The house always wins… unless witches are involved.
(This story was written using a new method with AI assistance. I think it turned out well, but I am curios about what you think about it. Constructive feedback very welcome.)
—
Day 1
My fingers flipped the cards with practiced ease, the casino floor buzzed with laughter and the rattle of chips. It was another busy night at the blackjack table, and I was in my usual spot, standing under the warm glow of a chandelier, green felt in front of me, a half-dozen players fanned around. The air smelled of expensive perfume and a hint of cigarette smoke, undercut by the metallic tang of coins. For me, this was a comforting routine.
Dealing blackjack wasn’t my childhood dream, but it paid better than the campus library job and fit around my classes. I cut the deck and dealt out cards swiftly, a polite smile on my face. In truth, I was a quiet guy, more comfortable with numbers and observation than small talk. But at the table, I had a role to play: The affable dealer, attentive and neutral. I masked my nerves behind that professional smile and kept the game moving.
One player tapped the table indicating he wanted a hit. I slid a card toward him. “Queen of hearts, sir.” I announced. He groaned as his total went bust and others chuckled. I offered a sympathetic wince. A good dealer keeps the energy light; If the players were having a good time, they’d keep their chips on the table, and that meant more tips, which I desperately needed.
As the round ended and a couple of players wandered off, I rolled my shoulders, easing the stiffness, and glanced at the gilded clock on the far wall. Half past eight. Two more hours on my shift. Not bad. I preferred when life stayed predictable, and tonight was hitting all the usual beats. Rent would be paid, my professors wouldn’t know I’d been up late handling cards, and by midnight I’d be on the last train home. Just another ordinary day.
With the table briefly empty, my classmate and coworker Ruri took the chance to stop by. She balanced an empty tray against her hip, a sheen of sweat on her brow from hustling drinks around. “Phew. Non-stop since seven,” she sighed, blowing a stray lock of dark hair off her forehead.
I gave her a grin. “How many drinks spilled tonight?”
She stuck out her tongue. “Only two! A personal best.” We both laughed quietly. Ruri wasn’t the most coordinated under pressure, but her upbeat charm made up for it. Customers loved her friendly chatter and bright smile, and frankly, so did I. Over the months of working together, our friendship had grown stronger. Seeing her here made this flashy, chaotic place feel a little more welcoming.
Our moment of camaraderie broke when I saw our floor manager, Mr. Tanaka, stride across the pit, gesturing for dealers and servers to wrap up their games. He called out, “Alright everyone, break time! Brief staff meeting in five. Finish your hands!” His tone was brisk but not unkind. Tanaka was strict but fair, he gave me this job when I was desperate. It wasn’t like him to interrupt a busy night for a meeting though. I frowned, exchanging a curious look with Ruri.
I cashed out the remaining players at my table, apologizing for the pause, and stepped away from the pit. Ruri fell in beside me as we headed toward the employees-only door. “Any idea what’s up?” I murmured.
She shook her head, equally baffled. It was rare to gather everyone mid-shift. A ripple of unease went through me. This casino had recently been bought by some big entertainment group, rumors of changes had been swirling. I liked this job as it was, I needed it to stay the same.
Soon we found ourselves filing into the staff lounge with about two dozen other employees: Dealers, servers, pit bosses, security guards. Everyone was murmuring, puzzled. A comfortable routine was about to make way for something else, it seemed.
At the front of the room stood a woman I’d never seen before. She was tall and poised, dressed in a tailored black suit with subtle Victorian-style lace at the cuffs and collar. Her hair was jet-black, swept up in a neat bun, and she wore a pair of small rectangular glasses. Everything about her was sharp and refined, from the arch of her dark eyebrow to the confident way she held a clipboard. When she spoke, it was in a calm, polite tone that nonetheless commanded attention.
A pit boss near the front of the group raised a hand uncertainly, but before he could speak, the other woman at the front cleared her throat. The room fell silent on instinct.
“Good evening,” she said softly. “I am Clara. I represent the new management.” A ripple went through the crowd. So the owners had sent someone. Clara offered a thin, professional smile. “I understand this is sudden, change often is. But we all share a common goal: To make this casino the best it can be.”
My gaze flicked to Mr. Tanaka, who stood by with an oddly vacant smile. My stomach churned. He looked… Off. Normally, he’d be scowling at an interruption like this.
I hesitantly raised my hand. “Um—What about Mr. Tanaka?” I managed to ask. “He’s been our—”
Clara’s eyes snapped to me. They were an unusual pale gray, almost silver, and at the moment they glinted with something icy. For a heartbeat, I regretted speaking. But then she inclined her head slightly. “Mr. Tanaka is still with us, assisting in the transition,” she replied. Her voice remained courteous, but there was a finality to it. She turned to him. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, of course,” Mr. Tanaka said immediately. His voice was oddly cheerful, far from his typical clipped cadence. “Happy to… Help out however I can.” The words sounded rote, as if recited. A shiver crept up my spine. Tanaka’s eyes were glassy, unfocused.
Clara continued, addressing us all. “I know change can be uncomfortable. But I promise, if you all follow the house rules, you will find it quite rewarding.” Her lips curved in a smile that didn’t reach those keen eyes. Something about the way she said “house rules” made my skin prickle.
Without missing a beat, she moved on. “Now, a quick policy update. We have a discrepancy to correct.” Clara’s gaze swept across the room, her expression almost apologetic if not for the steely resolve underneath. “Effective immediately,” she said, “No men work here.”
The words dropped into the room like a live grenade. For a second, I was sure I misheard. No men work here. What did that—?
A sudden pressure clamped down on me, cutting off my thoughts. It was as if gravity doubled. I staggered, confusion exploding into alarm. Around me, I heard yelps and cries.
My coworker Shoji let out a strangled sound and hunched over, clutching his gut. One of the security guys stumbled back against the wall, cursing. I felt an intense heat bloom through my body. “What the hell—” I tried to say, but a shock of pain crackled up my spine, turning my words into a pained grunt.
It felt like an invisible vise was compressing me on all sides. My uniform suddenly constricted; the collar pinched, my shoes felt too tight. “Ah—!” I gasped. I tore at my bowtie, desperate for air. My fingers brushed my throat just as I felt it begin to shift—a bizarre grinding sensation as my Adam’s apple shrank away under my touch. My voice escaped in a gurgle, higher-pitched than it should be.
Around me, chaos reigned. Male voices shouted in alarm only to warp into higher tones mid-cry. Bones were shifting, muscles growing or shrinking, organs twisting inside me. It was impossible, and yet it was happening. My hips contorted with a sickening pop, widening so abruptly I had to spread my stance to keep balance.
Ruri was at my side, eyes wide with panic as she watched me. “K-Kobata?!” she stammered, reaching out as if to steady me. I couldn’t respond. A hot pressure ballooned in my chest and belly. I looked down, dizzy and disoriented, as two mounds strained against the front of my dress shirt. My flat chest was growing into a pair of soft, heavy breasts right before my eyes. The shirt buttons pulled taut over them.
I tried to form a thought. “This is impossible, I’m not… I can’t…” But my mind was fragmenting under the onslaught of sensations. The more I grasped at what was happening, the more it slipped away, like a word on the tip of your tongue that you just can’t remember. Terror fought with a weird, encroaching fuzziness.
My lower half wasn’t spared. I felt a prickling, tingling heat flow over my groin and rear. There was a sudden emptiness inside, an absence where something used to be, accompanied by a subtle internal rearrangement that left me lightheaded. My underwear shifted, the fabric now fitting differently against a new shape I dared not think about. Meanwhile, my thighs grew rounder under my slacks, which were swiftly reshaping into… A skirt? The pant legs fused into a single tube of fabric around my legs, then slid up, shortening scandalously. Cool air brushed my bare thighs.
With a final, sharp crack, the pressure lifted. I found myself on one knee, Ruri’s hand on my shoulder, and every inch of me felt wrong. Or rather, every inch of me was different. I drew in a shaky breath, the unfamiliar weight on my chest rising and falling. My center of balance had shifted dramatically, and as I shakily got to my feet, I realized I’d lost a few good inches of height as well. Ruri, who used to be slightly shorter than me, now had to look down to meet my eyes.
All around, the room fell into a stunned hush. Where there had been a mix of male and female staff, now only women stood, stooped, or sat on the floor in shock. I saw familiar faces on unfamiliar bodies: The security guard who’d been a burly guy was now a statuesque brunette clutching an oversized uniform shirt to her chest, our pit tech, previously a scrawny fellow, was gawking at his own newly delicate hands and the cascade of hair that had grown past his shoulders. Every man in the room had been changed.
Where Mr. Tanaka once stood was a woman who looked like she’d stepped straight out of a cosplay event and into our meeting. Clad in a bright pink satin bustier that pushed up an almost comically ample chest, with a white cotton puff of a tail attached to her rear, she had matching pink stiletto heels and even a pair of floppy bunny ears perched atop voluminous, wavy bubblegum-pink hair. She was beaming at us, arms open in welcome.
A few of my coworkers stifled laughs or gasps. I heard someone mutter, “What the…?” under their breath.
The pink woman bounced on her toes. “Hi hi, everyone!” she chirped in a voice so high and bubbly it nearly gave me a cavity. “I’m Candy, your, like, totally excited new floor supervisor! Yay!” She even pumped her fists like a cheerleader. My jaw nearly dropped. Floor supervisor? That was Tanaka’s title. And who on earth was this cartoon character?
She gestured gracefully toward the pink-clad woman beside her. “Candy will be taking over floor supervision effective immediately. Please give her your support.”
Candy clapped her hands delightedly. “Yay! Looking fiiiine, ladies!” she cheered, striking a pose with one hand on a jutted hip. In stark contrast, Clara regarded us with cool satisfaction, as if she had just rearranged some furniture that was out of place.
My heart hammered. This can’t be real. I took a step and nearly tripped on my—skirt? Yes, I was now wearing a snug black skirt instead of slacks, and a pair of modest heels instead of my work loafers. I caught myself on Ruri. The room spun, my breathing shallow.
I heard one of the transformed dealers giggle and that snapped me out of my daze for a moment. Why was anyone laughing? How were we not all screaming? I blinked hard, forcing myself to look down at my own body.
The changes were thorough. My hands, gripping Ruri’s arm, were slim and dainty, the nails longer. The curve of my waist into flared hips was obvious even under the altered jacket. The two… breasts on my chest pressed against the straining buttons of my shirt, making it hard to draw a full breath without the fabric gaping. My short haircut had grown out into a shoulder-length sweep that partially obscured my vision until I shakily tucked it behind one ear. A pearl earring that I definitely hadn’t been wearing before grazed my finger as I did so.
“This… This isn’t…” I croaked. The voice that came out was soft, mellow, and feminine. Panic welled up anew. “Clara, you can’t just—!” I burst out, surprising myself with the shrillness.
Clara arched an eyebrow and looked directly at me. I wanted to plead, or demand she undo whatever she did, but my words caught in my throat. Can’t just what? The specifics of what had even happened were evaporating from my mind even as I stood there. I stammered, “You can’t j-just…” and fell silent, utterly unable to finish the sentence. What was I protesting? We… We were men a minute ago, weren’t we? The fact fizzled as soon as it formed, leaving only a vague sense of wrongness.
Clara’s red lips curved into a polite smile. “Is there an issue?” she asked in a tone of saccharine concern.
I opened my mouth, then closed it, completely lost. My brain felt like it was slogging through mud. I remembered being upset, furious even, but now it was like trying to recall a fading dream upon waking. “I… no. No, ma’am,” I heard myself say faintly.
“Wonderful,” Clara said. With that, she clapped once. “Break’s over, ladies. Let’s continue providing an excellent experience for our guests.”
Candy was already herding people gently. “You heard her! Chop chop! And smile!”
In a daze, I filed out with the rest. Ruri stayed glued to my side, our arms brushing. She was breathing hard, like she’d run a marathon, eyes still darting all over me. I could only imagine what I looked like, actually, I couldn’t imagine. It was too much.
Back on the casino floor, the lights and noise hit me like a wall. Slot machine jingles, laughter, the clink of glasses, everything was moving as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed. We emerged from the employees-only door and I felt like the entire room’s gaze was on me. In reality, only a few people even glanced up, perhaps noting something different about the dealer who had gone on break and the busty, short-haired girl who returned.
Somehow, my body carried me back to my table. A new dealer had taken over for me and was just leaving as I approached. He, no, she now, (a petite blonde who vaguely resembled one of the guys from security) gave me a strange half-smile, like she wasn’t sure why she was there. I slid in to take her place.
A group of players gathered, expecting a game. Automatic motions took over. Shuffle the cards. Greet the guests. My hands trembled slightly on the deck. Steady, I told myself. The worst had already happened… Hadn’t it?
I dealt a hand. My movements felt alien, the weight distribution of my body was off, my shoulders narrower, making my reach different. The first card I dealt flew clumsily from my hand and almost flipped over. I heard a few snickers. Heat rushed to my cheeks as I forced a smile, muttering an apology. My voice, a sultry alto now, made one of the young guys at the table blink in surprise. He’d definitely heard it crack down into a male register earlier tonight. Did he remember? He just gave me a friendly nod, apparently oblivious.
Watching from a few feet away, Ruri hovered with her tray. She was still Ruri, unchanged physically, since she’d already been female. But the horrified confusion on her face hadn’t faded. A businessman at my table was blatantly staring at my chest, barely paying attention to his cards. I felt a flush of shame and wrapped my arms tightly under my bust, trying to minimize… Them. God, I had them now.
Suddenly, Ruri swooped in. “Cocktails, anyone?” she chirped, expertly drawing attention away. The ogling businessman turned his gaze to her tray, and the tension in my shoulders eased a notch. She flashed me a quick wink as she sauntered off, silent solidarity in that one little gesture.
Somehow, I made it through the rest of that shift. Muscle memory and pure survival instinct took over. I kept my smile plastered on, even as every step made unfamiliar parts of me jostle, even as I was hyper-aware of dozens of eyes lingering on my new curves. Each passing minute, the cognitive fog in my head seemed to thicken. The fact that I’d ever been anything other than this felt increasingly distant.
By the time the casino quieted in the early AM and we closed tables, I was running on autopilot. I practically fled to the staff locker room, desperate for a moment alone. In front of the mirror, I finally faced her, the reflection that wasn’t me, but was.
A young woman with soft features and bright, haunted eyes stared back. She had my black hair, though longer and disheveled now. My name tag still read “Kobata” on the lapel of a jacket that hugged a distinctly feminine figure. I touched the glass, as if I could reach through and find my old self on the other side. The cold surface meeting my fingertips confirmed the reality.
Ruri found me there, frozen in front of that mirror. Wordlessly, she stepped up and wrapped her arms around me from behind. I trembled, and her embrace tightened. We didn’t say anything, we didn’t need to. The hug said enough: I’m here. We’ll get through this. I covered her hands with mine and closed my eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat.
Not long after, we parted ways in the parking lot. Ruri offered to walk me home, but I lied that I’d be fine. I could tell she didn’t believe me, but she respected my space and gave me a last squeeze on the shoulder before heading to her scooter.
The train ride home was a blur. I caught my distorted reflection in the window a few times, a tired girl in an oversized jacket, her expression dazed. Passengers largely ignored me, to them I was just another woman commuting late.
At my apartment, I nearly tore off the uniform in desperation. The constricting fabric, the unfamiliar bra digging into my ribs. Off, off, off! Soon I stood in just a baggy t-shirt and boxers… Which promptly slid down my wider hips, useless. With a defeated sigh, I grabbed the first thing I could make work, a pair of loose gym shorts drawn tight with a cord, and collapsed onto my futon.
My body felt alien against the sheets. Every brush of cloth against my skin was a reminder of curves and contours that hadn’t been there this morning. Exhausted as I was, sleep didn’t come easily. I curled up, wrapping the blanket around myself and staring at the wall until dawn’s gray light crept in. In the stillness, one thought kept echoing in my mind: Tomorrow, it’ll probably feel normal.
It was a feeble hope, but I clung to it. What else could I do? Eventually, I drifted into a fitful sleep, the image of that strange girl in the mirror lingering behind my eyelids.
—
Day 2
By early evening, it was time to head to the casino. That familiar nervous flutter hit my stomach as I rode the bus to work, dressed now in the provided female staff attire from last night, a knee-length skirt and blouse. In the daylight, with a full morning to process (or try to), I felt less panicked than I expected. Perhaps it was the shock wearing off, or the mental blockade Clara’s power had imposed. I hadn’t forgotten what happened, rather, it no longer seemed unbelievable. I was a woman now, at least as far as the world was concerned, and I had to get on with things.
Stepping into the employees’ hall, I immediately sensed a buzz among the gathered staff. A few colleagues were clustered around an open box, exclaiming. One pulled out something black and satiny. “They’re really making us wear these?” a voice said.
I edged closer and saw it clearly: A classic bunnygirl outfit, black satin bodysuit, complete with a fluffy white tail and matching bunny ears headband. There was a stack of them in the box, various sizes.
A petite dealer named Mai caught my eye and gave a half-laughing, half-exasperated shrug. “New uniform policy,” she said, holding up an official memo that had been taped to the wall.
I skimmed it quickly. In corporate jargon, it announced that effective immediately, all female staff are required to wear the “classic bunny” uniform during work hours. I felt a surge of indignation. Of course “female staff” included me now. Was this Clara’s doing, or just the twisted new management style?
“They can’t be serious,” I muttered. But one glance at the shiny costume in Mai’s hands told me they were.
Ruri appeared at my side, already dressed in her bunny uniform. My heart skipped, she looked embarrassed, face flushed, as she tugged at the high-cut of the bodysuit on her thigh. The outfit was revealing, to say the least: A strapless, corset-like one-piece that pushed up her bust and a pair of sheer black stockings leading into tall heels. We’d had cocktail waitresses in similar get-ups for themed events, but making everyone wear this? Insanity.
Her eyes met mine, and for a moment we shared the same incredulous, perturbed look. “This is… a lot,” she said quietly.
I nodded, swallowing. I plucked one of the uniforms from the box with trembling fingers. A sticky note on it had my name. They planned this, I realized, anger flaring through my anxiety. Clara (or whoever) wasted no time in doubling down on the absurd.
In the locker room, I stood before a bench staring at the garment. Ruri stood nearby, already half in her costume, carefully attaching the little white cufflinks to her wrists. She glanced over at me as I struggled to start undressing. My cheeks burned. I was still shy about changing in the women’s locker area, even though technically I belonged here now.
Sighing, I began to strip out of my modest skirt and blouse. Each piece I removed made the transformation more stark. The bra I’d woken up wearing (a plain cotton thing) was slightly loose, I hadn’t exactly gone bra shopping yet, and this one was borrowed from my sister’s old stuff. It still boggled my mind that I needed it at all.
The bunny suit was… Tight. Getting into it was an exercise in contortion. I managed to slide my legs in and pull it up, but the back refused to zip with my arms alone. After a minute of awkward grunting, I heard a soft giggle. Ruri appeared behind me. “Let me,” she offered.
I held my hair out of the way, feeling utterly mortified, as Ruri zipped me up. The bodysuit cinched my waist and lifted my breasts aggressively. I almost fell forward from the sudden shift in weight distribution. “This is so embarrassing,” I mumbled.
Ruri gave a sympathetic smile. “At least… Well, at least we match?” She put on her own headband, the black satin ears flopping a bit until she adjusted them.
I had to admit, even through the haze of humiliation, we did cut quite the figure. In the mirror, two bunnygirls stared back: One with Ruri’s lithe, curvy frame and one taller, with my darker hair and perhaps a bit more awkwardness in her stance. My face was flushed, eyes uncertain. Ruri’s presence beside me was the only thing keeping me from losing it. She placed a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll get through tonight, one way or another.”
I nodded. Taking a deep breath (which was difficult in the corset), I clipped on my own set of ears and slipped into the 3-inch heels that had come with the outfit. The final effect was well, sexy, in a very obvious, playboy-magazine way. And it was me. I couldn’t dwell on that or I’d freeze up.
Candy’s voice rang through the hall. “Okay, ladies! Show time! Positions!” Her chirpy cheerfulness was starting to grate. How could she act like this was all normal?
We shuffled out to the floor. Immediately, a wave of hoots and applause greeted us from some of the rowdier regulars. My cheeks burned. I heard one drunken guy exclaim, “Jackpot! The bunnies are out to play!” I wanted to crawl under a roulette table.
Still, I forced a plastic smile and made my way to my blackjack table. Walking in heels was surprisingly manageable, likely another gift of Clara’s alterations. But the way the bodysuit pinched and emphasized certain assets made every step feel hyper-sexualized. I felt exposed, on display.
As the night went on, the casino was abuzz with our new look. I had more than a few customers ogling openly. A couple of women at a bachelorette party called me over just to compliment my “killer boobs,” which left me stammering and red-faced.
Somehow, amidst the embarrassment, I dealt cards and fulfilled my duties. Interestingly, not all the attention felt entirely bad. There were moments, a winning hand, a cheer from the table, where I almost forgot how I looked, lost in the flow of work. In those moments, I felt a strange flicker of… Confidence? Perhaps it was the costume’s effect on how people treated me, more tips, more compliments. Or maybe Clara’s mental tampering was making me adapt.
Late into the shift, Clara herself appeared on the floor, strolling with Candy at her elbow. They were surveying the scene like two generals inspecting troops. Clara’s gaze pierced through the crowd, watchful and appraising. I stiffened when I noticed her heading toward my area.
My table had a handful of players, including a trio of young men who had been flirting crudely with me for the past ten minutes. As Clara approached, I desperately wanted to avoid any scene. But of course, that’s when one of the guys, emboldened by alcohol, decided to be “funny.”
“Hey bunny,” he called to me loudly, “Think fast!” And he flicked a poker chip toward my chest.
I flinched, stepping back. The chip bounced off my collarbone (thankfully not hitting anything too sensitive) and clattered to the floor. The group of guys snickered. My face went hot with humiliation and anger.
Before I could react, a figure inserted herself between me and the table—Ruri. She picked up the chip and placed it back on the table firmly. “Gentlemen,” she said with a sweet-but-deadly smile, “Please keep your chips on the table. And show some respect, hmm?”
The lead guy swallowed, chastised by the unexpected authority in her tone (and perhaps by the fact that even without heels, Ruri towered over him now). “Uh, sorry,” he muttered. His friends looked down, chastened.
Ruri glanced back at me and gave a tiny nod. I realized I’d been holding my breath. Slowly, I let it out. Clara watched all this with an unreadable expression from a few steps away.
Candy, oblivious or willfully ignorant of the near-harassment, clapped her hands. “Attention, staff!” she chirped. Clara raised a hand subtly to silence the background music. The whole casino seemed to quiet in anticipation.
Clara’s voice carried softly yet clearly: “I’d like to commend our staff for their grace under… Increasing customer enthusiasm.” Her eyes flickered toward the chip-thrower, who shrank into his seat. “Your presentation is nearly perfect. There’s just one more detail to enhance.”
My stomach flipped. What now?
Clara’s lips curved in a slight smirk. “Effective immediately, I expect a certain… Standard physique for our female employees.” Her next words wiped any lingering chatter from the room: “Generous busts will be part of the uniform.”
For a second, I thought I must have misheard. But Clara just snapped her fingers daintily, as if summoning a waiter. The air tingled with that now-familiar charge.
Oh no. No, no—
I barely had time to clutch instinctively at my chest before it hit. A pulse of warmth, centered right behind my sternum, then radiating outward into two rapidly swelling weights. I gasped. Around me, gasps and startled cries erupted from every woman on the floor, Ruri included.
I stared down in disbelief. My breasts, already fairly large from yesterday’s changes, were expanding, pushing against the satin cups of the bunny suit. The fabric, enchanted or not, struggled to contain the sudden growth. It felt like someone was slowly inflating balloons under my skin, stretching me from the inside. A mix of pressure and a strange tingling pleasure shot through me, drawing an involuntary whimper from my throat.
Beside me, Ruri stumbled back a step, one arm across her chest as her own bust surged against the confines of her outfit. “Ah—!” she bit her lip, eyes wide and shining with alarm.
Customers looked on in shock, but just as soon as mouths hung open, confusion seemed to glaze over their faces. I watched one woman patron blink, rub her eyes, and then nudge her husband as if nothing was amiss, pointing at her slot machine payout. The normalization was happening even as reality warped.
Within moments, the tingling subsided. I was panting, a thin sheen of sweat on my brow. My bunny suit had adjusted just enough to prevent outright exposure, but holy hell. I struggled to stand upright, the new heft on my chest was considerable, throwing off my balance. I’d gone from voluptuous to cartoonishly top-heavy in the span of a few seconds. My back protested the abrupt added weight, and I rolled my shoulders, trying to mitigate a sudden ache.
All around the floor, similarly exaggerated figures were regaining composure. The female staff now all sported exaggeratedly voluptuous bodies, every shape dialed to hourglass extremes. One of the cocktail waitresses, Yumi, caught my eye with a bewildered half-smile, as if to say “Can you believe this?” Her previously modest bust was now straining her corset to the brink, yet she gave a dazed little shrug, already accepting it.
“No one was safe from change,” a voice in my head noted grimly. Not even the women who started out here as women. Clara would reshape anyone to fit her desires.
I steadied myself against the table, forcing a smile back on for the customers. The group of guys who had given me trouble were now openly goggling at my chest with stupid grins. Humiliation burned in me… But beneath it was a sliver of something else. When I dealt the next hand, I did so with my shoulders back, partly to cope with balance, partly… well maybe, to flaunt a little. The guys certainly noticed; One nearly forgot to hit on a 14 because he was distracted.
I hated the situation, but a twisted part of me felt a tiny thrill at the power it gave, the power to command attention so easily. It was a dangerous, confusing feeling. I shoved it down and focused on just surviving the night.
As closing time neared, I felt a light tap on my elbow. It was Ruri. We’d both been rotated off the floor to do some side work at the back bar. Now that we were briefly out of direct customer sight, I could see the open exhaustion in her eyes.
“You alright?” she asked, voice soft. The concern in her gaze nearly undid me.
I exhaled shakily. “This is insane,” I whispered.
She gave a tired laugh. “Completely.” Then she put a hand on my arm. “But you’re handling it. Better than I am, I think.”
I shook my head. “I’m just… Numb, I guess.”
Her hand slid down to squeeze mine. “If you need to talk after… I’m here, okay?”
Looking at her, tall, gorgeous, transformed like me yet still Ruri, I felt a rush of gratitude. “I know,” I said, squeezing back. “Thank you.”
We finished the cleanup in silence, too drained to say more. But an unspoken pact formed in that quiet: We had each other’s backs, whatever came next.
When I finally got home that night, I peeled off the bunny uniform with a mixture of relief and reluctance. Relief because it was physically taxing to wear, reluctance because, disturbingly, a part of me had grown accustomed to the attention it brought. Setting the ears and tail aside, I collapsed into bed in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and the new underwear I’d had to buy from a convenience store on the way (my old ones were laughably useless now).
My body ached in new places, and my mind was a fog of overload. Yet as I drifted to sleep, one thought surfaced clearly: Clara’s game wasn’t about single dramatic shifts. It was step by step, day by day. She was boiling the frog, turning up the heat gradually on our reality, and somehow, I was adapting.
The realization should have terrified me. But I was too tired to feel much of anything. I surrendered to sleep, hoping my dreams at least would be free of bunny ears and staring eyes.
—
Day 3
Friday came, and with it a strange new equilibrium. By this point, waking up in a woman’s body didn’t startle me, it was expected. I went through my morning classes as if I’d always been this tall, curvy girl. A few classmates gave me odd glances, but reality had mostly settled. My professors called on me like any other student, a friend teased me about joining the volleyball team with “legs like those,” and I found myself giving a lighthearted chuckle instead of panicking.
That afternoon, I headed to the casino early for a staff “training” session Clara had scheduled. We assembled on the empty casino floor, about fifteen bunny-suited women of varying shapes (all exaggerated) chattering in low tones. There was tension, but also a weird camaraderie forming among us.
Clara and Candy arrived together. Clara gestured for silence. “I’ve been reviewing customer feedback,” she began. “Overall, the response to our new theme is positive. However, I believe we can improve the impact our staff has on the clientele.”
I tensed. That kind of language likely preceded another change.
Sure enough, Clara continued, “Guests come here for spectacle and excitement. We’ve given them beauty and allure. Now we shall give them awe.” Her eyes gleamed with a cool fervor. “Strength, confidence, power, these will be our next enhancements.”
A hush fell. My heart pounded. She couldn’t mean—?
Clara nodded to herself, as if deciding. “All female staff: Stand tall.” And then, deliberately, she said, “Be Amazonian.”
The effect was swift. I braced, but the sensations were different this time. A wave of warmth surged through my muscles, not painful, rather energizing. My limbs tingled as they stretched. I let out a surprised breath as my perspective shifted upward; I was growing taller again. Around me, gasps turned into astonished laughs.
I straightened to my full new height, spine lengthening, posture involuntarily perfect. My legs, visible in their sheer tights, became more defined, muscular, yet still sleek. I could feel my calves bulge slightly as I flexed my feet, and my thighs pressed more firmly against each other, solid and powerful. The snug bodysuit now hugged a midsection with subtle abs, my previously soft tummy tightening into gentle ridges. I ran a hand over it in disbelief, feeling firmness where there had been plushness.
My arms similarly bulked up, when I bent my elbow, I could see a faint line of bicep. A giddy, almost exhilarating feeling bubbled up. This round of changes didn’t hurt, it invigorated. I felt strong. Ruri, standing beside me, caught my eye and broke into a grin. She lifted her arm, forming a playful muscleman pose, and we both stifled laughs. It was absurd, but somehow… Fun?
We were all taller by several inches, easily pushing into the six-foot range, some even more. Clara walked among us, inspecting. She nodded in satisfaction. I noticed Candy clapping quietly, mouthing “So cool…” as she ogled our transformations.
The rest of the “training” turned out to be a crash course in using our height and presence to our advantage, walking with confidence, making eye contact, subtly flexing to impress high-rollers (seriously). It was a bizarre corporate cosplay of empowerment, but damned if it didn’t start working on me. The more I moved in my new body, the more natural it felt. Shoulders back, hips swaying, I practiced a strut with Ruri as we pretended to scan for card counters. We ended up giggling halfway through, but even our giggles sounded more self-assured.
When the casino opened for the evening, we strode out like we owned the place. The reaction was immediate: Customers’ jaws literally dropped. We were amazons in bunny suits, towering, toned, and still provocatively feminine. It was a heady mix. A group of women on a girls’ night out whooped and asked to take selfies with me and another tall dealer. We obliged, and I found myself flashing a confident smile and a peace sign. I hardly recognized that posey girl as myself, but it was me.
Work felt almost easy. Stacks of chips that used to put strain on my arms now felt light. Reaching across the table to pay out bets was a cinch with these longer limbs, and the respect… I hadn’t anticipated it, but customers were polite. Perhaps intimidated, but in a flattering way. Tip counts rose accordingly.
Between hands, Ruri waltzed by carrying a full tray of drinks like it weighed nothing. We exchanged a little nod, knowing we’d got this.
At one point, a handsome older gentleman, a regular known for being a bit handsy, approached my table. In the past, he’d always made some comment about my “cute petite figure” (which, as a guy, had just been shortness). Now he looked positively awestruck. “Miss Kobata?” he asked hesitantly, reading my name tag as if unsure it was really me.
I flashed him a winning smile. “Good evening, sir. Care to try your luck?” My voice had a new confidence that seemed to catch even me off guard.
He flushed, stammering, “Ah, maybe later!” and scurried off, nearly colliding with a slot machine. As he disappeared, I pressed a hand to my mouth, suppressing a laugh. The power dynamics had flipped thoroughly.
Later that night, after hours of relatively smooth dealing, Ruri swung by my table during a lull. “How’re you holding up?” she asked casually, but her eyes danced. She was enjoying this, I realized.
“I’m… Actually good,” I replied, equally surprised by the admission.
She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “In fact, I’m feeling so good, I’m thinking… We should celebrate. Maybe a bite after work tomorrow? My treat.”
I blinked. Was Ruri asking me out? We’d grabbed meals as friends countless times, but something in her tone was different, hopeful, a bit shy.
A warmth bloomed in my chest that rivaled any magical surge. “Sure,” I answered, a smile curling my lips. “It’s a date.”
Her cheeks pinked ever so slightly. She gave my hand a quick squeeze where it rested on the table. “It’s a date,” she echoed, the words almost musical with her delight.
She sauntered off, and I had to consciously tell myself to wipe the goofy grin off my face before customers returned. I should have been surprised at myself, agreeing so readily to what was clearly more-than-friends hangout, given our current circumstances. But it felt natural, like the most obvious thing in the world. The old me might have been baffled or conflicted about the idea of going on a date (as a woman!) with Ruri, another woman. The new me? She was excited. I was excited. I didn’t even question it.
That realization settled in quietly. A few weeks ago, I was a shy guy pining for a friend I didn’t think I had a chance with. Now, I was essentially her amazon bunnygirl equal, and we were making plans to spend time together outside work. My world had flipped upside down, but somehow landed in a place that… Might be better? At least, personally better, even if existentially mind-boggling.
When my shift ended that night, I practically floated to the locker room. I felt strong, attractive, maybe even happy. These emotions should have been tainted by horror at what I’d lost and become, yet they weren’t. I still remembered being Kobata the male student, but it was as if that part of me was a chapter that had closed, and I was okay with reading on.
Ruri caught up with me before I left. We changed out of our uniforms, slipping into more casual clothes (mine fit poorly, an issue I’d need to address soon as my body kept evolving). She walked me to the door, helmet in hand for her scooter ride home, and said softly, “Tomorrow. Can’t wait.”
I beamed. “Me either.”
We lingered for a moment, a comfortable, charged silence between us, before exchanging a small wave. I watched her walk off with a bounce in her step.
If adapting was Clara’s intention, it was working. Perhaps too well. I knew at some level that what was happening was insane, that I should be frightened or angry. A part of me still was. But a larger part of me had begun to accept this surreal new life, and not just accept it, but embrace it.
I sighed into the night air, stretching my long arms overhead. There was a hazy moon above, and I realized the week was nearly over. What a week it had been.
As I headed home, I found myself humming a tune. Tomorrow was Day 4, and I’d have a day off from the casino to attend classes and… Go on a date. The thought gave me butterflies. Real, genuine butterflies of anticipation.
Whatever else was going on, reality shifts, witches, transformation, I was grateful for that one bright spot. Ruri liked me, and I liked her. Everything else, we’d navigate somehow.
—
Day 4
Thursday arrived with a sense of calm unreality. I spent the day on campus, moving through lectures and study sessions as if everything were normal. And to everyone else, it apparently was.
Striding into my morning class, I had to duck slightly to avoid hitting the doorframe, something that earned me only a couple of casual glances. I was wearing the largest sweatpants and hoodie I owned, but there was no hiding my figure: I loomed head and shoulders above many classmates, and the snug shirt underneath my hoodie did little to disguise the generous bust and the toned contours of my body. Yet no one screamed or demanded to know what happened to me. A few curious looks, maybe an awed whisper or two (“Did Kobata hit the gym or what?” I overheard one guy murmur), but nothing beyond mild surprise.
When I slid into a desk at the lecture hall, the small chair creaked under my weight. My long legs barely fit under the attached desk, forcing me to stretch them out into the aisle. The professor, taking attendance, glanced up when he got to my name. His eyes widened a fraction as he took in my appearance, but then he simply smiled in recognition and said, “Good morning,” as if seeing a 6-and-a-half-foot tall amazon student was the most natural thing. Reality had adjusted, smoothing over the absurdity.
Across the room, I spotted Ruri by the window, already looking my way. We hadn’t gotten a chance to meet up before class, but now our eyes connected easily over the heads of other students. She gave me a tiny, warm smile. I felt an unexpected thrill at that, a private little exchange in a room full of people.
The lecture began, and for the next hour I tried to focus on the professor’s droning about macroeconomic models. But it was hard not to be hyper-aware of my new body in this mundane setting. Every shift of my weight or stretch of my arms reminded me how much space I now occupied. I noticed Ruri a few rows over idly twirling her pen and occasionally sneaking glances at me. Whenever I caught her, she’d quickly pretend to be engrossed in the lecture, and I had to bite back a smile.
During a short break, she scooted over to sit beside me. The flimsy desk squeaked as she folded her tall frame into it. We exchanged the usual small talk about the class, but there was an undeniable new electricity between us. Our knees bumped (not much choice given the tight space), and neither of us moved away.
She nudged my arm with her elbow. “You keep ducking when you walk through doors,” she whispered playfully. “It’s cute.”
I rolled my eyes, chuckling. “Everything feels built for hobbits now. I nearly took out a doorway in the library earlier.”
She covered her mouth to hide a laugh. “Well, at least no one’s asking questions. I half-expected campus security to like, I dunno, card us to prove who we are.”
It was true, other than a friend doing a double take or someone asking if I’d been “working out”, people accepted our appearances quickly. Memory must have filled in blanks for them, or they just didn’t care. The world wasn’t shattering, it was subtly reshaping around us.
As the lecture resumed, Ruri stayed in the seat next to me, and I felt a comfortable warmth from having her close. At one point our eyes met when we both tuned out the professor simultaneously. She gave a tiny grin and raised an eyebrow, as if to say this is so boring. I stifled a laugh. It struck me then, how natural this all felt. The quiet exchanging of glances, the ease of our closeness.
It made me wonder: Had she always looked at me like that? Wait… Did she have a crush on me? Perhaps I was looking at her differently now too. My cheeks warmed at the thought. I couldn’t tell where new reality ended and genuine feelings began. In the end, maybe it didn’t matter.
After class, we walked together across campus. The afternoon sun was bright and the early spring air was crisp. Students milled about the quad, heads buried in phones or chatting in groups, hardly paying mind to the two amazonian girls strolling by. If anything, a few offered admiring glances or friendly waves, as if we’d always been part of the scenery.
Ruri swung her bag over her shoulder. “Still on for this weekend?” she asked casually, but the little uptick in her voice betrayed her excitement.
“Absolutely,” I replied, perhaps a bit too quickly. I was excited too, more than I wanted to admit. “Saturday at 7, right?”
“Yup. I’ll text you the address of the place,” she said. We slowed as we reached a fork where our paths would diverge for our next classes. She lingered, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. For a moment, it looked like she might say something more, but instead she just smiled in that gentle, sincere way that made my heart flutter. “See you later, Kobata.”
“See you, Ruri,” I replied softly.
As she headed off, I realized I was staring after her. I shook my head and continued on my way, unable to wipe the grin off my face. The day’s normalcy felt surreal, here I was, attending ordinary classes as an extraordinary version of myself, and somehow everything was fine. More than fine, really.
My phone buzzed with a text. It was from Ruri: “Can’t wait for Saturday. :)” I found myself smiling at my screen like an idiot.
Quiet moments like this, with sunlight on my skin and a weekend date to look forward to, made it easy to forget the bizarre circumstances that got us here. Standing in the middle of campus, towering over nearly everyone, I felt both completely out of place and yet exactly where I was supposed to be. It was a soft, subtle kind of dissonance that I could almost ignore, especially when I thought about Ruri.
I took a deep breath and headed to my next class. Day 4 passed without crisis or transformation, just a strange, dreamy progression of normal events colored by the extraordinary changes we’d undergone. By the time I got home that evening, my mind was filled less with worries about Clara or what might come next, and more with an undercurrent of nervous excitement for Saturday night.
Whatever tomorrow would bring, I felt like I could face it. After all, if reality itself could adjust to these changes, maybe I could too. And with Ruri by my side, maybe, just maybe, this new life could be more than just bearable. It could be happy.
—
Day 5
I woke early Friday to my phone buzzing with multiple notifications. Bleary-eyed, I picked it up and found a string of messages on the staff group chat: Frantic posts about an incident at the casino in the pre-dawn hours. My stomach sank further with each new snippet. Words like “robbery” and “police” jumped out. Then a direct text from Candy: “All staff, come in ASAP!! Emergency!!”
I was out of bed in an instant. By now, nothing involving the casino could be taken lightly. I threw on whatever semi-presentable clothes I had (a stretchy pair of yoga pants and an XXL hoodie that barely met my midriff now) and rushed out the door.
The casino was an eerie sight when I arrived. The front entrance was closed off with security standing guard, and a couple of police cars idled out front. I jogged around to the staff entrance, my heart in my throat. Inside, I found several coworkers gathered in the employees’ corridor, talking in hushed, anxious tones.
Ruri spotted me and hurried over. She was in casual jeans and a t-shirt, similar to me, and looked worried sick. Without a word, she took my hand and led me to the staff lounge where others were congregating.
There I saw Clara, composed as ever in her black suit, speaking quietly to a pair of uniformed police officers. Candy hovered nearby, uncharacteristically subdued. And slumped in a chair with zip-tie cuffs around her wrists was a woman I vaguely recognized, a regular patron, I thought. She was crying softly, mascara tracks down her cheeks. Two security guys flanked her.
“What happened?” I whispered to Ruri.
She whispered back, “Attempted robbery. That woman, her name’s Lucia, comes in a lot, apparently tried to steal a bag of cash from the count room during a distraction. They caught her at the staff door.” Ruri’s brow furrowed. “Thing is, I… I remember Lucia. She was short and curvy, like, normal curvy just yesterday. But look at her now.”
I looked. It clicked why the woman seemed familiar yet off, Lucia had always been a vivacious, petite lady who joked with us while playing slots. The person in the chair had Lucia’s face, yes, but her body was… Different. She was absurdly bottom-heavy, her hips were twice as wide as I recalled, and her butt spilled over the sides of the chair comically. It looked like an extreme caricature of hourglass surgery. Lucia sobbed something about being sorry, that she “didn’t know what came over” her. Candy patted her shoulder gently, almost maternally.
A chill ran through me. Clara had clearly intervened before the police came. Lucia’s attempted crime had been punished by turning her into this distorted figure, it seemed. It was a horrifying implication, Clara’s power extended to anyone, not just staff. And reality conveniently wrote it off; to the cops, she was likely just always that shape.
The police wrapped up with Clara, something about taking Lucia into custody and following up with management. As they led the weeping woman out (she shuffled slowly, off-balance from her exaggerated proportions), Clara turned to us, her gathered employees.
Her expression was angry. Not theatrically so, Clara’s anger was cold and quiet, which somehow made it more frightening. “This,” she said, voice low but seething, “is a failure I cannot tolerate.”
We all stood at attention. No one dared breathe wrong.
“A customer, an outsider, thought she could cause chaos in my establishment,” Clara continued. “She was dealt with.” Her eyes flicked toward the door Lucia had been taken through. A silence, as we all recalled the impossible changes we’d just witnessed on the unlucky woman.
Clara then took a slow breath, composing herself. “However, the fact it happened at all means we need to escalate our own measures. I refuse to ever feel… Disappointed, like this again.” That last sentence was nearly a hiss.
Candy fidgeted nervously, as if she too sensed that something big was coming.
Clara’s gaze swept over us. “From now on, there will be no hesitation, no vulnerabilities. We will become an impenetrable fortress of an operation. And you—” she pointed a manicured finger at us—“will be my knights. My amazons guarding these halls.” Her eyes narrowed, a spark of that terrifying power behind them. “If it’s intimidation and strength the world respects, then that is what you shall embody.”
I instinctively straightened up, every muscle tensing. Ruri grabbed onto my hand tightly. Around me, a few others exchanged apprehensive looks.
Clara’s next words boomed, despite her even tone: “All staff, grow. Become strong. Unstoppable. Over two meters tall, biceps bigger than your heads, abs so toned they shine through any type of clothes. Strong enough to lift any table or car with one hand, yet as gentle as a princess! That will teach them to try to rob from me again.”
It was as if a bomb went off inside me, but instead of fire, there was raw, living power. Grow. The command was literal. I let out a startled cry as my body obeyed with frightening eagerness.
My spine extended with a series of pops. Inch by inch, I rose taller, soon eclipsing even the height I’d attained yesterday. Beside me, Ruri did the same, her fingers squeezing mine until our hands were forced apart by the sheer difference in our heights.
My clothes couldn’t keep up. Seams split at my shoulders first as they broadened with muscle mass. The hoodie’s back tore open, unable to contain the bulk of massive shoulder and back muscles forming beneath. The yoga pants faired no better, what had been merely snug thighs became columns of power that burst through the fabric. I heard gasps and cries as everyone experienced similar spurts.
Pain came and went in flashes. It was intense, but I could hardly focus on it over the sensation of power flooding every fiber of my being. I watched in half-dazed awe as my biceps swelled, thick as bowling balls when I reflexively bent my arms. My forearms grew corded and veiny, my hands enlarging to match.
My chest… Oh god, my chest. The bust Clara had given me didn’t shrink, if anything, it somehow kept pace with the growth, remaining voluptuous even as my torso took on a sharp V-shape of muscular definition. The tattered remnants of my hoodie and shirt revealed my midriff fully now, and on it a chiseled grid of abdominal muscles emerged, each segment defined and shining with sweat and new strength. I ran a hand over them, an eight-pack, like armor plates under my skin.
Legs that once struggled to reach a high shelf were now long and Herculean. I could feel the raw force in my thighs and calves, every minor shift of weight showcasing new striations under the skin. The tatters of my yoga pants fell away entirely, leaving me in just whatever undergarments had stretched enough to survive (basically just my bra, now woefully small, and shorts ripped up the sides).
My ears rang with the collective groans and roars of my colleagues and myself. The ceiling loomed closer. I realized with dizzy astonishment that I was now eye-level with the top of the door frame. Seven feet, maybe more.
Clara’s demand hadn’t just made us strong, it had made us giants.
At length, the transformation ebbed, leaving us panting and trembling. The lounge was wrecked: Piles of shredded clothing, overturned chairs from those who fell, lockers dented where someone likely braced a hand for support and accidentally crushed the metal.
I slowly drew myself up to full height. My breath caught. Ruri was across from me, and she was… Beyond words. She must have been close to 7’2”, with shoulders as wide as a doorway, arms thick and powerful. And yet, she still retained a surreal femininity, an exaggerated hourglass of muscle and curves combined. She looked like an impossible pin-up amazon come to life. Her eyes met mine, wild and dilated from the rush. I knew I must look similar: Hair wild, skin flushed, standing like a colossus amid rubble.
Clara stepped forward, dwarfed by us now, yet completely unfazed. Candy stumbled after her, staring at us with open-mouthed awe. Clara’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. “Excellent,” she purred. “This is how it should be.”
One of the security guards (one of the few males who hadn’t been transformed) poked his head in the doorway, drawn by the noise. His jaw dropped at the sight of our amazonian cohort. Clara shot him a cold look. “Notify the front: We open in ten minutes,” she said sharply.
He bobbed his head and disappeared, still gaping.
Clara addressed us once more. “Ladies, you have a job to do. Show the world what happens when they challenge my house.” With that, she pivoted and walked out, Candy scampering behind her.
We all remained for a moment, catching our breaths, exchanging stunned glances. The collective emotion was hard to pin down: Part shock, part odd thrill. A low, nervous laughter broke out from Yumi (the waitress whose outfit was in tatters). “We need… New clothes,” she managed between breathless laughs. It was absurd enough that a few of us joined in the laughter.
As if on cue, the reality-altering magic finished its work: our uniforms shimmered and reformed on our bodies, adapting to our new size. In seconds, I was clad again in a bunny suit, albeit one that looked painted on over my muscle-bound frame. The fishnets on my legs re-knit themselves, stretching over impossibly thick thighs. My heels reappeared, now reinforced and extra tall, yet feeling like nothing under my sturdy calves.
Ruri’s clothing did the same. She flexed her arm curiously, watching the satin sleeve reform over a bicep nearly the size of my head, and let out a bewildered chuckle. She caught me staring and mouthed, You okay? I nodded slowly. Okay was a relative term, but I was alive. Alive and overflowing with raw strength.
We made our way out to the floor. It was comical, watching us enormous dealers and servers take our stations. Normal furniture looked like toys in our hands. I carefully picked up a deck of cards, it felt so tiny between my fingers that I feared I’d crush it if I wasn’t gentle.
Guests trickled in for the day, and aside from some initial shrieks of surprise and a lot of pointing, the supernatural haze of acceptance settled in. People shrugged it off or rationalized it (“Must be a bodybuilder convention or something,” I heard one man say). Before long, the casino hummed with activity as usual, just with us Amazonian bunnygirls running everything.
And run it we did. A rowdy patron raised his voice at the cashier? One glare from a 7-foot bunny security woman silenced him. A group of college kids tried to hit on me at the blackjack table; I playfully arm-wrestled one with my pinky (and won), and they spent the rest of the night behaving, treating me like a respected big sister. Even Candy’s ditzy mismanagement was compensated by our sheer presence, guests no longer cared if a drink was late when the waitress bringing it could probably toss a slot machine one-handed.
By mid-day, a sort of absurd new normal settled in. I paused at one point to truly observe: The casino floor was filled with only us, towering, muscle-bound bunny amazons gliding about, and the regular customers hardly batted an eye. It was as if it had always been this way. The thought would have been chilling if I weren’t so busy.
Somewhere in the craziness, I found myself genuinely enjoying the power trip. Not in a cruel way, I wasn’t about to bully anyone. But there was a deep sense of confidence and capability thrumming in my veins. I’d never felt so sure of myself, so… Free from anxiety. Clara’s methods were tyrannical and insane, but I couldn’t deny the internal growth that mirrored the external.
During a short lull in the afternoon, I leaned against an empty poker table to rest. I caught sight of Ruri a few yards away, balancing a tray loaded with champagne flutes. She had to bend low to offer the drinks to a seated couple, and the pair chatted casually with her as if she wasn’t a giant in a bunny outfit. Ruri laughed at something the woman said, that warm, genuine laugh that showed her teeth a little. In that moment, despite all the fantastical changes, she was just… Ruri. Kind, upbeat, adaptable Ruri, who could make even this situation feel light.
My chest swelled with affection. I admired her grace and humor amidst all this. Even transformed into an amazon, she moved with an endearing mix of elegance and a hint of clumsiness (she was careful, but I did see her accidentally bump a slot machine with her hip, then apologize cutely to the machine as if it were a person).
When our eyes met across the room, she wiggled her bunny ears at me playfully. I grinned. I realized then that through all of this, one thought had been increasingly absent: I hadn’t thought about being male in... Days really. Maybe since that morning in the shower on Day 2. It just hadn’t crossed my mind. I was thinking about the present, and about the future, about Ruri, about how we’d finish our shift and then have our date tomorrow. I wasn’t thinking about “him” at all anymore.
That realization was freeing. The last vestiges of Kobata-the-boy were quiet now. What remained was me, whoever that was becoming, and she was okay. More than okay.
Evening rolled around and with it the end of our extended shift. Clara mercifully gave us the next day off (“to recover” she said with a cryptic little smirk). As the final patrons left and we locked up, the staff congregated in the lounge out of habit. We were all dog-tired, bodies aching from the day’s exertions (super strength or not, work is work). There were shared looks of “Can you believe this week?” along with some delirious laughter and commiseration about needing to buy entirely new wardrobes again.
Ruri came up beside me, her face flushed but smiling. Without a word, I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a side hug. She melted against me for a moment, sighing. We didn’t need to speak. The worst was over for now. We had survived, and we had each other.
Candy waltzed in, still in her high heels though dwarfed by many of us now. “Great work, team!” she chimed, trying to sound authoritative but it came off almost comical given what we all looked like. “Remember to get plenty of rest and hydration!”
There were some good-natured chuckles. If anything, the ordeal had bonded us. We were a sisterhood of the absurd.
After changing into makeshift clothes (I had to wear an XXL hoodie as a dress because nothing else fit; Ruri ended up in a stretched-out security uniform shirt and leggings with the seams split, which we laughed at together), we headed out.
In the cool night air, Ruri and I walked slowly to the staff parking lot. We were both well over seven feet tall still, even out of heels, yet in the quiet darkness, it almost didn’t matter. We were just two people, coming down from an adrenaline high.
She looked at me, and her eyes were soft. “So... Tomorrow’s still on, right? Our date,” she clarified, a bit shyly.
I smiled, the kind of genuine, easy smile that had been gracing my face more and more. “Absolutely. I can’t wait.”
Her grin in return was radiant. We paused by her scooter (which looked almost comically small for her now; we joked about that). She reached up (for once, up, since I was maybe an inch taller than her now) and brushed a strand of hair from my face. It was such a tender, familiar gesture, it nearly made me tear up.
“Hey,” Ruri said softly. “You did really amazing today... This week. I’m proud of you.”
I felt my cheeks heat up, not from embarrassment, but from happiness. “I wouldn’t have gotten through it without you,” I replied honestly.
For a heartbeat, it looked like we might kiss. But a car horn honked somewhere and shattered the moment. We both laughed, a little awkwardly, and settled for another tight hug.
“Goodnight, Kobata,” she whispered, squeezing me.
“Goodnight, Ruri.”
I watched as she maneuvered onto her scooter (it took some doing; we laughed again when the suspension practically bottomed out under her) and drove off with a cheery wave. I waved back until her tail light disappeared.
Walking home, I reflected on how utterly, unimaginably bizarre my life had become in less than a week. And yet… I felt happy. More sure of myself than ever. Secure, even, in the strangest sense. Perhaps because whatever my body or the world threw at me, I’d proven I could adapt, and I wasn’t alone.
One more day to go. Day 6 loomed, but it wasn’t with trepidation that I looked toward it. It was with excitement. A date with a wonderful girl awaited, after all.
And whatever remained of my old life, of the boy I used to be, gently faded into a warm, nostalgic blur as I stepped forward into the future.
—
Day 6
Saturday evening arrived at last, bringing with it a flutter of nerves I hadn’t felt in… Well, maybe ever. I stood outside Le Papillon, an upscale little French restaurant near downtown, smoothing down the front of my hastily altered dress. Finding something to wear had been a comedic saga in itself, nothing off the rack fit my new frame, of course. I’d settled on a stretchy wrap dress that once would have been a maxi length but now barely reached my mid-thigh. It was a deep plum color that Ruri had always said looked good on me. With a pair of low heels (low for me, meaning I still stood well over seven feet tall), I felt almost elegant, almost.
Spotting Ruri approaching, my heart did a little flip. She had on a dark green cocktail dress, sleeveless with a flared skirt that likewise ended far above her knees. She’d paired it with black pumps and… Were those torn black stockings? Likely the poor things had given up against her muscular thighs. Yet she walked with confidence, the breeze teasing at her long hair. She was stunning.
“Wow,” I breathed as she came up to me.
She grinned, a touch shyly. “Wow yourself.” Her eyes traveled over me with open admiration. We both took a second just drinking in how different we looked outside work, no bunny ears, no uniforms, just two enormous women trying their best to dress up.
I offered my arm. “Shall we?”
Inside, the restaurant’s decor was all understated luxury, soft jazz, white tablecloths, low lighting. A smartly dressed host did a visible double-take when we ducked through the doorway. He recovered quickly, though his eyes kept flicking up and up to meet our faces. “Bienvenue,” he greeted with a courteous half-bow. “Table for two?”
“Yes, reservation under Kobata,” I said. My voice, low and calm, betrayed none of my inner butterflies.
He led us through the dining room. Conversation dipped as we passed; I could feel dozens of eyes on us. Two giant amazon women aren’t exactly a subtle addition to the ambience. One diner, an elderly woman, whispered “Goodness!” as Ruri stepped aside to avoid bumping her chair, which still happened to nudge the table and slosh the lady’s water glass. Another table of young men stifled laughter and awed murmurs. I felt my cheeks warming, but I also felt Ruri squeeze my hand reassuringly.
Our table was, mercifully, in a corner by a window. Less mercifully, the chairs were delicate antique-style ones with armrests. I eyed them, then looked at my hips. “Moment of truth,” I joked.
Ruri attempted first. She angled herself and tried to sit. Her generous backside and muscular thighs met the armrests with a squeak of protest from the wood. She wiggled, determined, and managed to wedge in halfway. Her shoulders, much broader than the chair’s design intended, also pressed awkwardly. Finally, with an exasperated chuckle, she gave up. “This isn’t happening,” she said under her breath, eyes sparkling with amusement.
I couldn’t help but giggle. It was absurd. “Here,” I said. “We’ll do without these.” With a gentle but firm grasp, I lifted one of the offending chairs and moved it aside. Ruri did the same with the other. The host, who had been watching with polite horror, rushed over.
“I—I can bring... Perhaps our terrace bench?” he offered, flustered.
“That’s alright,” I smiled. “This will do fine.” We instead settled on the plush banquette seating that ran along the wall, which fortunately supported our height and weight much better.
Once the host departed (after ensuring we were comfortable and taking our drink order), Ruri and I exchanged a glance and burst into quiet laughter. It felt natural and freeing to find humor in the situation.
“Well,” Ruri said, “At least we won’t have to worry about anyone eavesdropping from too close.” Indeed, with the chairs removed, we had created a sizable bubble of personal space.
As we browsed the menus (which looked comically tiny in our hands), we fell into easy conversation. We talked about classes, apparently our economics professor had made a quip after I left, something about needing to raise the classroom ceiling, and about how Candy had tried to start a workplace yoga group that morning, of all things. We joked about normal stuff, our studies, some gossip about a mutual friend who was convinced her dorm was haunted.
Our food arrived, and we marveled at the delicate portions. “One bite for you,” I teased as Ruri delicately picked up a single escargot.
She shot back, “Hey, I’m trying to be a lady here. Pinkies out and everything.” We dissolved into giggles again, nearly upsetting the bread basket when I nudged her playfully with my elbow.
Between bites of surprisingly delicious quiche and sips of wine, I realized just how comfortable I felt. Here we were, two women who could probably bench-press a car, having a fancy dinner like it was the most ordinary thing. It was surreal, yes, but also oddly wholesome. Every now and then I noticed another patron stealing a glance at us, but not with malice, more often it was fascination, or even a thumbs-up from a group of young women who seemed to find us empowering. With each passing minute, the initial self-consciousness faded, replaced by warm contentment.
At one point, a waiter (who had drawn the short straw, I guess) hesitantly approached to ask how everything was. We beamed at him and said it was lovely. He visibly relaxed and joked, “We don’t often get uh, athletes of your caliber here. If you need anything sized up, do let me know.”
“We’re good, thank you,” Ruri said kindly. After he left, she quipped to me, “At least he didn’t call us amazon women to our faces.”
I smirked. “Give him time. The night’s young.”
We shared a quiet laugh at that, then fell into a pleasant silence, just enjoying each other’s presence. The city lights outside twinkled, casting a gentle glow on Ruri’s face. She looked happy.
I felt a small, unexpected pang in my chest, a bittersweet emotion I couldn’t name. It was like nostalgia, but for something I couldn’t quite recall. My life had changed so much in less than a week. There was a sense of loss, maybe, for the normalcy and the person I used to be. But sitting here with her, I also felt an overwhelming peace.
I reached across and took Ruri’s hand. She squeezed it and tilted her head in that cute, questioning way.
“I’m just… Really glad we’re here,” I said softly.
Her expression melted into that bright, genuine smile I adored. “Me too, Kobata.”
In that moment, I felt truly happy, and secure in a way I hadn’t felt in ages, maybe ever. The slight ache of nostalgia lingered, a ghost of a memory I couldn’t quite grasp, but it only made the moment sweeter somehow. I had come to terms with the fact that my life was irreversibly different, and maybe that was okay.
We finished our meal and even splurged on dessert, feeding each other bites of chocolate tart and laughing when I got a smudge of ganache on Ruri’s nose. By the time we stepped out of the restaurant arm-in-arm, the moon was high and the streets quiet.
As we strolled slowly under the streetlights, I found myself reflecting on the whirlwind of the past days. The fear and confusion had ebbed away, leaving this: A strange, wonderful new reality. I leaned into Ruri, and she leaned back against me, matching my pace easily with her long strides.
Whatever magical house rules had rewritten our world, some things remained thankfully constant. Friendship, love, the little joys of shared laughter and understanding. I couldn’t remember precisely what I had been so worried about losing before. All I knew was that right now, in this soft, surreal night, I had everything I needed.
“I don’t even remember what I was doing last Saturday,” I mused quietly as we paused on a bridge overlooking the city lights on the river.
Ruri wrapped an arm around my waist, her head resting against my shoulder. “Probably studying. Maybe working late.”
“Mm. And I was probably stressed about something trivial,” I said, trying to recall. But the memory wouldn’t form. It didn’t matter. I turned and pressed a light kiss to the top of her head, between the silky black lace bunny ears she’d clipped on to match her dress, for a bit of cheeky flair.
She giggled. “What was that for?”
“For being here. With me,” I said.
She rose on tiptoe and planted a kiss on my cheek in return. “Always.”
Hand in hand, we continued on, two amazonian bunnygirls blending into the night. There was an uncanny poetry to it, if someone were watching from afar: the way our enormous silhouettes moved gracefully under the street lamps, the quiet intimacy we shared amid a world so dramatically altered.
I felt a tiny tear at the corner of my eye, maybe from joy, maybe from that unplaceable nostalgia. I let it fall, smiling as I did. Because whatever yesterday was, whatever tomorrow might bring, here and now I was content. And in the gentle squeeze of Ruri’s fingers intertwined with mine, I knew she was too.
Happy. Secure. A little nostalgic. And the reason why… I couldn’t quite remember. But that was alright. I had everything I needed, right here.