School had ended, and as usual, I—Takuya—was making my way to her house. I recalled Misaki mentioning that her family would be out today, inviting me to relax and stay a while. With a light heart, I pressed the doorbell.
“Hello? Anyone home?”
The door creaked open after a moment, but it wasn’t Misaki who appeared. Standing there was a woman in a sailor suit—no, an elderly woman. It was her grandmother, Kazuko-san.
“Wait… Grandma?” The words escaped me before I could think.
“Welcome,” Kazuko-san whispered, smoothing the hem of her pleated skirt with a touch of bashful grace. “How do I look? Does it suit me?”
“Uh… yes… I suppose?” I stammered, lost for words. She was normally a woman of quiet dignity, but seeing her draped in a schoolgirl’s uniform felt profoundly alien—a jarring dissonance that made my skin crawl.
“Well, I’ll… I’ll come back later!” I pivoted on my heel, ready to bolt, but—
“Wait!”
The moment Kazuko-san’s fingers clamped onto my arm, an unnatural warmth surged through me. My consciousness began to fray, drifting away like smoke in a gale.
The Weight of Time
When I finally opened my eyes, I was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. But that was the least of it. My entire body felt like a mechanical failure. There was a dull, thrumming ache in my shoulders and hips; every movement was a friction of grinding joints.
“Wh-what is this…?”
I tried to push myself up, but the mass of my own limbs felt leaden, refusing to obey. I crawled toward a mirror and forced myself to look. Reflected back was Kazuko-san, still clad in that sailor suit.
“What the hell happened!?” My voice was a thin, cracked rasp.
“Looks like it worked, Grandma,” a voice called from behind. I spun around to see myself—or rather, Misaki inhabiting my body.
“What do you mean, ‘it worked’!?” I demanded, though the simple act of turning my torso felt like fighting against gravity itself.
“It’s a power that runs in our family,” she said, rotating my—her—arm with an effortless fluidity I suddenly craved. “I asked Grandma to help me test it out.”
Before I could protest, footsteps echoed on the stairs.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
It was Misaki in a male student’s gakuran uniform. Or more accurately, it was Kazuko-san’s soul inside Misaki’s youthful vessel. She adjusted the stiff collar, a faint, revitalized smile playing on her lips. She looked… vibrant. Fresh.
“Amazing… it’s like you’ve actually traveled back in time,” Misaki said, admiring her own body through my eyes.
“I’ve never worn a gakuran before,” Kazuko-san remarked, thrusting her hands into the pockets and squaring her shoulders. “It’s not a bad feeling at all.”
The Beautiful Counterfeit
While Misaki cheered, I remained trapped in the mirror, struggling with the sensory overload of an aging frame. My lower back throbbed, my stride was hitched, and my vision was a blurred, watery mess.
“The difference in ‘age’ is fascinating, isn’t it?” Misaki said playfully. She stood before the glass in my body, striking poses. “This container moves so easily! I never realized how much muscle I had.”
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