The last option was too terrifying. I needed an explanation, and the only people who could provide one were two rooms away.
I burst out of the room, my new, light feet padding silently down the hallway
Mom! Dad!" The soprano voice cracked slightly. "Something is wrong! Look at me!"
I skidded to a stop in the kitchen doorway. My father, a man of quiet, unwavering routine, was reading the morning paper sipping his coffee. My mother was arranging perfectly toasted slices of bread on a platter.
They both looked up. Not with shock, not with horror, but with the usual, mildly concerned affection they always showed me.
"Good morning, Hina," my mother said, smiling gently. "You're up early. You look a little pale, sweetheart. Did you have another bad dream?"
Hina. Who in the hell was Hina?
My father lowered his newspaper, his eyes scanning my distressed form. "You'll be late for the orientation. Get some breakfast, musume (daughter). You have a big day ahead of you at Tsubaki College."
I felt the blood drain from my already porcelain pale face.
"Dad," I said, trying to force my voice into its familiar, deep register, but failing miserably. "Stop the joke. It's not funny. I'm Kenji. You're my parents. I'm your son. What did you do to my room? What happened to me?"
My mother's smile softened into a look of genuine worry. She set down the toast and walked toward me, placing a cool hand on my forehead.
"Kenji? Darling, what are you talking about? You are HinaOki, our only child. You're a girl and you always have been."
I stumbled back, my mind reeling. "No! I've played catch with you! I broke my arm when I was eight climbing the old oak tree! I just passed my driver's test! I'm a guy!"
My father stood up, his brow furrowed. "Hina, listen to yourself. You sprained your ankle two years ago practicing ballet. You've never climbed that oak. And you failed your written driver's exam twice, which is why your mother drives you everywhere. Are you feeling alright? Maybe we should call Dr. Sato."
He spoke with such absolute conviction, such genuine confusion at my confusion, that my rational mind fractured.
This wasn't a prank. This wasn't a dream. This was my reality, and everyone else's.
I ran back to my room, slamming the door shut. I needed proof. I needed a timeline.
I tore through the closet. The familiar stack of old t shirts and jeans was gone, replaced by a dizzying array of skirts, blouses, and designer dresses. I pulled out my old school yearbooks but the name "KenjiOki" was nowhere. Instead, there were photos of this beautiful, pinkhaired girl, HinaOki, from kindergarten through high school. She was in every shot. She was smiling, often surrounded by other girls, occasionally looking shyly away from the camera. She was me.
I checked my phone. The contacts, the photos, the notes they all belonged to Hina. My favorite mobile RPG was still there, but my high level male character had been replaced by a ridiculously cute female avatar named 'Pinky Princess.'
My reflection in the mirror seemed to be mocking me. I was trapped. KenjiOki, the aspiring engineer with the mediocre grades and the passion for classic cars, had been completely erased from the universe, replaced by the perfect, stunning, universally admired HinaOki.
A sudden, sharp realization hit me, tightening my throat.
I was entering Tsubaki College today. I was going to be surrounded by people. People who would see her. People who would see Hina Oki.
The thought of facing a crowd, of walking around in this body, sent a wave of nausea through me.
But then, the other realization hit. The one that was both terrifying and utterly maddening.
My new body was a magnet.
I remembered the high school yearbooks Hina was always surrounded. I remembered the way my father's friend's son, Tetsuya, had looked at the reflection in the kitchen window for a beat too long.
When I stepped out of the house forty minutes later, dressed in a soft, white blouse and a light blue skirt an outfit Hina's body seemed to effortlessly pull off I saw it immediately.
A group of college aged boys were loitering near the bus stop, doing nothing, yet suddenly turning in perfect unison as I stepped onto the sidewalk. Their eyes widened. Their casual chatter died. They were staring, and it wasn't just admiration; it was awe. The kind of look I, as Kenji, had seen guys give to movie stars or idol singers. They were captivated by Hina Oki.
I wanted to snarl, to tell them to back off, but I was acutely aware of the delicate, soft shell I was in.
I caught the eye of the one with the unruly brown hair, and he immediately broke into a dazzling, confident smile and started walking toward me.
"Hey! You must be a new student at Tsubaki!" he called out, his voice smooth and inviting. "My name is"
I didn't let him finish. I ducked my head, my pink hair obscuring my face in a practiced, graceful move Hina's muscle memory seemed to perform on its own, and I practically sprinted to the bus, heart pounding.
This was going to be my life. A constant barrage of attention, of unwelcome advances, of being seen as nothing more than a beautiful object.
Kenji Oki was gone. HinaOki was here, and the world was already lining up to fall in love with her.
When I finally reached the campus, the sheer scale of the situation overwhelmed me. Tsubaki College was enormous, a labyrinth of buildings filled with thousands of students. I needed to find my orientation hall, blend in, and somehow, find a way to deal with the utter loss of my identity.
I navigated the throngs of students, avoiding eye contact, using my stunning appearance as a sort of reverse cloak: everyone noticed her, but they were too intimidated to approach right away, giving me a moment of blessed, anxious peace.
I found the orientation hall, slipped into a seat near the back, and tried to shrink into myself.
My internal monologue was a storm of 'I can't believe this, I'm Kenji, I need a car, I need my pants, I need to talk to a therapist'.
But then I saw her.
She was sitting two rows in front of me, bathed in the natural light streaming from a high window. She had short, stylish, dark chestnut hair that framed an intelligent, finely sculpted face. She wore a simple, elegant button down shirt and black trousers, a clear departure from the frilly uniforms many girls wore. She wasn't flashy like Hina; she was cool, collected, and radiated a quiet, unshakeable confidence.
She was utterly, breathtakingly beautiful in a completely different way the kind of beauty that made you want to know her favorite book, her opinions on the world, and her deepest dreams.
My heart, the one Kenji Oki heart that still beat inside Hina Oki's chest, did a double take.
She's perfect, I thought, a sudden, powerful longing washing over me. I want to talk to her. I want to be her friend. I want to...
The thought finished itself in my mind with an overwhelming clarity: I want her to be my girlfriend.
It was the familiar, gut wrenching realization of attraction Kenji had always felt.
The girl turned her head slightly, sensing my gaze, and our eyes met. Her expression was neutral, but a fleeting curiosity crossed her features as she took in the famous, striking beauty of Hina Oki.
I blushed furiously, a deep crimson spreading across Hina's flawless skin, making her look even more ethereal. I quickly ducked my head again, my pink hair forming a curtain.
You idiot, Kenji, I berated myself silently. You can't have her. You're a girl now. You're Hina. And even if you could... you'd just be two girls.
The conflict solidified, sharp and cruel, crystallizing the true depth of my new prison. The body I now possessed was desired by everyone I didn't want, and it prevented me from seeking out the only person I did want.
My first day at Tsubaki College had just begun, and Kenji Oki, trapped inside Hina Oki, had just met the person he wished he could still pursue.
This was going to be a very, very long life.