The microwave's furious dinging finally died off as Sam jabbed the "Stop" button with more force than necessary, as if somehow it had personally wronged her.

  She stood there for a moment, blinking at the sad little cup of ramen spinning inside like nothing had happened.Like her entire existence hadn’t just been rerouted into an entirely new dimension.

  Slowly, she pulled the door open and snagged the paper cup by the edges, wincing when the heat nipped her fingertips.

  "Awesome," she muttered, setting it down with a clunk on the counter. "I can grow boobs but I can't remember oven mitts."

  A snicker bubbled up from her chest, softer and airier than it used to be. She cpped a hand over her mouth, startled by her own sound.

  It was her ugh, but... somehow sweeter.Like the audio got tuned just slightly higher without losing the familiar scratchy texture underneath.

  Experimentally, she cleared her throat and said, "Testing, testing—" in a low voice.

  It sounded like old-Sam, sort of. If she pushed her voice down just enough, she could hit that familiar rasp.

  But it took work.Consciously pressing her vocal cords down, making herself smaller, rougher.

  When she rexed...When she just spoke without thinking...

  It came out lighter. Feminine. Bright and rich in a way that felt oddly vulnerable and terrifyingly right.

  Sam shook her head, chuckling again as she peeled the paper lid back from the ramen and grabbed a fork.

  She needed fuel.Noodles first. Existential crisis ter.

  She perched on the edge of the worn couch, cradling the cup between her hands, and twirled a sad forkful of noodles. The first bite was scalding and fvorless—she barely tasted it over the static in her brain.

  Her thighs pressed together automatically as she sat cross-legged, an old habit from gaming marathons.

  But—Oh.

  Her eyes widened.

  That...felt different.

  Her thighs squeezed against each other in a way she hadn't prepared for—softness meeting softness instead of bony awkwardness. The squish was unmistakable. Luxurious, almost. Her legs were still slim but there was a plushness now that she could feel.

  She poked herself curiously in the side of her thigh.

  It jiggled.A tiny bit. Just enough to make her blink.

  "Holy shit," she breathed, setting the ramen down on the table with trembling hands. "I'm squishy."

  Not out of shape squishy—no. This was something better. Curvy. Alive. Touchable.

  She gave her thigh an experimental squeeze, grinning despite herself when her fingers sank slightly into the supple flesh.

  She squeezed harder, marveling at the resilient give beneath her palm.

  "Goddamn," she whispered, a wild little ugh shaking free.

  It felt good.Wrongly, illicitly good to just be like this. To have a body that reacted with softness, warmth, luxury.

  She leaned back against the couch, one hand idly stroking her leg while her mind spun like a hamster wheel on fire.

  Was this how girls always felt?Was it always this distracting?

  Her other hand drifted upward without thinking, brushing against the underside of her breast.

  Sam froze.

  Her fingers tingled where they'd made contact. Her new chest was... tender. Heavy. Alive in ways she hadn't even conceptualized before.

  Slowly, guiltily, she cupped herself again.

  Just to feel, she told herself. Purely scientific investigation. Nothing dirty about it.

  She squeezed gently—and gasped.

  The sensation was electric.Her flesh molded perfectly to her palm, firm yet yielding, the weight shifting deliciously as she moved.

  She sat there for a minute, head spinning, caught between awe and the dizzying temptation to keep going.

  "Focus, Sam," she growled under her breath, cheeks burning so hot she half expected the smoke arm to go off.

  She snatched her hands away and grabbed her ramen again with forced determination.

  One forkful. Two. She needed to get a grip.

  ...But it was so hard when even eating felt alien. The way her arms brushed against her chest when she moved. The way sitting shifted her center of gravity, tipping her forward unless she compensated.

  Another noodle slipped off her fork and spttered onto her shorts.

  "Dammit," she muttered, setting the cup down again.

  The stain was minor, but as she brushed it away, her fingers definitely felt the difference.

  Her hips were wider now. Her waist narrower.

  The V of her torso was sharper, more pronounced. Every motion she made felt... banced differently.

  And when she leaned down to pick up the dropped noodle?

  Her chest shifted heavily, bouncing just slightly with the motion, tugging at her shirt.

  Sam froze in pce, mid-bend, and groaned out loud.

  "This is going to drive me absolutely fucking insane," she muttered.

  She flopped back on the couch, ramen abandoned, and covered her face with both hands.

  The sleeves of her hoodie—still abandoned somewhere in the bathroom—wouldn't have fit right anymore anyway. She felt too exposed, too raw, clothed only in loose pajama shorts and a tight old t-shirt that now clung scandalously to her every curve.

  Every little breath moved things differently now.The gentle rise and fall of her chest was... constant. Visceral.

  She couldn't stop noticing it.

  Her thighs pressed tighter together instinctively, and she absently stroked them again, marveling at the way the flesh gave under her fingers.

  "My thighs are amazing," she mumbled to no one.

  She flexed them slightly, admiring the way muscle and softness blended into something dangerously distracting.

  "And my butt's probably—" She craned her neck, trying and failing to check without standing up.

  A snort escaped her. "Later. Later. You're gonna end up feeling yourself up like a goddamn idiot if you keep this up."

  Her hands disobeyed her anyway, one sneaking upward to brush the underside of her breast again.

  It was just so there now. So heavy and warm and real.

  She brushed her thumb across the tip—And gasped, cmping her mouth shut instantly.

  That was... sensitive. Very sensitive.

  "Jesus Christ," she panted, clutching the couch cushions with white knuckles.

  Her mind reeled, careening between panic and giddy fascination.

  This was her, now. This body. These feelings. This incredible, dangerous pyground of sensations that came baked into the flesh she'd always half-dreamed of but never dared to hope for.

  And it was hers. No surgery. No pills. No bargaining.

  Just... a card. A shimmer. A promise fulfilled.

  Her heart raced. She squeezed her thighs together again without thinking, the plush friction sending another jolt through her system.

  "God, I'm such a perv," she muttered, half ughing, half wanting to cry.

  But it was her body now. She wasn't hurting anyone. She wasn't funting it.

  She was learning.

  Discovering.

  Loving, just a little bit, what she'd become.

  Sam curled tighter on the couch, pressing her face into the cushions, muffling another giggle as her body squirmed with restless energy.

  The fridge clicked loudly in the kitchen.

  She jumped again, heart leaping into her throat.

  The mundane sp of reality came crashing back, unceremonious and brutal.

  Right.She still had to live.Still had to exist outside her own skin.

  Ramen. Bills. YouTube comments. Laundry. The soul-sucking tyranny of adulting.

  She let out a long, shaky sigh and dragged herself upright, raking her fingers through her hair.

  Even that felt different—silkier, lighter.

  "Get it together, Sam," she growled, forcing herself to focus. "You can't just fondle yourself into oblivion."

  She stood up carefully, testing her bance.

  Her chest shifted slightly with the motion, tugging at her shirt again, making her cheeks flush hotter.Her thighs brushed with every step, a gentle whisper of warmth that refused to be ignored.

  She grabbed the ramen and trudged back toward the counter, determined to at least pretend to be a functioning human being.

  Maybe if she just ate and did something normal she could stop hyper-focusing on how every single part of her body now felt like a goddamn theme park of new sensations.

  She grabbed her phone out of habit, thumbing it open.

  No new texts. No emails.

  A bnk notification bar that somehow made the world feel even more surreal.

  She toyed with the idea of messaging one of her friends.Just a casual "Hey, if I told you I got gender-swapped by a magic envelope, would you still squad up with me for Valorant tonight?"

  But no.Not yet.

  This was hers for now.Private. Sacred. Terrifying.

  Sam set the phone down, plopped herself back on the couch, and forced herself to eat another mouthful of soggy noodles.

  One step at a time.

  Later, she could worry about expining.Later, she could wonder how or why or what came next.

  For now?

  She was going to enjoy her damn ramen.

  And maybe, just maybe, sneak another guilty thigh squeeze when she thought no one was looking.