Her Name is Akira (comission) (Patreon)

Part 1

The living room was bathed in the soft light of a lamp, casting warm reflections on the walls adorned with family photographs. Tyler, a 23-year-old young man, sat at the edge of the couch, nervously clasping his hands, his gaze repeatedly drifting toward the old book in his mother’s hands. She held it carefully, as if it were the most important relic in her life.

— Mom... Are you sure this is even... safe? — Tyler broke the silence, his voice trembling, betraying his doubts.

His mother lifted her gaze to him. There was tension in her eyes, but behind it lay firm determination.

— Yes, Tyler. I've studied everything, — she traced her finger along the gilded symbols on the cover, as if trying to convince not just him but herself. — I know it sounds strange, but I can’t keep doubting. I need to know if he’s cheating on me.

— But... why so complicated? — Tyler frowned, shaking his head. — It’s just an interview for a new secretary, right? Why not just ask him? Or... or talk to that secretary later?

His mother pressed her lips together and took a deep breath.

— Because I know him. If he really is cheating, he won’t admit it. And I’m sure he’s specifically looking for... — she hesitated, choosing her words, — someone who’ll attract him. This position opened up right after his promotion.

Tyler scowled.

— Wait, you want me to... become... a woman? — He felt heat rise to his face, unable to stop a nervous laugh.

His mother shook her head.

— Not exactly. — She opened the book, showing him pages filled with strange symbols. — The spell will choose the woman your stepfather would be most drawn to. You will literally switch places with her.

— What?! — He leaned forward. — And how long am I supposed to... be this... her?

She looked away.

— A week. At most. — Her voice softened. — If he doesn’t show his true colors by then, I’ll know I was wrong, and I’ll bring you back. But if... — she gripped the book tighter, — if you find something out sooner or if he... tries anything with you, or you feel unsafe, just tell me. I’ll stop it immediately. And then that... — her teeth clenched, barely holding back her anger, — that bastard will get what he deserves.

Tyler stared at her, mouth slightly open.

— Mom! Do you realize how... this is insane! If he... if he tries something... what the hell?! — His voice cracked.

— Tyler... — She squeezed his hand, which had begun to tremble slightly from all these strange thoughts, meeting his eyes. — I know it’s scary. But I trust you. I don’t know how else to find out... Please.

He swallowed hard, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. His hand relaxed slightly in her warm grasp — the gesture was somewhat calming, though the anxiety still clawed at his insides.

He had seen how much she had suffered these past months — the tired eyes, the tense smile, the long, empty stares. She deserved the truth. She deserved peace.

— Fine... Only for you, — he exhaled, turning away to hide his confusion. — But this... this is a terrible idea.

His mother gave a faint nod and opened the book. The symbols on its pages glowed softly with golden light, as if responding to her voice. Quiet, unfamiliar words echoed through the room, filling the air with something foreign.

The air trembled. The lamp’s light began to flicker, and suddenly, everything around seemed to blur. Tyler felt his head spin, and then... a sensation of falling — deep, endless, as though he were losing touch with reality, sinking into himself.

Part 2

A dull echo rang in his ears. His body felt heavy, as if something were pressing on it from the inside. Tyler tried to blink, but his eyelids wouldn’t obey, and for a moment, he lost control — a sensation of complete helplessness.

And then—

A sudden jolt.

He came to, sitting upright. No, definitely not at home.

A bright monitor screen flickered before his eyes. Open windows: an email client filled with dozens of messages, most with formal subjects like "Q3 Internal Report" and "Meeting Coordination". A calendar notification blinked: Meeting with Mr. Farrell — in 15 minutes. A spreadsheet of financial data was open, the figures precise, perfectly aligned, with a signature at the bottom: Akira Takasaki.

Tyler tried to take a deeper breath, but something was pressing against him from all sides — a light pressure on his shoulders, a strange tension across his back and waist. Even moving his legs felt restricted, held too tightly.

Beneath him was something firm yet covered in smooth material — a narrow office chair, forcing him to sit perfectly straight without any room to relax.

He blinked again, feeling the pressure on his chest with every breath, tight and unfamiliar. When he inhaled just a little deeper, the sensation only grew — too tight, too constricting.

"What the—"

He lowered his gaze and, to his horror, a sharp, breathless gasp escaped his lips:

— Wh-what?..

High. Soft. Not his own.

Breasts.

Barely concealed beneath a thin silk blouse that clung too closely, emphasizing two soft curves that felt disturbingly real with every tiny movement. The fabric stretched slightly with his breath, accentuating both shape and weight, while narrow bra straps pressed into his shoulders, a constant, undeniable reminder.

Tyler parted his lips, trying to breathe more shallowly, hoping to avoid the sensation — but it only made him more aware of it. He could feel every touch of fabric against his skin: the way a snug skirt clung tightly around his hips, restricting his movements, how the sheer stockings stretched over his legs, and the faint chill of metal earrings brushing his earlobes when he moved his head.

"No... This is all wrong..."

He tried to shift, but the skirt wouldn’t allow his legs to spread much, and even leaning forward slightly made the softness on his chest press more firmly against the blouse.

— Miss Akira, be so kind... coffee. For everyone. — The voice crackled from the desk speaker, smooth and lazy, with a barely concealed note of command. — ...and try not to take too long.

There was no irritation in his tone. It was something else. Something too deliberate. Like he was savoring every word, the way he addressed her, as if saying "You're nothing here, and this politeness is just for show."

Tyler flinched, his shoulders tensing instinctively, heart thudding hard in his chest.

"What? Who was that...?"

But then something else flashed through his mind. Suddenly, as if knowledge had been poured directly into his brain: he knew the coffee had to be served in black ceramic mugs with the company logo. He knew how the boss preferred it — no sugar, strong, with a splash of cream. Guests, however, required a different setup: sugar on the side, both white and brown, with cream in small glass pitchers. He knew where the coffee machine was, how to refill it, where the spare pods were stored, even which serving tray to use for the perfect presentation.

He had never known any of this. Yet now, it was as if the information had always been there, as natural as breathing, like he’d done it a thousand times before.

Tyler drew a shaky breath, pulse pounding in his temples. His eyes darted back to the calendar on the monitor: Meeting with Mr. Farrell — in 15 minutes.

Mr. Farrell?

That wasn’t his stepfather.

Part 3

"No... This isn't the right place... It was supposed to be the interview with my stepdad... What the hell am I doing here like I've already...?"

— Miss Akira? — The voice from the speaker echoed again, this time sharper.

Tyler jolted, and the words slipped from his lips on their own — soft, submissive, too quiet, yet just enough for the person on the other end to hear:

— U-uh... y-yes, sir...

He froze, heat flooding his cheeks. The voice. High, melodic, with a faint Asian accent.

"Why am I talking like this? I'm supposed to be..."

Before he could finish the thought, the answers came crashing into his mind so suddenly it left him ashamed he'd even questioned it.

— ...Akira Takasaki... — flashed through his head like a bolt of lightning, and then it spilled from his lips in a soft whisper.

A name. A surname. The knowledge was so sharp, so clear, as if he'd always known it. As if it was his name.

Age: 35. Role: personal secretary to Mr. Farrell, CEO of F-Tech Solutions. Experience: five years in this position, previously working at the Tokyo branch of the same company. The accent? Because she was born and raised in Japan, moving to the U.S. five years ago for this job.

"Wait. What the hell?! This... this isn’t me. These aren’t my thoughts. This is her life... This isn’t me... I'm Tyler... I..."

Panic started to rise. Tyler gripped the chair’s armrests tightly, feeling the strange, persistent pressure on his chest again — the straps of the bra digging into his shoulders, the unfamiliar weight on his chest pressing more noticeably with every shaky breath. But even that sensation, oddly enough, was beginning to feel... familiar?

"No, stop! This isn’t normal!"

He had to tell his mother. Something had gone horribly wrong! He was in the body of this... Akira, and not even in his stepfather's office!

"Focus. Just call her. Tell her it’s a mistake! Make her undo this crazy spell!"

— Miss Takasaki? — The voice returned, sharper now, tinged with clear irritation. — And bring me the Atlas Project reports as well. They’re on the conference room table. Don’t forget.

Tyler flinched. And then, like a switch being flipped—

— Of course, sir. — The words left his mouth before he even realized he had spoken. The voice was soft, polite, with a touch of carefully measured obedience.

Another jolt.

"Coffee. Now. The reports too. But coffee first."

The thought was so sudden, so loud, it drowned out everything else. Urgent. No, critical. Why?

He didn’t know how, but he was already rising from the chair, the snug skirt gripping his hips, forcing him into small, smooth steps. His feet... they moved differently. A subtle sway in his hips, the rhythmic click of heels against the floor. Toes pointed slightly inward. Every movement felt oddly natural — yet not his own.

Thin heels.

He felt them. Felt how they shifted his posture. But his steps remained steady, fluid, elegant in a way he hadn’t even tried to control. It was just... happening. As though it was the way he’d always walked.

"No, what the... Why am I thinking about getting coffee instead of calling Mom?!"

He wanted to stop, but his legs kept carrying him toward the coffee machine. Everything inside him screamed that this was the most important task in the world.

Tyler tried to resist again, but how do you fight something that now felt as natural as breathing?

Coffee and documents. Everything else can wait.

Part 4

Tyler, feeling the tension coursing through every inch of his body, reached the coffee machine. Everything he needed to do was painfully clear in his mind: take the black ceramic cups with the company logo, pour the coffee — black for the boss, sugar options for the others, cream in a glass pitcher. Each step felt disturbingly easy, as if he’d done it a hundred times before, even though the voice in his head was screaming the opposite.

The cups and pitchers were carefully arranged on the tray. His hands — slender, feminine — moved with confidence, even with a strange grace. Tyler noticed every motion, as if watching himself from the outside.

"This isn’t me… This isn’t me!"

The tray trembled slightly as he lifted it, but his fingers held it steady. The soft click of thin heels echoed on the floor as he headed toward the conference room. His steps, smooth and graceful, carried a subtle sway in his hips that he could feel through his entire body. With every step, the tight skirt clung to his thighs, the stockings stretching taut against his skin.

The door to the conference room opened smoothly, and Tyler stepped inside.

Several men in tailored suits were already seated around the long table, which was cluttered with laptops and stacks of documents. At the head of the table sat Mr. Farrell. His gaze immediately locked onto Tyler.

That stare... piercing, assessing — it made something twist deep inside him.

Tyler swallowed hard, his pulse quickening.

He began setting the cups down in front of the guests, every movement precise and fluid, like a rehearsed performance. The cups landed gently, the cream pitcher placed perfectly at the center — exactly as expected.

When he reached the boss, his palms felt damp. Farrell hadn’t looked away for a second. There was something in his eyes — more than just professional interest.

As Tyler extended the cup toward him, his body betrayed him. His legs shifted forward, stepping closer than necessary.

And then—

A touch.

Mr. Farrell’s hand, smooth but firm, slid along his thigh, lingering just long enough to graze his backside.

Tyler froze.

The hand pressed slightly, then withdrew just as abruptly, almost a push, nudging him forward.

Breath catching, Tyler shot a wide-eyed glance at Farrell, silently demanding an explanation.

But the boss had already turned back to his laptop, ignoring him completely, as if nothing had happened.

Taking a shaky breath, Tyler forced himself to step back, struggling not to reveal how shaken he felt. Moving aside, he placed the tray on the side table and straightened his posture.

"Don’t think about it. Focus. Just watch... Stay sharp."

He pulled out the sleek, lightweight tablet, perfect for note-taking. His fingers automatically opened the notes app as his gaze fixed on the screen, desperate to focus on the upcoming meeting.

But the sensation of Farrell’s hand lingered far longer than it should have — along with the disturbing realization:

That wasn’t an accident.

…

Part 5

The day dragged on painfully long. Tyler felt time stretching endlessly, as if the magic was deliberately slowing every minute. The tasks he performed felt meaningless and mundane, yet somehow, every action, every detail seemed incredibly important.

"I just need to stop and call Mom..."

That thought flashed through his mind more than once, but every time, something stopped him. "Finish the report first. Then respond to that email. Oh, and clarify the travel details with Mr. Farrell." Tyler couldn't understand why all of it felt so consuming, but even the smallest tasks seemed like matters of life and death.

At one point, he even caught a glimpse of his stepfather. He was walking down the hallway, speaking quickly with a colleague. Tyler froze where he stood, his heart pounding as his stepfather's gaze briefly met his.

But it lasted only a second before he looked away, paying no attention.

"He didn’t even recognize me... Of course he didn’t. I’m Akira now."

As the day finally drew to a close, the office gradually emptied. Tyler finished the last of his tasks — checking the boss’s calendar for the next day, sorting documents, replying to a few work emails. With each passing minute, the urge to just leave and make it all stop grew stronger, but his body seemed unwilling to obey.

And then, just as he was about to gather his things, the office door opened.

Mr. Farrell stepped inside.

— Good work today, Takasaki, — he said, voice still lazy, but tinged with something far more personal.

Tyler froze.

Mr. Farrell approached, his gaze heavy, burning into him, making Tyler’s shoulders tense. The boss reached out, placing both hands on Akira’s shoulders, squeezing gently.

Before Tyler could react, before he could even think to pull away, Farrell leaned closer, his lips brushing softly against his neck.

"What the hell is he doing?!"

Tyler wanted to recoil, to push him away, to say something — but inside, a louder voice screamed: "Don’t move! This is important! You have to let this happen!"

Every touch — the hands pressing gently, the lingering kiss on his cheek, then lower to his neck — felt both terrifying and... disturbingly normal.

— Relax, Akira, — Farrell’s voice was low, smooth, dripping with smug confidence. He stood too close, his hands gripping her shoulders possessively, like he was evaluating something he owned. — You know how much I value your loyalty.

Tyler tried to speak, to pull back, but his body wouldn’t respond. He remained perfectly still. His lips parted slightly, ready to say something, yet no sound came out.

— After a day like this, — Farrell continued, as though oblivious to the tension, — you deserve... a little break. With me. — He leaned closer, so near their faces were almost touching.

Tyler felt his skin burn under the weight of that stare. His lips curled into a weak, almost apologetic smile — even as everything inside him screamed.

— Get up, sweetheart. — Farrell's voice dropped a note lower, rougher. He took her hand, tugging gently but firmly to pull her to her feet.

Part 6

The next moment, Tyler was already seated in the leather interior of a car. Farrell sat beside him, his presence oppressive, as though it filled the entire space. The boss’s hand rested on her thigh — too confidently, too familiarly. His fingers pressed gently but firmly against the fabric of her skirt.

Tyler stared out the window, trying to ignore his touch. The glow of streetlights glided across the glass, reflecting off sharp cheekbones and perfectly styled hair.

"What am I doing?" — The thought echoed louder with every passing second. Yet his body remained calm, relaxed, as though everything happening was perfectly normal.

— You know, Akira, — Farrell spoke, his voice smooth, but with a commanding undertone, — how much I value you. Especially your... dedication.

Tyler’s heart skipped a beat. He wanted to move away, to brush his hand off, to say something — but the warning flared up instantly: "Your job. You can’t lose it. Don’t disappoint him."

— I... I know, sir... — The words left his lips on their own, quiet, perfectly polite.

— That’s my good girl. — Farrell gave her thigh a light pat, but his fingers lingered just a second too long.

Tyler wanted to turn back to the window, but Farrell’s stare held him captive. He could feel it — heavy, lingering, burning through his skin.

"This has happened before."

The realization struck like a deep, echoing blow, vibrating through his entire body. Fragments of memory flashed to life, sharp and undeniable.

A business trip. They had "accidentally" ended up in the same hotel. Then, somehow, the same room. Tyler remembered opening the door, expecting his assigned suite, only to find Farrell’s lazy smirk waiting instead. "Double booking error," he had said with a casual shrug — but the tone left no room for doubt.

Later that night, the spacious bed suddenly hadn’t felt so large. Farrell had simply reached out, pulling her close, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered: "You know how much I appreciate you, Akira."

Tyler remembered how his entire body had tensed with disgust and shame — yet still, it had obeyed. That was the first time.

He’d tried to forget the feeling. The way Farrell’s hands had roamed his waist with that disgusting certainty. The weight of his body pressing down. Lips grazing his neck, heat radiating where they touched, while inside, a silent protest raged — one that never broke free.

Painful fragments. Bitter. Relentless. They refused to fade.

And then the other memory — worse. The meeting. Hours of negotiations, ending with Farrell’s casual order: "Akira, stay behind."

The door had barely clicked shut before Farrell began undoing his belt, no hesitation, no words — just a calm, expectant stare. One that said she knew exactly what was required.

Tyler remembered how the rage had burned inside him, how humiliation twisted his stomach. And yet, his body had moved on its own. Stepping forward. Kneeling. Feeling the tightness of the skirt digging into his thighs as his hands reached for Farrell’s zipper. His lips had parted, moving in rhythm, avoiding eye contact, while the stench of his cologne mixed with the raw, choking sense of violation.

And all of it — the roughness of his grip, the weight, the taste — was drowned beneath something even worse. Shame. Powerlessness.

Another flash. A meeting afterward where he could barely focus, Farrell’s gaze searing into him from across the room. The quiet click of a lock later that evening. And it all repeating again.

Every memory tore at him from the inside, but his body... his body just accepted it. As if this routine had been carved into him.

— You're too tense tonight, Akira, — Farrell’s voice broke the silence, a soft chuckle laced with mocking amusement. There was no real warmth in it, just the kind of false charm meant to make refusal impossible.

Tyler felt the boss’s hands tighten on his shoulders before one slid gently along his neck, tilting his face toward him. Farrell’s lips were suddenly far too close.

There wasn’t even time to process it before they pressed against his own — slow, controlling, the kiss filled with deliberate dominance.

"Stop… This is wrong… This..."

The thoughts spiraled in chaos. But his body — betrayed him again. Responding, yielding, lips parting ever so slightly under the pressure.

Farrell’s arm coiled around his waist, pulling him closer. The heat of his touch, the weight of his presence, all of it pressing in with suffocating certainty.

— Relax, — Farrell whispered, breaking the kiss just long enough to lock eyes with him. That smug, almost soothing smile was laced with something darker. A warning. — We both know this is what you want.

Tyler’s pulse hammered painfully in his ears. His body gave the faintest nod before his mind could catch up.

"It’s the magic. It has to be the magic. This isn't me."

But the words wouldn’t come. Every time he tried to move, to speak, the same paralyzing thought echoed louder:

"You’ll lose your job. You have to be useful. He’ll notice if you stop being perfect."

— Thank you, sir, — she whispered, hating herself for the words as they left her lips.

— That’s better, — Farrell muttered, his grip on her shoulder firm as he drew her closer, as if sealing her compliance. Then, with an air of complete satisfaction, he turned back to the road.

Part 7

Tyler stared out the window again, trying to suppress the rising lump in his throat. Meanwhile, the car was pulling up to the hotel. The tall building with its bright sign looked too flashy, too expensive. Tyler realized where they were heading, but even the thought of stopping seemed impossible.

"Stop him. Say something. Leave!"

But instead, his body obeyed as Farrell opened the door and took his hand, helping him out of the car. His heels softly clicked against the pavement. The hotel. A dimly lit lobby, and then — the door to the room, which Farrell unlocked with a key card, his face emotionless, as if this were just an ordinary evening. Tyler froze in the doorway, but his boss's hand on his back gently pushed him forward.

— Go on, — Farrell said in a commanding voice, his lips barely brushing his ear.

Tyler stepped inside, feeling his heart race faster. Another closed space, another place where he felt trapped. Farrell followed, his fingers already sliding lightly down his back, lingering at his waist.

And then his lips again. Tyler felt them on his own, a deep kiss growing more insistent. The dizziness intensified, everything inside screaming that this was wrong. "You have to stop this, you have to leave…" But his body moved on its own. His hands suddenly ended up on Farrell's chest, as if drawn there without thinking.

Farrell smirked, his kisses becoming even more demanding, his movements more confident. His hand traced along the line of the skirt, and Tyler felt a chill run down his spine.

— You're incredibly tense, — Farrell murmured, his voice soft but with a hidden command. — Didn't I tell you to relax?

Tyler wanted to protest, but instead, he heard his own voice:

— I'm sorry, sir…

The words slipped out on their own, soft, almost guilty. His body moved as if on command — his back straightened, his arms lowered slightly, allowing Farrell to slip off the jacket, which was tossed onto the chair. Tyler felt the blouse shift slightly on his shoulders, exposing his skin.

He closed his eyes as the boss leaned in, brushing his lips against his neck. The touch felt almost routine, as if it were just part of their work dynamic. But deep inside, there was still a tiny spark of resistance left in Tyler. "This is wrong. This isn't me," he tried to remind himself, but that voice was growing quieter.

— You know what I like about you, Akira? — Farrell whispered, his lips barely grazing her ear. — Your obedience. You always know what I want.

His hands slid lower, deftly unbuttoning the blouse. Tyler felt the cool air touch his skin as it became exposed beneath the thin fabric. He opened his eyes, looking at his boss, trying to gather his thoughts, but all he managed was a faint whisper:

— I… I'm just trying to do everything right…

Farrell smiled.

— You always do.

His words sounded like praise, but to Tyler, they felt more like shackles. The blouse slipped down his arms, leaving only the fitted bra. The boss's gaze lingered on him a moment longer than it should have before he slowly leaned in, running his hand along Akira's waist, fingertips lightly brushing her skin.

Shame and inner turmoil flared up inside Tyler again, but with them came something else, something he couldn’t quite explain. Magic? Something else? His thoughts were jumbled, and his body responded on its own, as if it was accepting this as normal.

When Farrell took his hand and led him to the bed, Tyler felt the last of his resistance fade away. He knew he should have stopped this, should have gotten out of this situation. But instead, he let himself follow, feeling the magic and his own helplessness combine to make every action inevitable.

The bed was large, with perfectly made white linens that looked too cozy. Farrell sat her on the edge, leaning closer and looking into her eyes again. His fingers slid over her neck, her shoulders, and then lower, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. Tyler closed his eyes, feeling Farrell's lips roughly bite into his. He knew that this moment would remain in his memory, like all the others that had already happened. But this time everything seemed a little... different. As if all this was normal and he just needed to enjoy it, which he began to do, throwing aside all doubts and resistance, he responded in kind and their tongues intertwined in a bright passionate dance, and a warm wave ran through his entire body, which responded everywhere, but especially in the chest area, nipples, which turned out to be hard, but became even harder.

"I'm not Akira... I...", flashed through his head, but it was lost somewhere among all these new bright and hot sensations.

…

Part 8

Two weeks later.

Akira stood in the office kitchen, surrounded by soft light and the quiet hum of the coffee machine. She held a white mug with the company logo, the steaming coffee releasing a faintly bitter aroma. Tyler, still trapped behind her grace and calmness, stared silently into the dark liquid, lost in thought.

Two weeks.

"Two damn weeks," he exhaled inwardly, barely keeping his hands from trembling. Mom said it would be a week at most. One week, and he would return to his normal life, to his own body. This was supposed to end!

But he was still here. Still Akira.

Memories of the past days filled his mind, swirling like snowflakes in a blizzard.

He was living in Akira's apartment now. A cozy place that felt cold and unfamiliar despite the obvious care she'd put into it. Light walls, minimalist wooden shelves, neatly stacked books in Japanese and English. Long white curtains hung over the living room window, letting in just enough sunlight to keep the apartment bright every day. In the bedroom, everything was perfectly arranged — a bed with a tightly stretched gray blanket, a wardrobe filled with elegant clothes, shoes neatly stored in their boxes. On the nightstand stood a framed photo: Akira with her parents. Tyler had to look at it every night before bed, as if someone was whispering: "You’re her now."

Every morning began the same way. Tyler would walk to the closet, already knowing what to pick: a blouse, a skirt, stockings, heels. Everything fit perfectly, highlighting Akira’s slender figure. With each second staring into the mirror, he saw less and less of himself and more of her.

And Farrell.

That man.

Every morning, he waited in his office with a cup of coffee, but Tyler knew it was just a formality. The routine was clear: his lips would curve into a soft smile, and then he would step closer. Always closer. And Farrell would take him by the waist, pull him in, kiss him. Hands trailing lower, lips pressing against his neck, and before Tyler could even process it, he’d be on his knees with Farrell’s cock in his mouth.

"This isn’t normal. It’s just… the magic. It’s her. Not me."

Tyler kept trying to remind himself of that, but with each passing day, it became harder to tell where the line between him and her blurred.

And the sex.

Every night, he knew what awaited him. Gentle touches at first, lazy kisses, then Farrell’s hands growing more demanding. Sometimes it happened right there in the office when the day ended, sometimes in Akira’s apartment. He remembered that first morning on his knees — the nausea, the shame. But it had been quickly replaced by something else. Something that made his body respond in ways he couldn’t control.

He sighed again, reaching for the coffee pot to pour another cup while he still had a break — before he was dragged back into more "important" duties.

He had tried to fight.

Tried to get home. To his friends. To his mother. But everything kept falling apart.

The first time he tried calling his mother, he dialed the number, sure that this was it, he’d break free from the nightmare. The phone rang, and a woman’s voice answered — too much like his new mother’s voice.

— Akira? Is something wrong?

Tyler froze. The right words were there in his mind, the explanations — but not about his situation. The words that came out were the ones Akira would have said. And he spoke them. His voice polite, soft. After that, it was just a few more minutes of meaningless conversation — health updates, work, small talk.

"Why am I talking like this?!"

But as soon as the call ended, he realized — the magic hadn’t just changed his body. It had altered everything.

He had tried to reach his real home, punching the address into the GPS, but his feet carried him back to Akira’s apartment. He called his friends, only to end up speaking with hers instead.

Part 9

Everything connected to Tyler seemed to have either faded away or been pushed into the background.

"Mom," he thought, taking a sip of coffee. "She should’ve realized something went wrong. But she's silent."

Tyler glanced at his reflection in the glass door. He saw a slender, elegant woman in a classic blouse and pencil skirt. Perfect makeup, delicate manicure, the shine of black heels.

"I'm not Akira, goddamn it..." he thought. "But how the hell do I get out of this?"

At that moment, the kitchen door opened.

A young woman stood on the threshold — petite, slender, with short blonde hair and a shy smile. She wore an office uniform, slightly less formal than Akira’s but still professional.

— Oh, Miss Takasaki! Sorry to bother you, — she said, adjusting the folder in her hands and offering a nervous smile. — Do you have a minute?

Tyler looked up, forcing himself to keep his expression calm and flawless, though inside, everything tightened. It was Sophie. Sophie Miller, 21 years old, a recent college graduate with bright eyes and big career dreams. He knew this because it was her stepfather who got her the job here. And it was supposed to be her position he took over — if the spell had worked properly.

Akira took another sip of coffee, suppressing the unease clawing inside and offering a soft smile, keeping that perfect mask of professional coldness.

— Of course, Sophie. What is it?

Sophie looked even more nervous now, fiddling with the edge of her folder. Her gaze kept shifting, but in her eyes, Tyler could see — or rather feel — genuine admiration bleeding through the unfamiliar persona.

— Well… — she rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. — I was just hoping you could help me. You’re so experienced… and you’re Mr. Farrell’s personal assistant! That’s… so cool!

Tyler barely held back a bitter laugh. "Cool? Are you serious right now?"

— Thank you, I suppose, — he replied, allowing himself a small smile, which only seemed to fluster her more. — What exactly do you need help with?

— Well, um… — she hesitated, staring down at her folder like it held the answers. — Sorry, this is probably stupid, but… something weird happened. Some woman messaged me… and accused me of being a traitor. I just… I don’t know what to do.

— A traitor? — Tyler frowned, setting his coffee mug down on the counter. — What woman? What exactly did she say?

Sophie shrugged apologetically, her eyes dimming as her voice dropped lower.

— It was fine at first… I mean, I only started here a couple of weeks ago, right? — She gave a weak smile but quickly looked away. — I’ve been trying to stay professional, focus on work, not get distracted… But then, a few days ago, this woman approached me outside the office.

— A woman? — Akira raised a brow, keeping her expression carefully measured, though tension coiled tighter in her chest.

— Yeah… — Sophie shifted on her feet, anxiously tugging at the corner of the folder. — It was strange. She came right up to me, just outside the building. About forty, dark hair, plain coat. She started asking all these… weird questions.

— What kind of questions? — Akira leaned in slightly, voice still gentle but tinged with growing tension.

— All kinds of things… but she was strange from the start. And then she… you won’t believe this, but… — Sophie bit her lip, as if doubting her own words. — She called me… Tyler.

The name hit like a punch to the gut.

A cold wave rushed down Tyler’s spine, his heartbeat skipping as his fingers clenched around the coffee cup hard enough to nearly spill it.

"Mom? That was her… but why would she…?"

Part 10

— Ty… Tyler? — he repeated, struggling to keep his voice steady, though it wavered just slightly.

Sophie nodded, oblivious to the storm raging inside Akira.

— Yeah... I reacted the same way. I tried telling her my name was Sophie, but she just seemed… obsessed. She kept saying I was... god, this is so stupid… like I was her son. Can you imagine?

Akira — no, Tyler — felt his heart skip a beat. "It’s… really Mom! But why… why did she find Sophie and not me?"

— And what did you say? — he asked, forcing his voice to remain calm and composed, though he could feel the tremor threatening to break through.

— Well, I told her my name was Sophie and I had no idea who Tyler was. She looked so... I don’t even know how to describe it. Like…

— Like she thought you were lying to her on purpose, — Sophie finished with a shrug. — Then she just… calmed down. Said, "Alright, sweetie. This... this has gone too far. I get it, you’ve really committed to the role, but this is too much, Tyler. Give me your work email. I’ll write to you, and we’ll talk properly, okay?"

Akira… Tyler felt something twist violently inside. "She… she thinks I’m staying in character?!"

— And... did you give it to her? — His voice was still steady, but his fingers trembled slightly around the coffee cup.

— Yeah… — Sophie nodded guiltily. — Honestly, she was so persistent. I just wanted her to leave. I gave her my corporate email. I figured she’d write once and move on.

— And did she?

— Yeah… — Sophie lowered her gaze and pulled out her phone. — Here.

The screen showed several messages. The first one:

"Tyler. I’m sorry for pushing you. Please, just tell me you’re okay. If you’re really comfortable living this way, I’ll accept it. But you can trust me, alright? I love you. Please respond."

Tyler held his breath.

— And… what did you reply?

Sophie winced.

— I was confused... I just wrote something like: "I’m sorry, but I’m not who you’re looking for. I think you’re mistaken."

Tyler nodded, trying to keep himself together.

— And then?

— Then… she wrote again. Angrier this time. — Sophie scrolled down.

"Tyler, this isn’t funny anymore. If you like being Sophie so much, fine! But tell me why you’re avoiding me? This isn’t why I did this. I only wanted you to help me uncover the truth about your stepfather. Remember? You agreed to this. I never meant…"

The message cut off.

Tyler felt his chest tighten, breathing shallow. He knew where this was going.

Sophie hesitated, then scrolled further.

"Tyler. If you enjoy being her, fine. But I need to know you’re still doing what you promised! Or have you forgotten why we did this? If you’ve gotten so caught up in this role that you’re abandoning me… it hurts, Tyler. You’re betraying me, aren’t you?"

His heart pounded painfully against his ribs. Teeth clenched, throat tightening unbearably.

— Is… is that all? — he forced out, eyes locked on the screen.

Sophie hesitated before finally scrolling to the last message.

"You know what, Tyler? Do whatever you want. If you’re so happy with your new life, I’m done stopping you. Consider yourself motherless."

Attached beneath was a photo — an old book, torn in half, pages scattered across a table.

Crack.

Tyler barely registered the sound at first. The mug slipped from his hand, shattering against the floor, dark coffee spreading across the tile.

— Miss Takasaki?! — Sophie gasped, stepping back.

— I... I’m fine, — he whispered, struggling to keep his composure. But his voice broke.

"She… she destroyed the book? She really thinks I…"

— Sorry… I just… — Tyler knelt down, automatically reaching for the shards despite the way his hands trembled, nearly cutting himself on the porcelain edges.

Sophie quickly crouched beside him, gently helping.

— Oh, no, don’t! I’ll clean it up — maybe you should sit down?

— No, — Tyler snapped, then caught himself, softening his voice to a near-whisper. — No… it’s fine.

But it wasn’t fine.

Not even close.

His only chance of going back… his mother had just destroyed it.