“It’s impossible. Not with a voice like mine…”
Yuta clenched his fists, his gaze fixed on the floor as he muttered the words.
With his large, imposing frame and a naturally deep voice, the mere idea of mimicking the singing voice of a flawless pop idol felt utterly beyond him. Yet, deep within his psyche, a persistent longing refused to die. Just once, he desperately wanted to perfectly replicate the voice of Kanon, the center of the idol group Luminastia. It was a quiet, desperate prayer.
“Hey, if it’s torturing you that much, why don’t you just use my body to sing?” his close friend, Misaki, suddenly offered. It was an absurd, preposterous suggestion.
“What? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I mean exactly what I said. We can swap. I happen to possess a rather… unique ability. I know it sounds unbelievable, but why not give it a try?”
Misaki wore a mischievous smile, yet beneath the playful surface, her eyes held a chilling gravity.
“You’ve got to be kidding… That kind of thing doesn’t happen in reality.”
“Then let’s just test it. If it doesn’t work, you can just give up. Fair?” Misaki extended her hand toward him.
A few minutes later, the moment Yuta forced his eyes open, he realized he was completely enveloped in an entirely alien sensory landscape.
The reflection staring back from the mirror was, undeniably, Misaki.
She wore a white polka-dot top paired with a plaid skirt. Through the constricting nylon of the tights, he felt the stark, creeping chill of the floor pressing against his feet.
“No way… Did we actually swap?”
The voice that struck his ears was his own—yet it was high, piercingly clear, and transparent. Beneath the shock, a faint, perverse spark of excitement began to kindle in his chest.
“See? Since you’ve gone through the trouble of occupying my body, you might as well sing your heart out.” Sitting beside him, Misaki—now inhabiting his own massive physical frame—spoke with a chuckle.
“B-but… am I really supposed to sing looking like this?”
Yuta tugged awkwardly at the hem of the skirt, a wave of profound embarrassment washing over him.
“What are you saying? It’s my body, which means these clothes are an extension of my flesh. Stop overthinking it!”
Goaded by Misaki’s nonchalant tone, Yuta tentatively wrapped his slender fingers around the karaoke microphone.
During the first song, Yuta’s voice trembled with sheer tension. Gradually, however, the crystal-clear vocal quality inherent to Misaki’s physical vessel began to instill a strange confidence in him.
“Incredible… With this, I really sound just like Kanon!”
“Right? Come on, try the choreography next.” As Misaki suggested this, Yuta, despite his lingering shame, began to move his limbs, mimicking the precise dance steps of Luminastia.
The figure in the mirror—no, Misaki’s physical form—was executing the flawless movements of a pop idol. At first, Yuta felt an acute sensory dissonance at the swaying of the skirt, but soon, even that foreign sensation dissolved as he became utterly consumed by the experience.
“Alright, I’m going to head out for a bit.” Having witnessed Yuta lost in his song and dance, Misaki prepared to venture out into the city streets, still steering his heavy masculine body.
“W-wait a minute! What do you plan on doing with my body?!”
“Don’t worry, don’t worry! I’m not going to do anything bad. Just trust me.” Misaki gave a casual wave of her hand and vanished into the outside world, carrying his borrowed flesh with her.
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