The scent of grilled bread and sizzling oil filled the small restaurant where Lucia worked. She moved quickly between tables, her cheerful smile never fading, even though her life was far from easy. Orphaned at a young age, she had learned to carry her pain behind a bright mask. Her customers liked her energy, her laugh, and the way she treated everyone with warmth.

But that smile broke the moment her eyes caught sight of him.

At table four sat Karl, the man she once believed was her destiny. He wasn’t alone. A girl with glossy black hair clung to his arm, whispering into his ear before kissing him boldly on the lips. The same girl Lucia had caught him with not long ago.

Her chest tightened, her tray shook in her hands. Karl’s words echoed in her head: “I’ll never leave you, Lucia. You’re my destiny.” And yet here he was, proving that those words had been nothing but lies.

“Lucia!” Her manager’s sharp voice jolted her. “Serve that table. They’re VIP guests. And don’t you dare mess this up.”

Her heart sank. Of all the tables… why theirs?

With trembling hands, she approached, forcing her eyes to stay on the tray instead of Karl. But the girl—Maria—looked her up and down with a sneer. “Oh, isn’t this pathetic? The little waitress who thinks she’s good enough. Still chasing after men with money, huh? Gold digger.”

Lucia’s lips pressed into a thin line. She said nothing, only placing the glasses of water on the table.

Maria wasn’t done. She leaned closer, her voice dripping with venom. “Look at you, standing there like some stray mutt. An orphan girl pretending to be worth something. You’re nothing, Lucia. Nothing.”

That word—orphan—stabbed deeper than all the others. Lucia’s hand trembled, then before she realized it, her palm struck Maria’s cheek. The slap echoed through the restaurant.

Gasps filled the room.

Karl shot to his feet. For one brief second, Lucia hoped—hoped he would defend her. Instead, his hand came crashing down against her face.

“You’re garbage, Lucia,” he spat, his eyes full of contempt. “Don’t you dare show your face here again.”

Her manager stormed over, red with fury. “You’re fired! Get out!”

The tray slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. With tears blurring her vision, Lucia turned and ran—out of the restaurant, down the cold streets—until her legs carried her to the only place that ever gave her peace: the bookstore.

She stumbled inside, the warm scent of paper and ink wrapping around her. Her hands reached for a familiar shelf, pulling out a BL novel. Clutching it to her chest, she collapsed into a corner.

Her tears spilled freely, soaking the pages as she whispered, “Why is it so easy to be loved in stories, but so hard in real life? Why can’t I have someone who loves me… truly loves me?”

Her voice broke. Exhaustion weighed down on her, and as she cried herself to sleep with the book still open in her hands, one last wish escaped her lips:

“I want to live in a world where love is real… where someone loves me too.”

And with that, the world faded into darkness.

Lucia stirred awake, her head heavy as though she had cried herself into exhaustion. The smell in the air was different—cleaner, faintly sweet, and nothing like her tiny apartment or the bookstore where she had fallen asleep.

Slowly, she sat up. The bed beneath her was soft, far too soft, and when her eyes adjusted, she realized—

“This… isn’t my room?”

The walls were pale ivory, the curtains a soft lavender. Neat furniture, polished floors… definitely not her home. Her heart thudded as she swung her legs out of the sheets. That was when it hit her.

A strange weight… down there.

Lucia froze. Her hand instinctively reached between her legs—and she went completely stiff.

“W-what the… is this—?!” Her voice cracked into a shout. “A… a dick?!”

She scrambled up, patting herself frantically, eyes wide and terrified. Her chest—flat. Completely flat. The soft curves that had always been there were gone. She pressed harder just to be sure, but no… there was nothing. Her trembling fingers grazed the waistband again and she nearly screamed.

“This can’t be real. No, no, no, this is a joke. This is—this is a dream!”

Her breathing quickened. She spun around the room desperately, searching for proof, for answers, for anything—until her gaze landed on a tall mirror near the wardrobe.

She staggered toward it. Her reflection came into view and her breath hitched.

The girl she knew—messy hair, tear-streaked cheeks, tired eyes—was gone.

Instead, staring back at her was a boy. A boy with delicate features, soft purple-tinted hair brushing over his forehead, and wide, innocent eyes that shimmered with confusion. His face was flawless, almost doll-like, but his jaw was sharper, his frame taller, leaner.

“No way…” she whispered, raising her hand. The boy in the mirror copied her. She tilted her head; so did he. Her knees went weak. “That… that’s me?”

She pressed her palm flat against the glass, trembling. The boy’s hand met hers.

“This isn’t possible. How did I… become a man?”

Her voice broke, and she collapsed onto the floor. Tears blurred her vision, hot and uncontrollable. She hugged herself tightly, curling into a ball, shaking.

“What should I do now? I don’t understand anything… Mom… Dad… why is this happening to me? Please, just let it be a dream… if I close my eyes, maybe—maybe everything will go back to normal.”

She crawled back into bed, pulling the sheets over her head. She squeezed her eyes shut. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen.

Nothing.

When she opened them again, the mirror still showed him—her—this stranger. This boy named… whoever he was.

Her panic rose again until her mind finally whispered a cruel truth: In my old life, I was already abandoned. I had no home, no parents, no one to turn to. But I can’t… I can’t give up. I need to get my parents’ belongings back. I have to survive.

Wiping her tears, she stood on shaky legs and glanced around. Her body still felt alien, heavy in new places, strangely empty in others. Every step reminded her of the foreign weight between her thighs. Her face flushed red.

“Ugh… how am I supposed to even walk like this?” she muttered, squirming.

Shaking her head, she dug through the wardrobe until she found clothes—simple, loose pants and a shirt. They fit… comfortably, though she couldn’t stop tugging awkwardly at the front.

Then something caught her eye: a slim leather wallet on the desk. Inside was an ID card.

Name: Ivor

Age: 19

She froze, staring at the neat letters printed there. Her lips parted.

“Ivor…” she mumbled softly, testing the name on her tongue. It felt foreign, but strangely warm.

Her reflection in the mirror smiled faintly, as if the boy—this Ivor—had been waiting for her all along.

Lucia sat on the edge of the unfamiliar bed, the silence of the room pressing down on her chest. Her hands tightened around the little ID card she had found earlier— Ivor. That was the name written there. The boy in the mirror. The boy whose body she now… somehow inhabited.

She let out a shaky breath.

> “Ivor… who are you?”

Her voice cracked. It felt strange, even to her ears—lower, softer, undeniably masculine. She lifted her hand and touched her throat, unsettled by the way her words carried a different weight now.

Every small movement reminded her of what had changed. The absence of her breasts, the foreign heaviness between her legs, the sharp angles of her face that caught in the mirror’s reflection. It was like wearing someone else’s skin—except there was no way to peel it off.

She pressed her palms into her face. Calm down, Lucia… just calm down.

When she finally forced herself to look around the room, she noticed details she had ignored before: stacks of neatly folded clothes, books on a small desk, and a faint citrus-like scent clinging to the air. Oddly enough, the scent seemed… sharper than it should.

Her nose twitched. She could smell the detergent on the sheets. The faint wood polish on the furniture. Even the metallic tang of the key left carelessly on the table.

She froze. Wait. Since when could I smell things like this?

The realization made her dizzy. She staggered toward the desk, fumbling through the drawers, hoping to find anything that could tell her who Ivor really was. A diary, letters, maybe even receipts. But all she found were scraps—class notes, some doodles, and a half-written essay about "social dynamics."

“Social dynamics…” she muttered under her breath, tapping the paper. “What kind of boy are you, Ivor?”

Her stomach twisted. Every answer seemed to lead to more questions.

Just then—

Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

Lucia nearly jumped out of her skin as the phone on the nightstand lit up. The screen flashed a name she didn’t recognize: Letty.

Her pulse hammered. Should she answer? Should she pretend to be Ivor? What if they noticed something was wrong?

The phone buzzed again, and again. Lucia bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t pick up.

The call ended. Relief washed over her—too soon.

Ding!

A message popped up on the screen:

"Hey, Ivor. Remember to come to tomorrow’s reunion party. If you forget, I’ll kill you."

Lucia stared at the words, her hands trembling. She whispered, almost to herself:

> “Reunion…? Party? What kind of people are you involved with, Ivor…?”

Her mind raced. Should she go? It was risky—she didn’t even know how Ivor behaved, what kind of friends he had, or what role he played in their lives. But deep inside, a part of her knew: if she wanted to understand this world, this body, and find a way back to herself, she couldn’t hide.

> “I don’t have a choice… I have to go.”

Still, anxiety clawed at her stomach. What if Ivor was a cruel person? What if his friends hated him? Or worse… what if they knew something she didn’t?

She hugged her knees to her chest, rocking slightly. “Forget it. I’ll figure it out later. Right now…” She glanced at the wardrobe with a helpless look. “…my first problem is clothes. How do I even dress as a guy? And how the hell do I get used to this—” she groaned, burying her face in her hands, “—this thing?”

Her rambling was interrupted by another ding. The phone lit up again with a new message.

"Hey, Ivor. How are you? I’m really excited to meet you after so long. Oh! Sorry, I didn’t even say who I am. It’s me, Ian. Meet you at the party—see you!"

Lucia’s eyes widened.

> “Ian…?”

She whispered the name like it was forbidden. She didn’t know who Ian was, or why his message made her chest tighten strangely. But somehow, she had the sinking feeling… Ian was important.

Very important.

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