The summer night air was thick with humidity, clinging stubbornly to the skin. Haruto Tanaka was buried within the throngs of people crowding the approach to the local shrine, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead.
Haruto was, by all accounts, a man of “average scores.” Middling grades, average speed, ordinary looks. In class photos, he was always at the edge of the back row—a sterile presence that lingered in no one’s memory. For a boy who avoided the spotlight and cherished uneventful days, this annual summer festival was the only primary color splashed onto the blank canvas of his daily life.
“Haruto! We’re leaving you behind!”
His friends walking ahead looked back, laughing and waving. From the goldfish scooping stalls came the scent of splashing water and chlorine; the savory aroma of yakisoba sauce violently stimulated his hunger. Red lanterns stretched on forever, illuminating the path like the entrance to a phantasmagoric labyrinth.
While engrossed in a shooting gallery with his friends, Haruto was suddenly struck by a bizarre sensation. The raucous clamor of the festival receded for a moment, falling into a silence as if he had submerged underwater. Drawn by an unseen force, he stepped away from the main thoroughfare and into a shadow-drenched side street.
There, a single stall stood in seclusion. It radiated an aura distinctly different from the others. Despite the surrounding heat, the space around it felt frozen in silence. The weathered wooden frame held a purple curtain faded by time, upon which was written in bold, archaic calligraphy:
*『Exchange of Fates』*
“What is this… some kind of new fortune-telling?”
Curiosity overrode reason. Haruto told his friends he’d be right back and approached the stall. Inside sat an old woman of indeterminate age. The deep wrinkles carved into her face resembled ancient bark, yet her eyes were unnervingly clear, reflecting the lantern light.
“Young man. You possess a special fate.”
The woman’s voice was as dry as rustling leaves, but it held an irresistible power that resonated directly within Haruto’s mind. “Tonight, beneath this sky, an exchange of fates shall occur. Do not fear what is lost; cherish what is gained.”
“Uh, right. …How much for a reading?”
As Haruto reached for his wallet, the old woman pointed a long, claw-like finger toward the sky.
“The price is your tomorrow.”
Immediately, the world exploded into white. A fierce flash blinded Haruto, and a roar like thunder echoed in the depths of his ears. A sensation of floating combined with a violent pain—as if every cell in his body were being dismantled—hit him all at once. His sense of balance vanished, and Haruto’s consciousness was cast into a bottomless darkness.
===
When the light faded and his vision returned, Haruto realized he was sitting on the ground.
“…Wh-what was that?”
The moment he spoke, Haruto froze as if struck by lightning. The sound that escaped his throat was not the gruff, familiar voice of a high school boy, but a clear, high-pitched tone like the rolling of a silver bell.
He lowered his gaze, and an unrecognizable sight met his eyes. Slender, white fingers—the nails carefully painted with a pale pink polish. On his lap lay a high-quality silk *komon* (light kimono) in navy blue, adorned with delicate embroidery. The tightness of the *obi* (sash) pressed against a torso far too slim for a male physique, and the thongs of unfamiliar *geta* (wooden clogs) irritated the space between his toes.
“No way…”
Haruto was in a state of utter turmoil. He staggered to his feet and ducked into the shrubbery of a nearby park to hide from the crowd. His heart was pounding—even that beat was faster and higher-pitched than before, echoing from deep within his body. With trembling hands, he activated his smartphone camera.
Reflected on the screen was a breathtakingly beautiful girl. Lustrous black hair was elegantly pinned up, her white nape illuminated by the streetlights. Large eyes glistened with confusion and shock. Haruto touched his face with a trembling finger; the girl on the screen mirrored the movement. The texture of the skin beneath his fingertips was incredibly fine and soft.
“This is… me? I’ve really… become a girl…”
Stunned, Haruto found himself captivated by his own appearance. He spread the sleeves of the *komon*, the sensation of the fine fabric sliding against his skin. The weight of the layered cloth, the dignified tension in his spine created by the *obi*—these were sensations he had never known as a man.
“Amazing… I’ve never worn clothes this beautiful in my life.”
Haruto posed repeatedly for his smartphone camera, tilting his head and lifting his hem slightly. With every movement, the silk made a refined “sh-sh” rustling sound. His body felt lighter, his center of gravity lower. He felt his gait naturally shift into a graceful, ladylike walk.
“This isn’t a dream.”
He had no choice but to accept the situation. The fortune-teller had said, “Exchange of Fates.” *If that’s the case, where is my body now?* Driven by anxiety yet unable to suppress a newfound sense of omnipotence and exhilaration, Haruto summoned his courage and returned to the heart of the festival.
===
A girl’s stride was narrow. With every step, his clogs made a rhythmic “clack-clack” sound that seemed to invite the attention of everyone around him. The moment he reached the main street, Haruto felt the atmosphere shift. Every man he passed turned to look. Envy, desire, and pure admiration. It was an intense “concentration of gazes” he had never experienced as an average schoolboy. It was a little frightening, yet it gave him the illusion that the world revolved around him.
“Whoa, look at her. Isn’t she incredibly beautiful?”
“Is she a celebrity or something…?”
Every time he heard a whisper, Haruto’s heart leaped. *My inside is still Haruto Tanaka, but simply by changing the shell, does my interaction with the world change this drastically?*
Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice. “Hey! There you are!”
It was his friends. Haruto stiffened, thinking he’d be caught, but their reaction was unexpected. “You’re late, Haruto. …Wait, what’s with that outfit? It looks amazing on you!”
His friends accepted him in this form as if he had “always been this way.” It seemed the fortune-teller’s art had even altered the memories of those around him.
“Haruto, want some yakisoba? Here, you like it with extra pickled ginger, right?” One of his friends held out chopsticks, offering a bite. Normally, Haruto would have snapped, “That’s gross!” but in this form, he felt his face grow hot as a flame.
“…Thank you.”
Haruto was embarrassed yet intoxicated by his own dainty movements as he accepted the food. His friends were much kinder now, treating him as someone “to be protected.” It was a sweet, numbing pleasure entirely different from male friendship.
However, that blissful time was abruptly shattered. At the festival’s climax, as the first firework blossomed in the night sky, Haruto spotted “his own face” across the crowd.
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