Chapter 1: Here We Go★

Is it really possible for something this unreasonable to happen?

Because of a small good deed, I lost consciousness—and the moment I woke up, I let out a heavy sigh, sinking into a mood so depressing that even the word "worst" would feel too mild. No matter how many words I used, I doubted I could ever convey this feeling. After all, I couldn’t even come up with the right word for it myself.

"……"

Why did it turn out like this? When I sighed for what felt like the hundredth time and touched my cheek, the sensation that returned was something I had never felt before—smooth, like soft mochi. Was my skin ever this fresh and supple? No way.

"…………"

Why did it turn out like this? When I hung my head and buried my face into the pillow, strands of fine, silken-white hair spilled over the sheets like threads of silk. Was my hair ever this delicate and beautiful? Of course not. From the day I was born, my hair had always been black, and I had never once dyed it.

"…………"

Why did it turn out like this? The small vanity mirror sitting atop the dresser reflected an unfamiliar beautiful girl wearing an oversized, baggy jersey. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she stared back at me in confusion. Who in the world was she? And why, when I was supposed to be facing the mirror head-on, could I not see myself anywhere? There was no answer to my questions.

　　　Online☆Communication
　　　　　　　　Contact.00-1 『Here We Go』

My name is Kizaki Hinata. Due to circumstances, I don’t go to school, but I’m a Japanese boy around the age people usually call a second-year high schooler. People often say my name makes it hard to tell whether I’m male or female, but according to my friends, I’m "not handsome enough to be called good-looking, but definitely not ugly either." My face wasn’t particularly feminine, and other than my name, I had never once been mistaken for a girl.

That’s right—no matter what, I never had the doll-like face, snowy long hair, and emerald-green eyes of the girl reflected in the mirror now, her features trembling with unease. And yet, the mirror in my home, with all the honesty of something straight out of a fairytale, faithfully reflected the truth before me.

When I stretched out my right hand, the girl in the mirror stretched out her left. When I looked like I was about to cry, the girl’s emerald eyes shimmered with the same unease. No doubt about it—the reflection belonged to what people would call a beautiful girl. The kind of cute face that would make anyone stop and stare if they saw her on the street. …Though in terms of apparent age, she looked like she was barely ten years old, if that. Hardly old enough for anyone to see her as a "woman."

But that wasn’t the point. What I wanted to see now was not the cute face of some young girl, but my own average, unimpressive Japanese male face. And yet the mirror, which wasn’t supposed to be a "mirror of truth," was mercilessly confronting me with this reality. Would it be too much to ask for just a little tact?

Of course, yelling at the mirror wasn’t going to change anything. I had already tried every dream-checking method I could think of, but none gave me anything but hopeless results. The world really wasn’t kind. With no one around to comfort me, I buried my face in the pillow once more.

It was now the year 2040. Paper media had been steadily declining, and most forms of publication had already shifted to digital years ago. And the genre of "I woke up one day and found myself a beautiful girl"—a trope that had existed for decades—was everywhere online, in numbers that rivaled the stars. But those were all supposed to be fiction. Something that could never actually happen.

I picked up my tablet and opened a search engine, trying words like "gender swap" and "woke up as a beautiful girl."

"…………"

After scrolling through the results, I sighed and tossed the device onto the bed. As expected, my actions had been utterly meaningless. All I found were endless listings for novels and manga in the same genre. Decades of accumulated content had made it an overwhelming flood. Trying to find information that could actually help me now was like looking for a single odd-colored grain of sand in the desert.

Then I finally remembered—what happened right before I lost consciousness. It seemed I’d been more confused than I realized. Though really, if anyone could go through this without being confused, I’d love to hear their secret.

Anyway, back to the point. About three months ago, I had decided to go out more and get a little exercise, so I started visiting a local shrine. It was about a twenty-minute walk each way. I’d greet the shrine priest—an acquaintance of my mother—and spend about thirty minutes helping with cleaning before heading home. Even though I wasn’t particularly religious, I found the routine surprisingly enjoyable.

The shrine was on a small hill where almost no one came, and it offered a peaceful view of the town below. About a month ago, a white kitten with striking green eyes had appeared and taken up residence there, becoming my personal source of comfort. The little thing had grown accustomed to me, often tilting its head and coming closer while I swept, letting me pet it. Anyone who didn’t find it adorable probably either hated cats or disliked animals altogether.

Today was no different. After lunch, I headed for the shrine, half wilting under the scorching midsummer sun. I greeted the priest and started sweeping the grounds. Normally, the kitten would show up around then and lounge on the shrine steps to watch me—but this time, it didn’t appear. The kitten was always a little fickle, so it wasn’t unusual, but for some reason it bothered me today. After putting away the broom, I decided to look for it.

That’s when I found them—in the woods. Two boys in a neighboring town’s high school uniforms were using the kitten as target practice for their airsoft guns. I’d had bad experiences in the past that made it impossible for me to stay calm when I saw cruelty like that, and this time was no exception. Without thinking, I rushed out.

Of course, being the reckless type I was, things didn’t go smoothly. I managed to grab the kitten, but I couldn’t get away. I was a weak, reclusive kid, and they were clearly athletes from the way they talked. Add in the fact that I was carrying a "package," and the odds of me outrunning them were nil. Before long, I was cornered at the shrine’s entrance stairs—and they shoved me down in a fit of anger.

"…………"

Remembering the pain, I hugged my arms to myself. I had curled up to protect the kitten, which meant my back, arms, and legs slammed hard against the steps. By the time the pain numbed out, I had already tumbled all the way down. I only managed to check that the kitten was still alive and crying in my arms before I passed out.

…Yeah, no. Something wasn’t right. From what I remembered, my head and spine should have been wrecked. At the very least, both arms and legs should have been in casts. And yet, here I was, unharmed.

Well, no—not unharmed, exactly. But if I had been rescued normally, I should have woken up in a hospital bed. Instead, when I opened my eyes, it was to the familiar ceiling of my own bedroom.

Maybe it was a body swap, like in those old classics? But there hadn’t been any girls nearby, and even if there had, who would have carried me back here while I was unconscious?

Could it be some kind of sleepwalking incident, that I came back home on my own? I almost laughed at the absurdity. Either way, I didn’t have enough information. But even if I wanted to go out and investigate, there was the problem of my appearance.

Think about it—how could a foreign-looking girl who looked under ten, wearing a man’s jersey, wander around in broad daylight in peaceful Japan without raising suspicion?

No matter how I looked at it, if I told anyone the truth, I’d be instantly swept up and “protected” by state authorities. And honestly, just saying it out loud reeks of an incident in the making. If I told the truth and wasn’t believed, I’d end up in a mental hospital. If I was believed, I’d be treated like some sort of observation subject. Either way, nothing good would come of it. Above all else, whenever I go outside I carry a huge "handicap." In this appearance, in these clothes, just stepping out would draw worried stares and questions. The risk is far too great.

In the end, I’m cornered from every direction. Asking family or friends for advice… that’s the last thing I want to do. Even now, as a so-called "shut-in," I already cause them more trouble than I’d like to admit. Especially my mother and older sister, who always worry and care for me. To suddenly tell them that their son or brother had somehow turned into a daughter—it would be absurd, incomprehensible, and only heap more stress on them.

…Yeah, I know. At the end of the day, I’m just scared. Scared they won’t believe me. Scared they won’t accept me. Scared that the friends who never abandoned me—who kept calling me their best friend even after I shut myself away—might reject me with disgust. Scared that my family, who keep worrying for me no matter how busy they are, who have watched over me patiently all this time, might finally turn me away.

To lose my place in the world—there’s nothing more terrifying than that. Before my friends find out, I need to return to normal. Until then, I have to keep it hidden. Even I can feel it’s an almost impossible goal, one that makes me anxious just thinking about it. My hands shake, tears well up, and fear nearly paralyzes me. Before I collapse under it, I forcefully shift my thoughts and turn to my computer.

After several dozen seconds, the machine finishes booting. I move the mouse, launch the browser, and start typing in every search term I can think of. Even if it’s like looking for a single grain of sand in the desert, right now I just need something—anything—to take my mind off this cruel reality.

How much time passed, I’m not sure. Predictably, there was no way to find any straightforward leads, so in desperation I skimmed through every work of fiction I could find. Unsurprisingly, I came up empty. Through the gap in the curtain, I could see the outside world glowing red with sunset. Checking the clock, the hands pointed to half past six. It’s late July now, so it’ll be a while before it gets truly dark.

"…!"

I had been far too relaxed. Looking at the time reminded me of something critical. Only thirty minutes remained before my mother’s usual return home—and tonight it was my turn to cook dinner. I hadn’t done a thing. Given the circumstances, I could excuse myself, but leaving it like this would be very bad. Panicking, I grabbed the mobile device I’d tossed onto the bed and sent my mother a message. My father, incidentally, is away on a short-term posting up north.

『Sorry, I’m not feeling well and couldn’t cook. Could you pick up a bento on your way home?』

The act of lying to my own parent stabbed at my conscience, making it scream in protest. But I had no choice, so I forced myself to accept it. Not long after, a notification chime rang out. Normally, my mother wouldn’t respond during work unless it was urgent, so she must already be on her way back.

『Don’t push yourself. Should I book a doctor’s appointment? What kind of bento would you like?』

Her worried reply only made my guilt worse. Honestly, I had no appetite and couldn’t think of anything, so I just wrote back asking for something light and small. I also said I was just a little tired, so there was no need for the hospital. But as soon as I sent it, I realized—since we already had a family doctor, that excuse wouldn’t hold up for long. I’d have to think of another lie soon. Plugging my device into the charger, I lay down on my bed.

It seemed the most urgent problem I needed to solve was figuring out how to get by without facing my family. I racked my brain for thirty minutes straight, but came up with nothing before my mother returned home. As the sound of the front door opening reached my ears, I locked my room and, just in case, wrapped myself up in my blanket on the bed.

"I’m home, Hinata! Are you okay?"

I heard her footsteps climbing the stairs, the creaking of the hallway floorboards, and then the knock at my door. But there was no way I could answer directly. After hesitating, I sent her a message instead. Fortunately, thanks to my "handicap," communicating by text rather than voice wasn’t unusual for me. When it first happened, I had agonized and suffered over it—but now, in this situation, it worked to my advantage. Life really is unpredictable.

『Welcome home. Sorry, I don’t feel like coming out right now. I’ll eat later, so could you just leave the bento in the kitchen? Thanks for buying it.』

"…All right. I understand. But if it gets too hard, promise you’ll tell me, okay?"

She must have checked my message on her phone, because after a short pause, her voice came back through the door, filled with concern. Doing this made me realize something: the guilt of faking illness is unbearable. There’s no way I could keep this up long-term. And if I stayed locked in my room for days without showing my face, I’d definitely be dragged to the hospital—or worse, she might call an ambulance. Either way, it would be over.

As her footsteps receded down the hallway, I frantically ran through ideas in my head. There had to be something, some way forward… Then, in my wandering gaze—mirroring my restless emotions—I caught sight of a ray of hope.

"…!!"

On my desk, drawing all my attention, sat a full-face headgear and a cassette. They were the equipment needed to play the latest hit online game, the one my friends had convinced me to start so we could still play together even if I stayed home. Why did a game require such elaborate gear? The answer was simple. It was the world’s first fully immersive virtual reality online game—a so-called VRMMO. The dream of countless people, long yearned for and never forgotten. My best friend had once told me about it passionately.

The foundations of virtual reality—the technology for constructing simulated worlds—had been developed twenty years ago, before I was even born. At the time, the announcement had caused an uproar. Research into applications across all fields began immediately, and twelve years ago, it finally reached the consumer market. In today’s Japan, where it’s said no household exists without internet, online games have become a massive industry. Naturally, companies rushed into VRMMO development. But the difficulty was so high that eighty percent of projects collapsed before release, while the remaining twenty percent produced only hollow imitations that disappointed the eager fans.

Even so, some diehards refused to give up. Banding together, they poured their time, effort, and manpower into development, sheltered by the excuse of “just a hobby.” The momentum grew and grew, eventually drawing in major suppliers. At last, this year, they announced the game’s completion. During the first closed beta at New Year’s, its quality caused a sensation. When the second closed beta came in spring, the five-thousand tester slots were met with 140,000 applications—a ridiculous ratio by any measure.

…And so, after spending an entire night half-drawn in by the fiery passion of one of my best friends over chat, I eventually gave in to their persistent invitation. When I asked about the equipment price, I nearly fainted—but I mentioned it to my family anyway. To my surprise, my older sister, a long-time gamer, reacted immediately. She bundled together my birthday and Christmas presents, and on top of that, said it might help me get a change of pace and even serve as rehab for social interaction. Then—boom—she gifted me a full set that cost enough to assemble a whole platoon of Yukichi bills.

My two best friends also wanted to be ready for the official summer service launch, so in addition to saving their allowance, they’d started part-time jobs last summer. Apparently, they managed to buy their sets just before the service began. Still, it’s terrifying to think that despite the outrageous pricing, all the preorder stock was already sold out.

Anyway, after going on about games this much, I think you get my intention. In short, my ultimate good-for-nothing strategy is this: I won’t show my face because I’m “too busy playing games.” Honestly, even I’m appalled. The sheer stench of being hopeless in every sense is practically radiating off me. But I just can’t think of anything else.

Once summer vacation starts, as long as I tidy myself up a little, I should be able to go outside without worrying about being stopped by the authorities. Until then, I’ll hole up in my room under the excuse of poor health, while secretly investigating that shrine that seems to hold the key. I’ll drag this out as long as I can, and if by the very end I still haven’t turned back to normal… then I’ll just have to force this excuse through somehow.

With that hopeless resolve firm in my chest, I pressed down on my growling stomach, restless with both nerves and hunger.

"…"

Just until night… until Mom goes to sleep…!!