“I’m sick of this town! I’m sick of this life! Make me a hot guy in Tokyo in my next life, puhleeeease!”

Eeease. Eeease. Eeease. Eeease…

My wish echoes around the dark mountains, then disappears as though drawn into Itomori Lake below me. The words came out on impulse, and they’re so dumb, my head cools right down, as does my sweat.

Oh, but even so.

Gods, if you’re really there…

Please—

Even if the gods really do exist, I still don’t know what to wish for.

I don’t recognize that ringtone, I think drowsily.

An alarm? But I’m still sleepy. And you know what, I’m going right back to sleep. Eyes still shut, I grope for the smartphone I know I put beside my futon.

Huh?

I reach farther. Grr, that alarm is so noisy. Where’d I put it?

“—Ow!”

My back hits the floor with an emphatic thud. Apparently, I’ve managed to fall out of bed. Ow, ow, ow, ow… Wait, what? Bed?

I finally open my eyes and sit up.

Huh?

The room is completely unfamiliar.

And I’m in it.

Did I sleep over somewhere last night?

“…Where am I?”

The moment I murmur the words, I notice a strange heaviness in my throat. By reflex, I put a hand to it. The throat my fingers find is hard and angular. “Hmm?” My voice slips out again, and it’s really low. I look down at myself.

…They’re gone.

A T-shirt I’ve never seen before falls flat all the way to my stomach, and they’re not there.

My boobs are gone.

And right in the middle of my freakishly visible lower body, there’s… something. Something asserting its presence strongly enough to overwrite the feeling of wrongness precipitated by my missing boobs.

What is… this?

Slowly, I extend my hand, reaching for that area. All the blood in my body and all the skin over it is being pulled toward that one spot.

…Is this, um…? L-location-wise, it’s…

……………

…………

……

I touch it.

And very nearly pass out.

Who is this guy?

I’m gazing at a strange face in the mirror of a strange bathroom.

His slightly showy hairstyle brushes his eyebrows, apparently aiming for a casual/calculated ratio of about 6:4. The eyebrows are stubborn-looking, but his eyes are on the wide side and make him seem like a bit of a pushover. His chapped lips seem completely unacquainted with the concept of moisturizer, and his neck looks stiff. His cheeks are lean, with clean lines, and for some reason, there’s a big bandage on one of them. When I touch it gingerly, there’s a dull throb.

—But. Even though it hurts, I don’t wake up. My throat is bone-dry. I twist the faucet, fill my hands with tap water, and drink. It’s unpleasantly warm and smells like chemicals, like pool water.

“Taki, are you up?”

Abruptly, a man’s voice calls from somewhere in the distance, and I give a little shriek of alarm. Taki?