Chapter 2

Where am I?! I screamed inside my head. What the hell is going on?!

My heart pounded as I slowly turned my head to the right—almost afraid of what I’d see.

That’s when my eyes caught a mirror.

And I froze.

Staring back at me was someone who wasn’t me.

White hair. Slightly messy, but effortlessly cool.

Sharp jawline, smooth pale skin.

And eyes—bright, unnatural purple eyes—that glowed like amethysts under the morning light.

My throat tightened. My hands trembled.

Is that… me?

It was impossible—but it was me.

Not the Luna who fell asleep reading manga with cake crumbs on her pillow.

Someone new. Someone unreal.

Someone who looked like he walked straight out of the very book I’d been reading.

Oh my god, I thought, still staring into the mirror, barely breathing. Who is this handsome boy…? Is this a dream?

Because it had to be, right? There was no other explanation. My hair was white like moonlight. My eyes were violet—like some kind of rare gem. I looked like I belonged on the cover of one of my favorite manga, not in a human body.

But when I raised my hand, the boy in the mirror raised his. When I swallowed, he did too.

He was me.

I was him.

Before I could think of what to do, the maid’s voice cut through the storm of my thoughts—polite, composed.

“Breakfast is ready, Master,” she said. “Would you prefer to eat in your room or at the dining table?”

I opened my mouth to respond, unsure what voice might come out.

“I’ll… eat here,” I replied.

But the voice wasn’t mine.

It was low. Gentle. Soft in a way that held a kind of effortless control—like silk on skin. It was the kind of voice that made people stop and listen.

I clapped a hand over my mouth in shock.

The maid simply bowed. “Very well. I shall prepare your tray immediately.”

As she turned to leave, I sat frozen in the bed, my fingers trembling against the book still clutched in my lap.

What the hell kind of wish did I make…?

A short while later, breakfast was brought in on a silver tray—complete with linen napkins, polished cutlery, and food that looked more like art than something you were supposed to eat.

I barely tasted it.

My mind was spinning too fast.

As I slowly lifted the delicate porcelain cup to my lips, I tried to retrace everything I’d done yesterday. The party. The cake. My family shouting “Happy Birthday.” That secret wish I made while staring at the candles.

I wish I could stay with my family forever… I wish to be rich, beautiful, smart… I wish my crush would love me back…

…And I wish I could turn into a boy.

I set the cup down carefully, fingers tightening around the handle.

Was this a prank? Some twisted dream? Or… something else?

I looked down at my hands. They were bigger. Slim, but strong. The sleeves of the silk robe I wore brushed against my skin like clouds. I shifted my legs—my whole body felt different. Taller. Broader. Unfamiliar.

My old self—Luna—had black hair and black eyes. Common features. Nothing special. I used to blend into the background like a shadow in a crowded hallway.

But now?

White hair. Purple eyes. A face too beautiful to belong to a real person.

A body that clearly wasn’t mine.

A voice that didn’t belong to the girl who fell asleep with a manga in her hands.

Where am I?

Who is this boy I’ve become?

And most terrifying of all—

What happens next?

I pushed the plate away gently, my appetite nearly gone. My head still buzzed with confusion, but I needed answers—any kind, even the smallest clue.

“Excuse me, Miss…” I hesitated.

“How old… am I right now?”

“You may call me Emy, sir,” she replied. “And you are eighteen years old. Your birthday was just yesterday.”

Eighteen.

Yesterday.

My real birthday?

This was starting to feel less like a dream and more like… a replacement. Like I’d been pulled from one world and slotted into another, neatly, without warning.

“Did you drink too much at your celebration?” Emy asked, tilting her head slightly, her voice still respectful but carrying a hint of teasing. “You’ve been acting rather… strange this morning.”

“Ahaha…” I laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of my neck.

It was the kind of laugh you make when you’re trying to pretend everything’s normal—when inside, you’re screaming into a void. Emy just smiled, polite and unbothered, like she’d seen weirder behavior from me before.

“Very well,” she said, picking up the tray with practiced grace. “If you need anything, I’ll be just outside.”

“Wait!” I blurted, a little louder than I meant to.

She paused.

“Can you… call me by my name too?” I asked, trying to sound casual—but even I heard the nervous waver in my voice.

She blinked once, slowly.

“I… can’t,” she replied simply, her tone unreadable.

My heart skipped.

“Then…” I scrambled for something—anything to make it seem natural. “Why don’t you just try? Just once?”

“I mean, I’m kinda curious. I wonder what my name sounds like… when it comes from your beautiful voice.”

For the first time, her lips parted slightly—not quite a smile, but not indifference either. Just the smallest flicker of surprise.

“I see…” she said softly.

Then she looked at me with new eyes—curious, cautious.

“…Very well. I shall try. But only once.”

She took a step forward, her posture still perfect, but her tone gentler now, like she was indulging a strange request from someone she thought she knew.

She opened her mouth—

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