The rhythm of my footsteps on the pavement was set to the beat of my own heart, a familiar, comforting drum. Eighteen years old and my world revolved around one thing: the gym. Every ache in my muscles was a badge of honor, every PB a victory. Lunch was carefully portioned protein, evenings were dedicated to weights, and dreams were filled with perfect form and muscle gain. Dating? Girls? They were... complicated. Time-consuming. Distractions from the grind. "Maybe later," I'd always told myself. "After I hit this goal, or that milestone."
My mind was miles away, running through tomorrow's leg day routine, calculating protein macros, visualizing squats, oblivious to the screech of tires that tore through the mundane city noise. It was loud, too loud, too close.
I glanced up. Headlights, blindingly bright, filling my entire field of vision. A truck, veering wildly.
There wasn't time for a scream. No time for a thought beyond a flash of raw terror. No time to even brace myself.
Just impact. A bone-jarring, world-shattering force that stole the air from my lungs and the life from my limbs. Pain erupted, a searing, all-consuming fire that engulfed my body. The world tilted, colours bled into abstract smears, and the roar in my ears faded to a distant hum.
As consciousness ebbed away, pooling somewhere far below, a single, fragmented thought surfaced, a sudden, sharp regret piercing through the haze of pain. All that time... chasing iron instead of... just trying. Damn it. If... if there's somehow... a next time... The thought dissolved into darkness before it could fully form, lost somewhere between pavement and oblivion.
Darkness. Not blackness, but a soft, diffuse grayness. Like being wrapped in cotton wool. There was a strange lightness, a dissociation from my physical form that was deeply unsettling. Where was the pain? The crushing ache of being hit by a truck? It should be screaming through every nerve. But there was nothing. Just... floaty gray quiet.
Slowly, deliberately, feeling returned. Not pain, but a sensation of lying down. Softness beneath me. The gentle weight of a blanket. A faint scent in the air – clean, perhaps slightly floral? Definitely not the metallic tang of blood or the acrid smell of exhaust fumes.
My eyes flickered open.
Fluorescent light, soft and indirect, illuminated a room I'd never seen before. White walls, minimalist furniture, a large window covered by sheer curtains. It wasn't a hospital room. It wasn't my bedroom. Where the hell was I?
Panic, cold and sharp, began to prickle under my skin. I pushed myself up, the unfamiliar lightness of my limbs adding to the disorientation. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet meeting a smooth, cool floor. "What...?" The word came out, a strange, high-pitched whisper. Not my voice. Definitely not my voice.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. I stumbled towards the only reflective surface I could see – a full-length mirror mounted on the opposite wall. My reflection came into view as I approached.
I froze.
Staring back at me was a girl.
Not just a girl, but... a stunningly beautiful one. Delicate features, wide eyes, a cascade of dark hair framing the face. My breath hitched. This wasn't right. This wasn't me.
My hands, slender and graceful, nothing like the thick, calloused hands I remembered, flew up to touch my face in the mirror. The skin felt smooth, soft. Alien. I looked down at the body reflected there. Gone was the broad chest, the defined shoulders, the six-pack I'd painstakingly built. In their place was a slender frame, softly curved, undeniably... feminine.
A guttural sound, a choked gasp of disbelief and horror, escaped my throat – still in that strange, high pitch. "What... the hell?" My voice shook, the sound foreign and terrifying. "Why...? Why am I...?" My mind couldn't even form the words. A girl? How was this possible? I was hit by a truck! I should be dead, or in pieces, or... something!
My hands ran frantically over my chest, down my sides, feeling the unfamiliar contours. The muscle was just gone. Replaced by smooth skin and... softness. It was like looking at a stranger, touching a stranger, being a stranger. "This isn't real," I whispered, shaking my head, denial flooding my system. "This has to be some kind of insane dream."
As I stood there, rooted to the spot in front of the mirror, a gentle ping sounded from a small device on a nearby bedside table. A soft blue light pulsed, and a moment later, a holographic projection flickering into existence above it. It wasn't a display for the whole room, but a contained field of light, discernible only from my perspective, and within it, a face coalesced, serene and digital, looking directly at me.
"Good morning, Chizuru Mizuhara," the voice said, melodic and even, seemingly originating from the projection itself. "How are you feeling today? Your schedule indicates a class in two hours."
The name hit me like a physical blow, even harder than the truck. Chizuru Mizuhara. The name was instantly, sickeningly familiar. My mind scrambled, trying to place it. Chizuru Mizuhara... the 'Rental Girlfriend' from the manga, Rent-A-Girlfriend. The one I'd scrolled past on my phone, occasionally reading a few chapters between sets.
No. No, no, no. My brain screamed in protest. This couldn't be real. This wasn't just a dream, it was a full-blown, reality-bending nightmare. I was in her body? In her world?
"Who... what are you talking about?" I stammered, backing away from the mirror, my eyes fixed on the hologram with a mixture of fear and desperate hope that it would offer a logical explanation. "Chizuru Mizuhara? That's... that's not me! My name is--" I stopped. What was my name? In the face of this absurdity, even my own identity felt slippery, unreal.
The digital face maintained its calm, slightly sympathetic expression. "It appears you are experiencing significant cognitive dissonance, likely a side effect of the transference process. I am your personal AI Assistant, designed to facilitate your transition. You are, empirically, Chizuru Mizuhara." The emphasis on 'personal' felt significant, reinforcing that this interaction was private.
"Transference?" The word felt alien and terrifying. "What transference? I was... I was just hit by a truck!" The raw horror of the accident and the sheer impossibility of my current situation collided in my mind, threatening to shatter what little composure I had left.
"Indeed," the AI responded, its voice unwavering. "A quantum entanglement event occurred, resulting in the transmigration of your consciousness into this biological host. While extremely rare, such occurrences are documented within certain multi-reality frameworks."
Multi-reality frameworks? Quantum entanglement? My head swam. This wasn't science fiction; this was my life now? I had died... and ended up here? In a fictional character's body? The fragmented wish about dating flashed into my mind, grotesque and twisted in this new context.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, the soft mattress yielding beneath me. My new, light body felt strangely disconnected, as if it didn't belong to me. Which, apparently, it didn't.
"So... so you're saying I... I died?" I asked, the words barely a whisper.
"Your previous biological form ceased function," the AI confirmed gently. "Your consciousness persisted and has been successfully integrated into this body, which is genetically and biologically identical to the identity known as Chizuru Mizuhara."
Integrated. My consciousness. Into her body. It was impossible. It was insane. And yet... I was here. Feeling the soft fabric of the blanket, seeing the unfamiliar room, hearing the AI's calm, unbelievable explanation. And knowing, somehow, that this digital helper was only for me.
A wave of nausea rolled through me. My old life, my body, my goals... gone. Replaced by this. By her. Chizuru Mizuhara. The rental girlfriend. The girl I'd barely given a second thought to.
The AI's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "I understand this is a profound shock. My primary function is to assist you in adapting. We can review Chizuru's memories, her current circumstances, her skills... anything to help you integrate."
Integrate. The word sounded clinical, cold. Like installing new software. But this wasn't software; this was a person's life. My life now, apparently.
I looked at the AI, then back at the alien reflection in the mirror. Fear was still a cold knot in my stomach, but beneath it, a tiny, hesitant ember of something else flickered. Curiosity? Desperation? Or maybe, just maybe, the perverse realization that my dying thought, in the most bizarre, messed-up way imaginable, had been answered?
"Alright," I said again, my voice stronger this time, though still not my own. I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to ground myself in this impossible reality. "Alright. Where do we even start with... being Chizuru Mizuhara?"
The AI smiled, a purely digital expression of reassurance. "We start with understanding. Welcome to your new life, Chizuru. It will be... an adjustment."
An adjustment. That was the understatement of the century. My life as a gym-obsessed guy was over. Now, I was Chizuru Mizuhara. And whatever that meant, I was going to have to figure it out. My old goals were dust. New ones... well, they were terrifyingly unclear, but they definitely didn't involve deadlifts. They involved... this. This new body. This new life. And whatever, or whoever, came with it.