Borrowed Flesh: The Price of Play
A pale, unnatural silence hung heavy in the room. The late afternoon light, nearly spent, pierced through the gaps in the curtains like slender spears, mercilessly illuminating the floating motes of dust.
In front of the mirror, Yumi struck a light pose, checking each movement like an actress on a stage. Her outfit today was, in her own words, “perfect.” A pristine white top paired with a lovely one-piece dress adorned with dancing polka dots. The hem swayed lightly with her every move, almost like a living thing. Glancing down, her flawless white tights painted the contours of her slender legs in a perfectly uniform canvas, while black enamel Mary Jane shoes tethered her form to the ground.
“Hey, Kenta. Want to try something interesting?”
Without taking her eyes off the mirror, Yumi flashed a mischievous smile at her childhood friend, Kenta, who was sunk into the adjacent sofa—a smile that carried an unfathomable chill. Kenta frowned slightly and looked up from his smartphone. He knew that expression well. It wasn’t born of pure curiosity; it was a manifestation of a childish desire for dominance, testing how deeply and cruelly she could interfere in someone else’s life. However, the unbreakable bond of being childhood friends had robbed him of the right to refuse.
“Something interesting… You’re plotting something again, aren’t you? Give me a break. That ‘haunted spot’ exploration last time ended with me covered in mud.”
“Hehe, don’t be such a scaredy-cat. Today is something much quieter and more mysterious. I heard about a certain spell, and I just want to test it out!”
Yumi slid onto the sofa next to Kenta and whispered into his ear, her breath warm and lingering. The scent of her perfume—sweet, yet an artificial sting at the back of the nose—drifted from her hair. Kenta felt a light dizziness from the smell, feeling like a small animal with nowhere to run.
“Specifically, what are you planning to do?”
“It’s simple. Why don’t we swap bodies?”
Kenta’s eyes widened. The suggestion was such a leap that he forgot even to scoff.
“…Huh? Swap bodies? You’ve been reading too many manga, Yumi.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine! It’s easy to do with a little spell. And besides, they say you can change back immediately. Hey, Kenta, haven’t you ever wanted to wear an adorable outfit like this, just once?”
Yumi pinched the hem of her skirt with her fingertips and fluttered it in front of Kenta’s eyes. Kenta was at a loss for words. It was an objective fact that Yumi was beautiful. The symbols of “girlhood” she wore possessed a sacred, yet somehow sacrilegious charm that felt entirely out of reach for an ordinary guy like Kenta.
“…Well, if it’s actually possible, it sounds like it might be interesting.”
Rather than anxiety, a curiosity resembling a long-suppressed desire for transformation stirred deep within him. Sensing Kenta’s surrender instantly, Yumi’s smile of certain victory deepened. She immediately pulled out a worn notebook and began chanting words that sounded like an incantation.
The atmosphere in the room shifted. The sound of cars outside grew distant, while the hum of the ventilation fan became unnaturally loud, reaching his ears with a metallic creak. Kenta was seized by a horrifying sensation of weightlessness—as if his body had suddenly become light, or conversely, as if he were sinking into a bottomless swamp. His vision blurred like mud, and in the next moment, he was slammed by a powerful force of “gravity.”
“…gh, cough.”
The moment he opened his eyes, his perspective had shifted. The floor felt unnaturally close. The first thing that hit him was the uncomfortable sensation of “tightness” enveloping his entire body.
“I-Is this… for real?”
Kenta tried to shout, but what escaped his mouth was a “girl’s voice”—far higher and clearer than the one in his memory, yet fragile. Shuddering, he looked at his own arms. The tanned, knuckled arms of a man were gone. In their place were Yumi’s arms: transparently pale, with startlingly thin wrists and supple fingertips.
He crawled toward the full-length mirror. Reflected there was Yumi. The white top she had been wearing, the polka-dot dress, the ribbon tied in her hair. But dwelling in those eyes was Kenta’s own consciousness, twitching in terror and trembling in confusion.
“Amazing, right? Looks like the spell worked perfectly!”
From behind him came his own voice—Kenta’s low baritone. Turning around, he saw Yumi standing there, now inhabiting his own flesh, laughing with unnatural delight. She stared intently at her new, strong arms and clenched a powerful fist.
“T-this is… I’m just shocked! We really switched!”
Kenta (in Yumi’s body) tentatively began to touch his own form. The first thing that registered was the “physical mass” on his chest. It was a sensation of a foreign object, as if someone else’s flesh had been grafted onto him—something that didn’t exist in a man’s body. Every time he inhaled, his ribs were compressed by that weight, forcing his movements to be restricted.
Then, the strangeness in his lower body. The white tights clung to his leg muscles like a second skin. That tightness felt like a violent will, forcibly correcting the contours of his identity into the shape of a “girl.”
“Well, since we’re here, let’s play a bit! Alright, copy my poses! Since we can just go back anyway, it’s a waste not to enjoy it!”
Yumi (inside Kenta’s body) sprawled confidently on the sofa and issued instructions. Though bewildered, Kenta tentatively brought his legs together, as if tracing the memories etched into Yumi’s body. The black enamel Mary Janes clicked sharply against the floor.
“…Like this?”
“Ahaha! Kenta, you’re a natural! Tuck your chin more, tilt your head. Yes, yes—cute!”
The “self” in the mirror struck a graceful, Yumi-like pose. A lingering, eerie sensation began to sprout in Kenta’s heart. This body, independent of his will, was optimized for movements deemed “cute.” Every flick of the finger, every alignment of the knees—these were perfect “symbols” of beauty that a male body could never achieve.
And Kenta, while terrified by that beauty, was beginning to be fascinated by it. The discomfort of the tights rubbing against his skin gradually turned into a sense of security, as if he were being “protected.” The weight on his chest became a certain weight of life, proving that he was now inside a special “vessel.”
“Hey, how long are we doing this? Put me back already.”
Even as he said it, Kenta’s gaze was glued to the “himself” in the mirror wearing the white dress. Yumi (inside Kenta) gave a wicked grin and shrugged powerfully with his shoulders.
“Ehh, already? I wanted to try dressing you up in all sorts of things. I’ve taken a liking to this body of yours; it’s surprisingly easy to move.”
In that instant, a shiver like a cold electric current raced down Kenta’s spine. A spell. Change back immediately. He felt those promises rapidly becoming hollow in this pale air. He stared at the tips of Yumi’s fingers—fingers he was supposed to be moving of his own volition. The nails were neatly groomed, glowing with a faint pink luster.
What would he grasp with these fingers from now on? Or what would he run from?
Deep within Kenta’s heart, the existence once known as “Kenta Osaki” began to dissipate. In its place, a “transformation”—as minute as the polka dots on the dress, yet decisive—began to erode the depths of his soul.
The play was over. The girl in the mirror no longer looked bewildered. Standing there were the eyes of a broken boy who had quietly begun to adapt to the cage called his new “self.”
Read the rest here 👇
コメント