Chapter 150: Is This a Goddess? I’m Done For, I’m Done For
Time flew, and the third day arrived in a blink. Kamihara Shinji felt awful these past two days—sick, or rather, his body deteriorating as time passed. He knew the Gender-Swapper was affecting him. When he’d questioned Hisaike Kento, she mentioned mild discomfort for days, but this was unbearable: a persistent high fever, crippling weakness, like every debuff imaginable piled on.
Yesterday was worse—a burning sensation, as if his body were combusting, rendering him immobile. Last night, he’d considered euthanasia drugs to end it. But the burning sapped his strength, leaving him dazed in bed. Having waited two days, he figured he’d hold out one more. If no change, he’d call for help.
Morning came, and in a groggy haze, Kamihara stirred, heart lifting. “Sickness gone… no, gender-swapped?” Sitting up, he found the fever and burning gone, his health restored. Rising, he noticed his hair—longer, cascading to his waist. Holding a strand, it felt silky and cool. He slipped on shoes, stood, and muttered, “Hair’s too long,” frowning at the black, glossy tresses.
He knew male-to-female transformations lengthened hair proportionally. Hisaike’s crew cut had grown to shoulder-length post-swap. Speaking, Kamihara froze—his voice, now melodic and crisp, carried a cool, aloof charm. Glancing down at his chest, he noted a modest swell, less pronounced than Chihaya Mashiro’s. He’d learned at her house that she bound her chest at school, appearing average. His wasn’t flat, but he didn’t know cup sizes.
Kamihara didn’t rush to the bathroom. Exploring his body, he confirmed the transformation. His pajamas, now oversized, hung loosely—his frame had shrunk. Once 183 cm, he estimated 170 cm now. Curious and thrill-seeking, he approached the bedroom mirror, lifted his gaze, and held his breath.
One thought struck: This beauty’s unreal. The mirror reflected a girl of noble, icy allure, her coldness almost seeping through, likely tied to his usual emotional restraint. Her skin, unlike Mashiro’s milky white, glowed like polished jade, faintly luminous. Lifting his left hand, he found slender arms, pinching the right—firm yet smooth. Resting his left hand on the right arm, it slid effortlessly, the slickness captivating.
Her eyes, though, stole his focus—large, round, like gleaming black gems, starkly clear, piercingly transparent. Those eyes alone could captivate, let alone her flawless face. Her figure, gracefully proportioned, defied description but felt harmonious. Staring longer, Kamihara nodded, satisfied. Voice, body, face—all perfect.
Compared to Mashiro, he edged out, though her bubbly charm contrasted his standoffish “goddess” vibe. He grabbed his phone, snapped photos without posing, and group-sent them to Akane, Aokiji, and Mashiro. Good things deserved sharing.
Then, he called Tohsaka. “Ghost-sama?” Tohsaka answered cautiously, respectful despite being a monitor.
“Any progress on the Gender-Swapper? Any way to reverse it?” Kamihara preferred avoiding death if possible. His curiosity didn’t mean he wanted to stay female. He’d delayed euthanasia fearing the heart embedded in him—vital to his anomaly powers—might vanish upon death, costing legend points to restore.
“Hello?” No response. Kamihara checked the signal.
“Ah… I’m here!” Tohsaka stammered.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing…” Tohsaka couldn’t admit Kamihara’s transformed voice was enchanting, especially over the phone. In person, it’d be overwhelming. “I’m still investigating. Got some leads, but no reversal method yet.”
Kamihara sighed but said little. “Alright, hanging up.”
His phone pinged with three emails. Akane: AHHHHH, Ghost, introduce her! I’m in love, I’m marrying her! Plus missed calls from her. Kamihara replied, “Get lost. She’s my girlfriend, sent to make you jealous.” Akane shot back: Jerk! Smirking, he ignored her.
Aokiji: Your girlfriend? Calm, unsurprising given his skeletal form—head and left hand aside—left little room for excitement. Kamihara grinned. “Yeah, pretty, right?” Aokiji: You’ve got a childish side. You’re coping well. She’s stunning, matches your vibe. Live long, don’t widow her. Kamihara bristled—What’s that mean?—but Aokiji’s jab confirmed his looks could sway anyone, a pleasing thought.
Mashiro: President… is this you post-swap? Kamihara froze, typed, then stopped, embarrassed she’d guessed. Time to die. Swallowing euthanasia drugs, he collapsed, vision fading.
A minute later, he rose, checking for the embedded heart. Didn’t revert? His face fell, body stiffening, mind blank, sinking into prolonged silence.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 151: Soul Gender-Swap
What happened? Kamihara’s notebook had clarified after his first death: no matter the body’s state, revival restored it to match the soul’s form, deducting a day’s lifespan. This certainty fueled his nonchalance about the swap—suicide would fix it. Otherwise, he’d have died day one, not played along. What was this?
Having lived two lives as a man, adapting to womanhood was unthinkable. Regaining his senses, he faced the mirror, studying the girl, lost in thought. Recalling details, he noted Hisaike’s “mild discomfort” during transformation, but his ordeal—near-unbearable agony—dwarfed it. Fever and burning had clouded his mind, preventing analysis. Now, he suspected the Gender-Swapper targeted not the body but the soul, with the body altering secondarily.
This hypothesis darkened his mood. If the soul swapped genders, his failure to revert made sense. His male soul ensured male revival, but a female soul meant female restoration—logical but grim. His intense discomfort likely stemmed from his stage-four monitor status, with potent spiritual power resisting the swap, unlike Hisaike’s mild, flu-like reaction as a civilian.
Speechless, he met the mirror-girl’s gaze, her furrowed brow mirroring his worry. Her gem-like eyes, once divine, now sparked pity, her goddess aura tarnished. Averting his eyes, goosebumps rose—he couldn’t stomach her beauty knowing it was him. His earlier playfulness vanished; only his mental fortitude kept him from breaking.
After pondering, he called Aokiji, avoiding Akane’s inevitable mockery for his reliable maturity. “Yo, Ghost,” Aokiji answered, half-expecting more girlfriend boasts.
“It’s me.”
“???” Aokiji, hearing a girl’s voice, faltered. “Who?”
“Ghost.” Kamihara knew his voice had changed.
Ghost? Aokiji’s mind caught up, amusement creeping in. “That photo was you?”
“Yeah.” Kamihara owned it, aware the photo might haunt him, but focused on solutions.
“You’re always in trouble,” Aokiji said, not mocking like Akane but musing. “Anomaly or rule-based item?”
“Anomaly,” Kamihara sighed. “Think I chase these? Besides the Evil Neighbor, name one I sought out.”
“Fair,” Aokiji teased. “Change your voice, though—it’s getting me going.”
Kamihara’s face darkened. “What nonsense? You’re bones—how do you ‘get going’?”
“Even your scolding’s nice,” Aokiji laughed, then sobered. “Joking aside, I can’t help.”
“Special Division has tons of rule-based items. Maybe one can reverse this.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” Aokiji said. “I can request items, but I don’t know any for gender reversal. Try the chief or the think tank.”
“Fine, hanging up.” With no answers, Kamihara cut it short.
“Wait,” Aokiji added, smiling faintly. “No need to obsess over gender. Monitors don’t live long, even with death-substitution. Experiencing both lives ain’t bad.”
Kamihara’s face blackened—his own words to Shibao thrown back. “You think it’s great? Where are you? I’ll visit. One touch swaps you—since you don’t care, want it?”
“Hahaha, nah!” Aokiji burst out, “Hanging up! I’ll ask around and let you know.”
Post-call, Kamihara felt stumped. Gender-swapping wasn’t the issue; permanent change was terrifying. He had three options: consult Hinata Taiga, have Mashiro toss her fate coin, or ask Yakuman, whose connections might help. Calming from initial panic, he realized his notebook offered a fallback—create an urban legend to fix it or contain the Gender-Swapper to negate its effects.
As he reached for his phone to call Hinata, Akane spammed emails: HAHAHAHA! with his photos. Didn’t expect those were you, swapped. Too gorgeous—pure beauty! Won’t let a buddy have a go? I’d make it worth it. And: Where you at? Aokiji says skin contact swaps. I wanna try being a girl.
Idiot. Kamihara chuckled, replying, “Swap for what? You’d infect everyone, flipping society’s genders—total chaos.” Ignoring Akane’s excited follow-ups, he called Hinata.
“Ghost-sama,” Hinata answered, his 24/7 monitor-only line active.
“It’s me,” Kamihara said bluntly. “I hit an anomaly, got gender-swapped into a girl. Any Special Division items to reverse it?”
Hinata, initially thrown by the girl’s voice, relaxed at the explanation. Not daring to jest, he pondered. “No gender-swap items, but there’s a Wish Die.”
“Wish Die?”
“Right,” Hinata explained. “It grants wishes it can fulfill, but you roll twice. First roll: 1-3, you die; 4-6, you advance. Second roll: one face shows your wish. Hit it, wish granted. The other five are ‘death,’ so you die. If the wish is impossible, all six faces are ‘death’ in round two.”
Kamihara nodded. “Send someone to my place.”
“On it, Ghost-sama.” Though not a Special Division monitor, Kamihara’s feats—slaying the Evil Neighbor, containing Human Body Hospital, and possibly Your Turn—earned respect. Your Turn’s investigation stalled; its existence-erasing rule was unmanageable, so it was ignored.
Hinata called the Division, and the Wish Die was approved instantly. Per Chief Kimura, Kamihara’s requests got green lights—death-substitute monitors were rare, and his record dazzled. Kimura, aging, sought a successor, but Division-trained monitors fell short, making Kamihara a prospect.
Waiting at home, Kamihara sighed repeatedly. Ding-dong! “Ghost-sama, it’s me,” a familiar voice called. Opening the door, he saw the woman who’d driven him before, handing him her card. “Got the stuff?” he asked, extending a hand. She stared, dazed, until his delicate brow furrowed. “What?”
“Sorry, Ghost-sama!” Nishimura Kaori snapped to, eyes glinting with awe. Even as a woman, she was smitten. Kamihara’s edge over Mashiro was clear: his allure crossed genders. Taking the bag—men’s clothes, sunglasses, gloves—he didn’t scold. His shorter female frame made old clothes unfit, but his male psyche rejected women’s wear.
Dressed and ready, they headed downstairs. Nishimura drove, stealing glances via the rearview mirror. The oversized sunglasses added mystery, amplifying Kamihara’s draw. “Drive properly,” he snapped. Her heart raced—his scolding voice electrified. Hoping the Wish Die worked, Kamihara sighed inwardly. What a headache.
(End of Chapter)
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