"BOOBS!!!"
The echo of his own scream bounced off the marble walls and slammed back into his ears.
But this time, Mike noticed something else.
That… that's not my voice.
The voice he heard was high-pitched, soft, and undeniably feminine.
The kind of voice that, in his previous life, he might have heard in some ASMR video at three in the morning while trying to fall asleep.
"What the hell happened to my voice?" he said out loud, just to confirm what he already knew.
And sure enough—the voice that came out of his mouth was that of a woman.
No... No, no, no, no.
The words of that entity echoed in his mind like a mocking whisper.
"To a place where you'll be… you know what? I think it's better if you discover it yourself."
Mike clenched his teeth.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered bitterly, his new feminine voice making the insult sound almost elegant. "When you said 'something different,' I didn't think you meant THIS."
You damn shitty god… you're probably laughing at me right now.
But then—in the middle of his existential crisis, his bleeding arm, and his brain desperately trying not to collapse—another thought struck him like lightning.
A thought so urgent and fundamentally important that everything else stopped mattering for a moment.
Wait.
I have boobs.
I'm a woman.
Mike froze completely.
His gaze slowly moved down from his chest—the boobs were still there, confirming this wasn't a hallucination—lower and lower.
Toward his crotch.
The white nightgown he was wearing reached his thighs, and from this angle he couldn't see anything clearly.
No… it can't be.
Please dont leave me buddy.
Anything but that.
With trembling hands—and not exactly from blood loss—Mike grabbed the edge of the nightgown and slowly lifted it.
Centimeter by centimeter.
Like someone opening exam results knowing they probably failed.
And then he saw it.
There it was.
His "little buddy."
Slightly different from what he remembered—well, proportionally different at least—but unmistakably present.
Mike stared downward for what felt like centuries.
And then he let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
"Oh, thank God," he whispered with such deep relief that he almost felt like crying. "You're still there, buddy…"
Wait...
I have boobs AND a penis.
What kind of combination is this?
Am I a woman? A man? Both?
What the hell am I?
But before he could dive deeper into that identity crisis, something equally urgent demanded his attention.
The blood.
It was still flowing from his left wrist, dripping onto the white marble with a steady rhythm that was starting to worry him.
Right… I'm bleeding out.
Maybe I should deal with that first…
Mike tore a strip of fabric from the nightgown with his teeth and clumsily wrapped it around his wrist.
It wasn't exactly a professional bandage, but at least it slowed the bleeding.
Alright… now the floor.
He knelt down and began cleaning the puddle of blood with what remained of the nightgown, frantically scrubbing the marble.
If someone sees this they're going to think I—
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
Mike froze instantly.
Someone was knocking on the door.
"Lady Mara?" A soft, concerned female voice sounded from the other side. "Are you alright? I heard a scream."
Miss Mara?
Who the hell is Mara?
…Ah.
I guess that's me.
"I-I'm fine," Mike replied, and his voice came out weak and trembling in a way he didn't have to fake. "It's nothing."
Very convincing, Mike. Ten out of ten acting.
There was a brief silence on the other side of the door.
Mike used the moment to keep wiping the floor with increasingly desperate movements, trying to erase the blood from the marble while searching for somewhere to hide the knife.
Under the bed? No, too obvious. Behind the curtains? No, that's stupid. In the—
"Lady Mara, I'm coming in."
NO!
"Wait, that's not neces—!"
But the door was already opening.
Mike, kneeling on the floor with a half-destroyed nightgown, blood on his hands, a knife half-hidden behind his back, and a red puddle he definitely hadn't finished cleaning, slowly raised his eyes toward the door.
And he saw the woman entering.
She was tall and wore a black maid uniform with a white apron that fit tightly in certain places.
Her brown hair fell loosely over her shoulders, framing a pretty face filled with concern.
And she had enormous breasts.
The kind of breasts Mike had only seen on the internet in his previous life.
The maid froze in place, her eyes widening as she took in the scene before her.
A short orange-haired girl kneeling in a puddle of blood, wearing a torn nightgown, hands stained red, and the expression of a deer caught in headlights.
Silence stretched between them like an abyss.
…Yeah.
This definitely doesn't look good.