The peace was a physical presence, something I could almost taste on the clean air. Lying in the soft grass, with the warm sun blanketing my body, I felt the last vestiges of my old life's tension finally dissolve. The constant, low-grade hum of anxiety that had been my lifelong companion was gone, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant, melodic chirping of unseen birds. For the first time, my mind wasn't racing with calculations or social algorithms. It was simply… still. I cataloged the new sensations with a quiet joy: the tickle of a blade of grass against my ear, the rich, loamy smell of the earth beneath me, the feeling of my own chest rising and falling with each deep, untroubled breath. This was life. Not an observation of it, but the raw, unfiltered experience.
A sudden, sharp rustle from the treeline to my left broke the tranquility.
It wasn't the gentle sound of the wind. It was deliberate, sharp, the sound of something moving with purpose. Before my conscious mind could even process the potential threat, my new body was already reacting. The latent power I'd felt coiled in my muscles sprang to life. Every nerve ending tingled, my senses sharpening to a razor's edge. My leisurely posture vanished as I shifted, my weight balanced on the balls of my feet, my head turning towards the sound in a single, fluid motion. The idyllic peace of a moment ago had been shattered, replaced by the electric hum of imminent danger.
A figure exploded from the cover of the forest.
She moved with a shocking, explosive speed, a blur of lilac and white against the green backdrop. In her hand, she clutched a crude but effective-looking spear, its tip a lethally sharpened piece of flint. Her lunge was not clumsy or wild; it was a practiced, desperate strike aimed directly at my heart. There was no hesitation, no warning, only a silent, ferocious intent to kill.
My old self would have frozen, a statue of terrified incomprehension waiting for the inevitable. My old self would have died.
But this body was not that of a scientist. It moved with a grace and instinct that defied my own conscious thought. Time seemed to dilate. I saw the flint tip of the spear closing in, saw the grim determination in the attacker's eyes. Before my brain could even formulate the command to move, I was already rolling sideways, the motion as natural as breathing. The spear tip slammed into the earth with a violent thud, burying itself in the exact spot my head had been a microsecond before.
I came up into a defensive crouch, my heart hammering not with fear, but with a surge of pure adrenaline. I was shocked by my own fluid reaction, by the sheer, unthinking efficiency of my escape. Looking at my attacker, I finally registered the details.
She was a woman, an adult, with skin so fair it seemed almost luminous against the dirt smudged on her cheek. Her hair, a startling shade of lilac, was long and wavy, tangled with leaves and twigs from her dash through the woods. But it was the two appendages atop her head that seized my attention: a pair of long, white rabbit ears, standing erect and twitching with aggressive energy. They weren't a costume. They were real.
The God of Life had sent me to a world that was not my own in more ways than one.
She let out a frustrated hiss, yanking her spear free from the ground. Her eyes, a brilliant, piercing blue, narrowed as she sized me up, surprised by my evasion. She didn't give me a moment to process. With a feral cry, she lunged again, abandoning the spear and closing the distance between us, a sharpened rock clutched in her hand like a dagger.
The fight became a desperate, close-quarters grapple. She was a whirlwind of motion, her agility astonishing. She moved with the explosive, unpredictable hops and feints of her animal namesake, yet her strikes carried a surprising, wiry strength. I was forced to actively defend myself, my engineering mind kicking into overdrive, analyzing trajectories and predicting movements while my new body responded with a strength and speed that was its equal. I deflected a slash aimed at my throat, my forearm meeting hers with a solid thud. The impact sent a jolt up my arm, and I realized with a dawning sense of respect and alarm that she was incredibly strong. While my raw power was greater, she possessed a deadly, life-or-death experience that I utterly lacked. She was a survivor.
I needed to end this. Not by hurting her, but by restraining her.
As she spun, bringing the rock dagger around in a vicious arc, I saw my opening. Instead of blocking, I stepped inside her guard, a move so counter-intuitive my old self would have screamed in protest. I caught her wrist with one hand, my grip like steel, arresting the blow. With my other hand, I grabbed her shoulder. Using the principle of leverage—a concept I understood far better than combat—I redirected her own forward momentum, pulling her off balance and twisting.
We tumbled to the ground in a messy heap of flailing limbs and lilac hair. The maneuver was efficient, using her own force against her, and I ended up on top, straddling her hips and pinning her wrists to the soft earth on either side of her head.
The struggle ceased. We were locked in a tense, breathless stalemate.
Her chest heaved beneath me as she gasped for air, her body trembling with a mixture of rage and exhaustion. For the first time, I got a clear, unobstructed look at her. Her face, even smudged with dirt and contorted into a defiant snarl, was strikingly beautiful. Her features were delicate, but her expression was pure defiance. The long, white rabbit ears were now flattened back against her head, a clear sign of aggression. Her ragged gown, once perhaps a simple dress, was torn and frayed, doing little to hide a figure that was surprisingly curvaceous. Even in her malnourished state, it was clear she had the physique of a full-grown woman, with a generous bust and a perky, well-defined rear. The tattered fabric clung to her form, a stark contrast of feminine appeal and brutal survival.
I looked past all that, into her fierce, unyielding blue eyes. They held no fear, only a burning, cornered-animal hatred.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice coming out steadier and deeper than I expected. "Why are you attacking me?"
She answered with a guttural snarl, renewing her struggles, but my grip, empowered by a wish, was absolute. She was trapped. The tension between us stretched taut, a silent battle of wills in the quiet meadow.
And then, in the profound silence, another sound echoed, loud and embarrassingly primal.
"GRRRROWL!"
The sound was so powerful, so deep, I instinctively glanced down at her stomach, assuming it was hers. But the vibration wasn't coming from her. It was rumbling up from my own gut. My new, superhuman body, after the intense burst of adrenaline and physical exertion, was burning through its energy reserves at an accelerated rate. It was demanding fuel. Now.
The bunny girl's fierce blue eyes widened in surprise, the sound momentarily breaking through her aggressive haze. A flicker of confusion crossed her face. And then, as if in response, a much weaker, more pathetic sound answered from beneath me.
"grgl…"
It was a faint, pitiable gurgle, the last desperate complaint of a truly empty stomach. The ferocity in her eyes vanished, instantly replaced by a wave of fiery, absolute humiliation. Her fair cheeks flushed a deep crimson that was visible even through the grime. Her struggles ceased entirely, her body going rigid with shame. Her stomach had betrayed her far more effectively than I ever could have.
The fight, the adrenaline, and the final, mortifying shock of our shared hunger was too much for her depleted system. The last of her strength evaporated. The defiant snarl on her lips slackened, her body went limp beneath me, and her eyelids fluttered, the brilliant blue of her irises disappearing behind them.
As she fainted, her head lolling to the side in the soft grass, she whispered a single, desperate plea, a sound so faint it was barely more than a breath.
"...food... give me some food..."
And then she was still.
I was left in the most surreal situation of my new life: kneeling over an unconscious, starving bunny girl who had, just moments ago, been trying to murder me, while my own stomach continued to complain loudly about the lack of breakfast.
I carefully, gently, released her wrists and pushed myself off her. The data was clear. Problem: mutual starvation. Attacker's motive: not malice, but desperation. My engineering mind processed the variables, but it was my old, ingrained, polite nature that arrived at the conclusion. A deep sense of empathy, amplified by my own gnawing hunger, washed over me. She wasn't a monster. She was just a starving girl, pushed to the brink.
Any thought of retribution or anger was absurd. There was only one logical, and humane, course of action.
I looked down at her still form, the lilac hair fanned out like a strange halo in the grass, the long white ears now soft and relaxed in unconsciousness. Making the first true, unforced choice of my new existence, I knelt down. I slid one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees. She was surprisingly light for a woman of her build, a clear testament to how long she had gone without a proper meal.
With a strength that felt both new and natural, I lifted her into my arms. Her head lolled against my shoulder, her breathing soft and even. Carrying the woman who had just tried to kill me, I turned and began the slow, deliberate walk back towards my small, empty cottage. I had no food, no plan, and a new, very complicated problem cradled in my arms. But for the first time in my life, I wasn't lonely.