The kitchen was less of a room and more of a culinary laboratory.
Stepping onto the cool, polished marble tiles, I felt a weird, discordant sense of familiarity wash over me. I had never seen this place before—the brushed steel appliances, the floating holographic grocery list on the fridge, the massive island counter—but at the same time, I knew exactly where everything was.
I walked to the stove, the silk of my nightgown swishing against my legs.
"Okay, Sylvia," I muttered to myself, the smooth, feminine voice still jarring to my ears. "Let's see if you actually know how to use this stuff."
I reached for a heavy cast-iron skillet hanging from a rack.
Next, the fridge. I bent over to open the bottom drawer, reaching for the butter.
As I did, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the dark glass of the oven door opposite me.
The black silk nightgown draped perfectly over my body, the lace hem riding up just slightly to reveal the curve of my calves. The neckline dipped low, highlighting the pale, creamy skin of my chest. Even in this mundane domestic setting—hell, especially in this setting—I looked devastating.
I looked like the cover model for a magazine titled Domestic Goddess Weekly.
I shook my head, trying to snap out of the narcissism, and grabbed the ingredients. A carton of eggs, a block of expensive-looking butter, and some thick-cut bacon.
Then, I started cooking.
It wasn't that my body was moving on its own—it was just that I suddenly knew what to do. The knowledge was there, layered over my memories.
I threw a pat of butter into the pan. Sizzle.
I grabbed two eggs in one hand. Back in the real world, I would have made a mess. Here? I felt the weight of them, judged the distance, and—Crack.
With a simple flick of my wrist, I cracked both eggs simultaneously against the rim of the pan and dropped them in. No shells. Perfect yolks.
"Whoa," I breathed, staring at my own hand. "I guess Nate was right."
I felt a surge of satisfaction. I was moving with a grace I never had as a guy. One hand flipped bacon with a pair of tongs, while the other whisked batter for pancakes. It felt efficient. It felt powerful.
Within ten minutes, the kitchen was filled with the mouth-watering aroma of crispy bacon, fluffy pancakes, and sizzling eggs. I plated everything up with a presentation style that belonged in a five-star hotel.
Then, I stopped at the coffee machine.
I reached for the coffee beans, but then I hesitated. The smell of the dark roast... it felt too heavy. Too bitter.
"Tea," I decided, grabbing the canister instead. "Yeah. That sounds way better."
I quickly brewed a pot, pouring the steaming amber liquid into a delicate porcelain cup.
I leaned back against the counter, holding the teacup and looking at the spread of food. I felt elegant. I felt sexy. And honestly? I was kind of enjoying being this capable.
Heavy footsteps echoed on the stairs.
Nate—or rather, Jason—marched into the kitchen. He wasn't in his boxers anymore. He was wearing a crisp, navy blue military uniform with gold piping and a high collar. It was tailored to perfection, hugging his broad shoulders and giving him that quintessential "anime protagonist" silhouette.
He stopped in the doorway and struck a pose, hand on his hip.
"Whoa," I said, pausing with the teapot in mid-air. "What are you wearing? You look like you're about to command a starship."
"This?" He plucked at the lapel, grinning. "This is the official cadet uniform for the Earth Defense Coalition. Pretty sick, right? You don't go around in a pilot suit unless you're in the hangar."
He walked over to the island, but as he got closer, his confidence faltered. His eyes drifted down to my chest—which was currently framed by the black lace of my nightgown—and his face turned a bright, tomato red.
He quickly looked up at the ceiling.
"Uh... you should probably go get dressed too. After breakfast, I mean." He coughed awkwardly. "I checked the date on the datapad. It's the first day of the term. I have to report to the academy, and you... well, you have a shift at the infirmary."
"Wait a second," I cut in, setting the teapot down with a sharp clink. "Hold on. I just made pancakes. That's one thing. But you expect me to go to a high-tech medical facility and work a job I know nothing about? I'm not a medical professional, dude! I'm a gamer with a business degree!"
I gestured wildly with a spatula.
"I'm going to kill someone, Nate."
Nate shrugged, grabbed a piece of bacon from the plate I'd set out, and crunched into it.
"Just go and do it. Trust me, it'll work out."
"How can you be sure?" I protested, my voice rising in panic.
He sat down on the barstool, looking entirely too relaxed as he poured himself a glass of orange juice.
"Look, think about it this way," he said, waving a fork at me. "When you play a game, do you actually need to know how to cast a fireball? Do you need to memorize the Latin incantations? No. You just press the button, and the character does it."
He leaned forward, his eyes serious.
"That's how this world works. I know because while you were in here making this five-star breakfast, I was upstairs testing out the combat mechanics."
"Testing them how?"
"I did a backflip," Nate said deadpan. "A standing backflip. Into a superhero landing. I didn't even stretch. I just thought about doing it, and my body just executed the code. Effortlessly."
He grinned again, that stupid, infectious hero grin.
"So, if I can do martial arts moves I've never learned, I bet I can pilot a mech. And I bet you can perform surgery just as easily as you cracked those eggs."
I stared at him for a long moment. It sounded insane. It sounded like the logic of a madman.
But... I looked down at my hands. The hands that had just prepared a perfect breakfast without a single thought.
I sighed, the fight draining out of me. I pulled out a stool and sat opposite him, picking up my teacup.
"Well... if you say so," I muttered, taking a sip of the Earl Grey. It was perfectly steeped. "I guess I could try, at least. But if I accidentally lobotomize a someone, I'm blaming you."
"Deal," Nate laughed. "Now pass the syrup, Mom."
I rolled my eyes, grabbed the syrup bottle, and slid it across the island to him.
"Knock yourself out, 'Hero'."
I quickly finished my own portion—which was disturbingly delicious—and rinsed the plate. A glance at the digital clock on the oven told me I was burning daylight. If I was supposed to be a "Chief Medical Officer," I couldn't be late on my first day. Even if I didn't technically know what my job was yet.
"I'm going to get changed," I announced. "Don't touch the stove. You'll burn the house down."
I marched back upstairs to the master bedroom and threw open the massive walk-in closet.
"Okay," I muttered, staring at the rows of hangers. "Let's see what Sylvia works with."
It was a wall-to-wall collection of high-end women's fashion. Sharp blazers, tight skirts, and blouses that looked like they cost more than I could imagine. It was an intimidating wardrobe for a guy who usually wore hoodies.
First things first. The... essentials.
I opened a drawer and found the undergarments. My face heated up instantly.
"Right. Necessities. I guess I have no choice."
I grabbed a matching black set. I had to. The physics of this body were undeniable; there was no way I was walking out the front door without support.
Putting on the panties was weirdly normal, but the bra... I stared at the complex arrangement of hooks and straps. In my old life, undoing one of these was a puzzle. Putting one on seemed impossible.
I held it up to my chest, fumbling with the straps.
"How the hell do you reach behind your back and—"
Click.
My arms moved in a blur. Before I could even process the movement, the clasp was secured, the straps were adjusted, and everything was hoisted and locked into place.
"Okay," I exhaled, looking down. "Muscle memory. Thank god for that."
Next came the outfit. I rummaged through the hangers, looking for something that said 'medical professional' and not 'fashion model,' but apparently, Sylvia didn't do 'subtle.'
I grabbed a pair of opaque black leggings—thank god for those—and pulled them on. Then came a dark, form-fitting pencil skirt. It was shorter than I would have liked, riding high on the thighs.
Finally, I pulled on a dark blue turtleneck sweater.
It was tight. Really tight. The ribbed fabric clung to every curve, emphasizing the absurd proportions of this character.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered, turning to the mirror. "I look like I'm about to give a mission briefing."
But surprisingly... it wasn't uncomfortable. The clothes moved with me. The heels I slipped into didn't hurt my feet; they just made my calves look amazing.
I grabbed a white lab coat from the back of the door and draped it over my arm. Then, I leaned into the vanity mirror.
"Makeup. Right. Sylvia definitely wears makeup."
I picked up an eyeliner pencil. My hand didn't shake. I applied a sharp, perfect winged liner in seconds, followed by a touch of lipstick.
"Wow," I whispered, blinking at my reflection. "This feels kinda weird. Doing makeup naturally like this... I look fierce."
I shook my head, snapping out of the trance. Focus, Chris.
I noticed a leather handbag on the counter. I opened it and rummaged through the contents: wallet, keys, a tube of lipstick, and a sleek, transparent smartphone.
I tapped the screen. It asked for a passcode.
What's the code? 1234? 0000?
My thumb moved on its own, tracing a complex pattern on the screen. Unlock.
"Muscle memory is terrifying," I noted.
I opened the messages app. There was a thread at the top from a contact named "Director Henry".
Henry: Looking forward to having you on the team, Dr. Thorne. I know you transferred to be closer to your son during his enlistment, but we expect great things from your research division. See you at 08:30.
"Phew," I breathed a sigh of relief. "So I transferred here recently. I don't know anyone yet. That makes my job way easier. No awkward 'Hey, remember me?' conversations."
I dropped the phone into the bag, threw the strap over my shoulder, and headed downstairs.
Nate was waiting by the front door, checking his reflection in the hallway mirror. He turned as I walked down the steps, the heels clicking rhythmically on the wood.
He looked at his watch, then at me, grinning.
"Bro, I guess you really are a woman now. I've been waiting forever. You took like, thirty minutes just to get dressed."
A sharp spike of irritation flared in my chest.
"Hey!" I snapped, my hands finding my hips automatically. "Getting ready takes time, okay? And putting all this on isn't exactly easy!"
Nate blinked, then laughed.
"Okay, okay! Chill out, Mom."
He reached into his pocket and tossed a set of keys through the air.
"Here. You're driving."
My hand snatched the keys out of the air with ninja-like reflexes. I looked at the fob. It had the emblem of a luxury car brand I didn't recognize.
"Whatever," I grumbled, pushing past him. "Let's just go before I decide to ground you."
We walked out into the garage. Parked there was a sleek, black SUV that looked like a cross between a Range Rover and a spaceship.
I unlocked the doors, slid into the driver's seat, and adjusted the mirror. As I saw my purple eyes staring back at me, I took a deep breath.
Let's just hope for the best.