Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"What the...?" I blinked my eyes open to find myself staring at a ceiling that definitely wasn't my own.

My brain felt like it was swimming in a pool of sludge, trying to piece together the last thing I remembered.

It was like my mind had gone on a vacation without bothering to send me a postcard.

The last thing I could recall was... was... I gritted my teeth in frustration. It was right there on the tip of my... well, I couldn't remember what it was.

Slowly, I sat up, feeling the unfamiliar weight of...

Something?

Panic started to set in as I looked down to see... boobs? I didn't have those last time I checked!

I pinched myself. "Ow!" Okay, so maybe this wasn't a dream.

"What the actual fuck?" I whispered to myself, hoping the absurdity of the situation would make it go away.

But nope, the gravity-defying mounds of flesh attached to my chest weren't going anywhere.

I gingerly poked at them with my fingers, feeling the firmness that was so not me. "What the actual fuck?" I murmured again, my voice echoing in the silent room.

They felt weirdly... real.

I stared down at the curves that had so obviously not been there before. My chest had always been as flat as a board.

Now, I had these... things.

These... boobs.

They were like two alien life forms that had crash-landed on my chest and decided to set up camp. I mean, I knew what boobs were, obviously.

But these? These were like someone had taken the 'ideal' and slapped a couple of 'extra' stickers on them.

They were so big, so round, and so... there. It was like someone had played a cruel prank on me and pumped my chest full of helium. I couldn't help but bounce them slightly with my hands, watching the way they jiggled with a fascination that was both horrified and slightly amused.

They were like a caricature of what boobs should be. They looked like the kind of boobs you'd draw if you were a teenage boy who hadn't quite figured out the concept of gravity yet.

But oh God, was this puberty? Did it come in late? Did it really hit me like a ton of bricks and turn me into a busty woman overnight? That would explain the sudden onset of curves everywhere else, too. I looked down at my waist, which had mysteriously thickened and my hips, which had blossomed like a pair of overripe peaches.

I threw the covers off and swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet landing on a cold, unfamiliar floor. The sight of my new body was like looking at someone else's Instagram filter gone wild. I had to see more.

Standing up, I took a deep breath and looked into the full-length mirror leaning against the wall.

The person staring back at me was a stranger with a capital S. My jaw dropped, and I stepped closer, squinting in disbelief.

The face that stared back at me was definitely not the one I'd gone to sleep with. It was a woman's face, not a teenage girl's, and it was... hot?

Like, really hot. High cheekbones, full lips, and a smattering of freckles across the nose that made me look like a model who hadn't slept in a week. But it was the eyes that gave me the biggest shock. They were a piercing shade of green that I'd only ever seen in celebrity photoshoots.

But it wasn't just the face. Oh no, it was the whole package. My body had gone from a size 0 to a size... I didn't even know.

I stumbled back, the air leaving my lungs in a whoosh. "No, no, no, no, no," I chanted, my voice rising in pitch with each syllable. This couldn't be happening.

My hand flew to my mouth, eyes wide, as the reality crashed down on me like a wave of ice-cold dread. "What the fuck?!" I screamed, my voice bouncing off the walls of the unfamiliar room. This was not my body.

The floor seemed to tilt under my feet as my knees gave out, and I collapsed onto the cold tiles. "What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?" I kept repeating it like a mantra, hoping it would make sense if I said it enough times.

Tears started to well up in those unnaturally green eyes, and I smacked the floor with my fists. "This isn't funny!" I yelled to the universe, to nobody in particular.

But the room remained silent, offering no answers, no explanations, no way out of this messed-up situation.

I curled into a ball on the floor, my new, ridiculously large breasts pressing into my ribs, making it difficult to breathe. My heart was racing so fast it felt like it was trying to escape this alien body.

"Oh my God," I whispered, my voice trembling. "What the actual fuck?"

My thoughts raced faster than a cheetah on a sugar rush. This couldn't be real. It just couldn't. But the cold floor tiles against my bare skin and the heavy weight of these... these... breasts, it all felt too real.

I started to hyperventilate, my chest rising and falling with increasing speed. The room was spinning, and the walls felt like they were closing in on me. I tried to remember how to breathe properly, but my brain was a jumbled mess of panic and confusion.

My hands roamed over my new body, trying to find some semblance of the person I used to be, but all I found were unyielding curves and soft, unfamiliar skin. I pinched myself again, harder this time. The pain shot through me, but it was no more effective than a mosquito bite.

"Oh my God," I moaned, rocking back and forth on the floor. "What is happening to me?"

My eyes darted around the room, searching for clues, for anything that might explain what had happened. But all I saw were toys scattered across the floor, a pile of laundry that hadn't been touched in weeks, and a couple of malnourished-looking kids staring at me with wide eyes.

"Mother?" a small voice piped up, and my heart stopped.

I looked over to see a little girl and a boy, both with the same wide-eyed stare, looking at me like I was an alien. And in that moment, I felt like one.

"M-Mother?" the girl repeated, her voice trembling. The word hit me like a ton of bricks. Mother?

I ain't no one's mom.

That's what I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, but all that came out was a tiny squeak as the room spun faster and faster. The kids' faces grew blurry as the panic took over, and my vision tunneled until all I could see was the concerned look in the little girl's eyes.

And then everything went black.

Chapter Text

When I came to, I was lying on the bed, the covers pulled up to my chin, and the room was spinning like a merry-go-round on steroids. The kids were nowhere to be seen, thankfully, because the last thing I needed was to explain my meltdown to a couple of toddlers.

On the nightstand, I spotted a flipphone. Who the hell still had one of those? It was like finding a VHS player in a world of streaming services. But hey, desperate times called for desperate measures.

I picked it up with trembling hands, the plastic feeling surprisingly heavy and outdated. It was definitely not my phone. I flipped it open and saw the name 'keiko' flash across the tiny screen.

What the fuck? I thought, blinking rapidly to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.

The screen of the flip phone had switched to Japanese, a language that was as foreign to me as the body I was trapped in.

Since when could I read this shit? I squinted, trying to make sense of the kanji and kana, but it was like my brain had suddenly downloaded a new update, because somehow, it just... clicked.

I scrolled through the phone, my heart racing as I tried to figure out who the hell 'Keiko' was and why the hell I was in her body. And why was her phone in Japanese? Did I accidentally get body-swapped with someone from another country?

But then, I froze. My blood turned to ice.

In the photo gallery of the flip phone, there were pictures. Lots of pictures.

But not just any pictures. Oh no, these were... personal pictures

Fucking hell, it's her nudes.

My stomach churned as I stared at the flip phone's screen, displaying images of... well, me. Or rather, the body I was currently inhabiting. Keiko, I assumed. But these pictures... oh God.

They were nudes. Lots of them. And she wasn't just any kind of naked; she was 'I just stepped out of a glamour magazine' naked.

My cheeks burned as I flipped through the photos, each one more... detailed than the last. Who the hell takes this many pictures of themselves? And why are they all so... artistic?

But it wasn't just her. Oh no. There were pictures with guys, too.

Lots of guys.

Oh God, is that someone's cock?

My eyes bulged out of their sockets as I scrolled through the photos, each one more shocking than the last.

It was like I'd stumbled into someone's personal porn stash, except it was all about the body I was now stuck in. Keiko had been busy, and apparently had a taste for the exotic.

One guy had tattoos snaking up his arms, another had piercings that made me squint and wonder how those even worked. And the third... oh boy, he was holding a whip.

My head spun, and I had to force myself to stop looking before I threw up all over Keiko's bed. I had to get out of here.

But how? I had no idea where I was or what to do next. And what about these kids? I couldn't just leave them here, looking like they hadn't seen a decent meal in weeks.

Panic bubbled up in my chest like a fizzy drink that had been shaken too hard. I was barely an adult myself—how the hell was I supposed to take care of two little humans?

But the kids weren't the only thing that had me stressed. This body... this Keiko's body, had a life. A very busy life, if the contents of her phone were any indication. And apparently, a very... interesting one.

It was 10 AM, and the house was eerily quiet. I had no idea if she had a job or if she was just a full-time... what? Porn star? It seemed like the kind of gig that would keep her busy, judging by the pictures.

My head was still reeling from the nude-fest on her phone. I couldn't help but wonder what kind of work she did that allowed for such a... varied social life. And what about these kids? Did they just hang out here while she... did her thing?

I took a deep breath and steeled myself for the next round of 'What the actual fuck'. Carefully, I scrolled to her messages, hoping to find some clue as to what was going on. The notifications were off the charts—texts, missed calls, emails, all in Japanese.

My eyes darted over the screen, trying to find something, anything, that would make sense.

The first message was a string of kanji that looked like a love poem, if love poems were written by someone who'd had one too many espressos. The next was a series of cutesy emojis that made me cringe. And the one after that was... a dick pic?

I threw the phone across the room, the plastic clattering against the wall. "Oh my God," I whispered, pressing a hand to my forehead. "What the fuck have I gotten myself into?"

I needed to get out of here, but I couldn't just leave the kids. They looked like they hadn't seen a decent meal in weeks. I couldn't just leave them here, could I?

But what was I supposed to do? Run away with them back to Canada?

I stumbled into the kitchen, the floor cold under my bare feet. The fridge was practically empty, save for a few sad-looking veggies,some takeout boxes and a carton of milk that had expired last week, the rest was all beer bottles. The cabinets held nothing but a half-empty box of crackers and a bag of rice that looked like it had been there since the dawn of time.

The sink was piled high with dirty dishes, and the counters were sticky with what I hoped was just spilled juice. The whole place smelled like a forgotten gym sock. I couldn't cook in here, even if I had the ingredients.

But first things first, I had to get out of this skimpy nightgown and into some actual clothes.

I stumbled over to the closet, throwing the door open with more force than was necessary. It was like a fashion explosion had happened in there. Clothes were strewn everywhere, and I had to dig through a mountain of lacy lingerie before I found something that looked like it might actually cover my new... assets.

A pair of worn-out jeans and a baggy t-shirt caught my eye. They were definitely not Keiko's usual attire, judging by the rest of the wardrobe, but they would have to do. I pulled them on, the fabric feeling foreign against my skin. The jeans hugged my new curves in a way that made me feel both uncomfortable and oddly powerful.

I slipped into a pair of flip-flops that were lying by the door, deciding that was the closest thing to shoes that wouldn't cut off my circulation. The kids were still MIA, which was both a relief and a concern. School had to be in session, right? It was a Tuesday, wasn't it?

I hope.

Swinging the door open, I stepped out into the blinding sunlight, squinting as my eyes adjusted to the unfamiliar surroundings.

The neighborhood was quiet, with the occasional rustle of leaves and distant chirp of a bird the only sounds to break the silence.

The house was a small, cramped affair, with a tiny garden that hadn't seen a watering can in what looked like forever.

I don't care if this is some crazy body-switching book plot line.

I couldn't just sit around in this dump, not with those kids living here. I had to do something, anything to make it livable.

And so, with the determination of a squirrel who'd just found a forgotten bag of Doritos, I set out to find the nearest Japanese equivalent of Walmart.

Chapter Text

My brain was still trying to process the absurdity of the situation, but the gnawing need to do something productive took over.

The kids couldn't live in this dump. They needed a clean, safe environment, and if that meant I had to pretend to be their mother for a bit, then so be it.

I had no idea where I was, let alone where to find a store, but I figured following the main road would be a good start. After all, in Canada, Walmart was like a homing beacon for desperate shoppers everywhere. So, if that logic held up, the Japanese equivalent should be just as easy to locate.

Just follow the crowd.

Back in Canada, if I ever needed to find something, I'd just follow the masses, and they'd lead me to the promised land of consumerism. Surely, the same principle applied here.

So, I took a deep breath and started walking, my flip-flops slapping against the pavement like a sad, confused duck.

After what felt like hours wandering, I stumbled upon a little grocery store that looked like it had seen better days. The sign was flickering, and the shelves were half-empty, but it was better than nothing. I pushed the door open, the little bell jingling cheerfully as if to mock my current predicament.

The store was a maze of narrow aisles, packed with products I could barely read the name of.

I felt like a caveman in a spaceship, except the caveman had probably had more success navigating.

Everything was in kanji, which, thanks to my brain's sudden upgrade, I could read, but understanding what half of it meant was a whole other ballgame.

I grabbed a basket, deciding that the only way to figure this out was to just start tossing things in and hope for the best.

First up, cleaning products. The aisle was a minefield of unfamiliar brands and bottles with pictures that ranged from cheerful flowers to what looked like a biohazard symbol. I grabbed a few bottles that promised to destroy grease and grime, crossing my fingers that they weren't actually labeled 'instant noodle flavor enhancer'.

Then, I hit the food section, filling my basket with rice, vegetables, and what I hoped was chicken. I tossed in some snacks that didn't look too sketchy and a few cans of something that could either be soup or dog food. It was a gamble, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

I spotted a rack of cheap plastic gloves. Are those cleaning gloves?

I snatching a pack like it was the last one on Earth. If I was going to tackle the horror show that was Keiko's house, I needed all the protection I could get. The gloves were a sickly shade of pink with little white flowers on them, but they'd do the trick.

As I wandered down the aisles, something caught my eye—a display of lollipops. Colorful, sugary goodness beckoned to me.

"Ohh are those lollipops, gimeee" ,I murmured, reaching for a pack with a giant grin on my face. The plastic was sticky under my fingertips, and the sight of the candy brought a bit of childlike joy to this bizarre situation.

But my smile faltered as I realized I had no idea how to pay for any of this. Did Keiko have cash on her? Did she even use money? Maybe she was one of those fancy people who used their phone for everything.

I patted down the pockets of the jeans, but all I found was a crumpled tissue and a loose coin that smelled faintly of fish. I glanced back at the flip phone in my pocket. It was a relic from the early 2000s, and the thought of using it to pay for anything was laughable. Plus, Japan was all about the vending machines and cash. No way was I getting out of this without cold, hard yen.

"Fuck me," I muttered, the realization sinking in. "I need to get some cash."

I couldn't just walk out of here with a basket full of stuff. That would be stealing. But what choice did I have? The kids needed food, and I couldn't exactly whip out Keiko's credit card without raising a few eyebrows. Plus, I had no idea if she even had a wallet.

I took a deep breath and surveyed the store. It was a tiny place, with only one cashier, an old woman with a permanent scowl etched into her face. She was eyeing me suspiciously, probably wondering why a half-dressed woman was loitering in the aisles.

Well, shit. I guess it was time to become a criminal.

It's ok, I'm going to be ok.

It's just like back in first year of high school, shoplifting lip gloss from the local pharmacy, except the stakes were a hell of a lot higher.

As I moved through the aisles, my heart pounded in my chest. Each step felt like I was tiptoeing through a minefield.

But the thought of those kids' faces when I came back with food was enough to keep me going.

I tossed a few more items into my basket, trying to make it look like I had a plan. The cashier's eyes followed me, her gaze as sharp as a knife.

Come on, come on, no alarms, no sirens.

My palms were sweaty.

Just get to the checkout, and get out of here.

I approached the cashier, my heart racing like a cheetah after a gazelle. She grunted something in Japanese, and I hoped it was a greeting and not a warning. I put on my best 'I totally know what I'm doing' smile and placed the basket on the counter. She eyed me up and down, then started scanning my items with a practiced ease.

The total popped up on the screen, and my heart sank. I had no idea how much it was, but it was definitely more than I could pay for with literally no money on me.

Think, think, think.

I had to think fast. My brain was racing a million miles a minute, trying to come up with a plan. Maybe I could sweet-talk her into letting me go? Or I could play dumb and hope she took pity on me? But before I could even attempt either, the cashier's scowl deepened, and she started babbling in rapid-fire Japanese.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice shaky. "I don't... I don't speak Japanese."

Play dumb, play dumb, play dumb.

Her eyes narrowed, and she pointed at the basket. "Money," she said slowly, as if that would somehow make it any clearer.

"Right," I murmured, trying to keep the panic at bay. "Money."

I pretended to look for a wallet, patting down the jeans again, as if I'd missed a secret compartment the first time. The cashier's scowl grew more pronounced, and she started tapping her foot impatiently.

Think, think, think.

I looked around the store, desperation setting in. The cashier's foot-tapping grew louder, echoing through the empty aisles like a metronome counting down to my inevitable doom.

Yeah no, I'm out of here.

Before she could call for backup or whatever they did in Japan for shoplifting, I grabbed the basket and bolted. My flip-flops slapped the floor like a panicked octopus trying to escape a net. The cashier yelled something, but I didn't bother to look back.

I just ran.

The bell on the door chimed frantically as I burst through it, the cool air outside slapping me in the face like a wet towel. My chest heaved, and my heart felt like it was going to jump out of my chest.

The adrenaline rush was like a shot of espresso, and I didn't stop running until I was a good few blocks away. Only then did I dare to glance over my shoulder.

No cops. No angry cashier.

I leaned against a lamppost, panting like I'd just run a marathon. My legs felt like jelly, and my arms were burning from the weight of the basket. But the fear was already turning into a weird kind of exhilaration.

I'd just stolen groceries. In Japan. In a body that wasn't mine.

What the actual fuck.

I took a deep breath and tried to get my bearings. The sun was high in the sky, beating down on me like a disapproving parent.

Okay, so now what?

Chapter Text

I stumbled back into the house, the stolen goods feeling heavier with each step. The kids were still nowhere to be found, which was a bit of a relief, to be honest. The last thing I needed was an audience for my crime spree.

The kitchen was a war zone. I looked around at the mess, feeling a mix of anger and determination. This was not a home. This was a dump, and it was my new mission to change that. I didn't know what kind of mother Keiko was, but I knew I couldn't let these kids live like this.

With the ferocity of a tornado, I began cleaning.

The sink was the first battleground. Dishes piled high, crusty with food that had seen better days. I filled it with hot water and started scrubbing, the scent of soap bubbles filling the room and temporarily overpowering the stench of neglect.

Next, I tackled the counters, wiping away sticky residue with a sponge that had seen more action than a soap opera star. Each wipe revealed a patch of grime-free surface, a small victory in the grand scheme of things.

The fridge was like opening a forgotten tomb. I had to fight the urge to gag as I tossed out expired milk, moldy veggies, and questionable meat. But I gritted my teeth and powered through, tossing the contents into a garbage bag that was already starting to bulge.

The floor was sticky, the kind of sticky that makes you want to peel off your skin and throw it away with the mess. I swept and mopped with the kind of anger usually reserved for a cheating ex. The room transformed from a disaster zone to something resembling a kitchen.

Windows were scrubbed until I could see my reflection, a stranger in a body that wasn't mine. The kitchen cabinets, once a chaotic mess of dirty dishes and random junk, were now organized, the shelves gleaming.

As the room took shape, I started to feel a strange sense of pride. This wasn't my home, but for now, it was the home of these two kids who were relying on me—whether they knew it or not. And if I was going to be stuck in this body, I was going to make damn sure they had a decent place to live.

After hours of cleaning, the kitchen was finally livable.

It was like I'd just conquered a small country. But the battle was far from over. The rest of the house was still a cesspool of despair, and those poor kids couldn't live in it.

The living room was a disaster. Toys were scattered everywhere, like the aftermath of a toddler's rave. There were crumbs in every crevice, and the couch looked like it had been used as a trampoline by a family of sumo wrestlers. But I couldn't let that deter me. I had to keep going. For them.

So, I rolled up my sleeves and got to work. I started with the toys, picking them up one by one, trying not to think about the grime that was probably seeping into my skin. I found a forgotten corner and started to pile them up. It was like playing Tetris with the detritus of a forgotten civilization.

The TV was buried under a mountain of fast-food wrappers and dirty laundry. I unearthed it with the finesse of an archaeologist discovering a lost artifact. It flickered to life, a sitcom playing on repeat, the laugh track echoing through the room like a sad reminder of what family life should be.

As I worked, my thoughts drifted to the kids. Where were they? Were they okay? I had to find them, had to make sure they were safe. And then what? Would I tell them the truth? Could I even explain this madness?

My stomach growled, a reminder that I hadn't eaten since... well, I didn't know when. The last thing I remembered was a half-eaten bag of chips and a can of soda before I fell asleep in my own bed, in my own body.

But that was a lifetime ago.

Now, I was in a foreign country, with a foreign body, and a fridge full of foreign food. I'd have to learn to cook, or at least figure out how to not burn the house.

But first, the living room.

I tackled the laundry next, separating it into piles by color. The smell was... intense. Like someone had tried to cover up a skunk with a bottle of cheap perfume. I'd have to find a laundromat, or maybe the kids knew how to work the ancient washing machine that looked like it had been through a war.

The floor was sticky with a mystery substance that I didn't even want to think about. I grabbed a bottle of cleaner from my shopping spree and got to work, scrubbing until my knees ached.

The couch cushions had seen better days, so I tossed them into the ever-growing pile of dirty laundry and continued my quest for cleanliness.

Hours had passed since my escape from the grocery store, and the house was finally starting to look like a home.

The living room was no longer a minefield of toys and trash. The floor gleamed, the counters were clear, and the fridge was stocked with actual food.

The bedrooms had been a challenge—especially Keiko's. It was like a hoarder's paradise meets a frat house. But the kids' room broke my heart. It was barely livable, with clothes that looked like they hadn't been washed in weeks and a sad little bed that seemed too small for the both of them.

I'd managed to throw out the questionable items from Keiko's room without completely losing my shit—though I might have had a moment with the whip.

I also found some very baggy, probably some guy's, clothes that I decided to keep for myself.

The children's bedroom was cleaner, but it still needed work. New clothes were a must. And bedsheets. And maybe some toys that weren't covered in a thick layer of dust.

But first, I had to deal with the money situation. I found a wad of yen in a drawer, hidden under a pile of unused makeup. It was like finding a forgotten treasure in a sea of chaos. I counted it out—enough to keep us going for a while. It was like a lifeline thrown to a drowning person.

I pocketed the cash, feeling a bit guilty about the whole stealing thing. But it was for the kids, right? It's not like I was buying a ticket to a concert or something. Plus, I'd pay it back.

Somehow.

Maybe.

But for now, I had to figure out dinner. I glanced at the clock. It was already 4 PM. Where the hell had the time gone?

I rummaged through the groceries I'd stolen and found the bag of rice and the questionable meat. I had no idea what to do with them, but I had to try. Maybe I could whip up some kind of rice and... meat thing. It couldn't be that hard, right?

Chapter Text

Yeah, no.

The rice was taking forever, and my stomach was about to eat itself. I couldn't wait. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd eaten.

So, I grabbed a pack of onigiri from the fridge, the rice balls staring at me like little white moons with a smear of mystery filling. They had to be better than nothing, right?

As I peeled back the plastic, the smell of rice and something faintly fishy hit me.

It was like a slap in the face with a wet sock, but I was too hungry to care. I popped one in my mouth, chewing mechanically as the flavors danced on my tongue. It was... edible.

Not exactly gourmet, but it was food. And right now, that was all that mattered.

I grabbed another, feeling a pang of guilt as I thought about the cashier lady.

Holly shit, I'm a scumbag.

I took a bite of the onigiri, the rice sticking to the roof of my mouth like glue. The filling was salty and fishy, but I didn't care.

After a day of playing Cinderella in a body that wasn't mine, I needed sustenance.

As I chewed, the reality of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. I'd stolen from a -probably- sweet old lady, and for what? To feed the kids of the woman whose body I'd hijacked. A woman who apparently had a wild side I hadn't even begun to comprehend.

The room started to spin, and I had to sit down. My thoughts raced like a hamster on a wheel—how did I get here? How was I going to explain this to anyone? Would I ever get back to my own body?

And those kids. What if they came back and found out their mother had been replaced by a shoplifting imposter? Would they be traumatized for life? Would they think I was some kind of pervert?

My thoughts spiraled out of control as I scarfed down another onigiri. The guilt was like a rock in my stomach, weighing me down. But the food was surprisingly good, a comforting taste of home in this weird, messed-up world.

The children remained absent, and their absence was starting to worry me. Where could they be? School was out, right? Unless they had some kind of after-school club that involved breaking and entering, I had no clue. I hoped they weren't out stealing groceries like me.

I tried to distract myself by turning on the TV, flipping through the channels with the remote that had more buttons than a spaceship. Everything was in Japanese, of course, but I found a cooking show that looked like it might help with dinner. I watched the chef, his hands a blur as he chopped and stirred, and hoped some of his skills would magically transfer to me.

But the more I watched, the more anxious I got. How the hell was I going to cook for these kids? My culinary skills were limited to microwaving pizza pockets and making toast without burning it. This was a whole new level of complexity.

I turned off the TV and looked around the kitchen, feeling utterly overwhelmed. The rice was still cooking, and I had no idea what to do with the meat. It was like staring into the abyss, except the abyss was a pan of bubbling water and a plastic bag of... something.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I muttered to myself, feeling the weight of the situation settle on my shoulders like a lead blanket. "I can't do this."

My eyes welled up with tears, and my chest tightened. I felt like I was going to hyperventilate. This wasn't me. This wasn't my life. This wasn't my body. And now, I had two hungry kids to feed, a stolen bag of groceries, and a house that's too cold to call home.

But I couldn't just sit here and cry. I had to pull myself together. For them. For that little girl who called me 'Mother' and the sad-eyed boy who hadn't said a word.

I took a deep breath and wiped away the tears, the salty taste mixing with the sticky rice on my lips. I couldn't let this get to me. The kids needed me, and I had to be strong. For them. For Keiko. For whoever the hell I was before this.

The onigiri sat on the counter, taunting me with their simple perfection. I couldn't even manage to make a decent meal. I was a fraud, a teen in an adult's body, playing house with someone else's children. What kind of messed-up soap opera was this?

But the stolen food was all we had, and I had to make it work. I grabbed a pan and hoped for the best, tossing the meat into the frying pan with a sizzle. The smell filled the room, and I hoped it was more appetizing than the sadness and confusion that was brewing in my stomach.

The rice was finally done, and I hoped it wasn't going to be a culinary disaster.

I plated the rice and the slightly charred meat, the aroma making my stomach growl. It didn't look half bad, considering my lack of cooking skills. I hoped the kids would think so too. But where the hell were they? The sun had started to set, and the house was eerily quiet.

I placed the plates on the table, the clank echoing through the empty room. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the chaos of the day. My mind raced with the worst-case scenarios—what if something had happened to them? What if they'd been taken away by child services?

I'm pretty sure Keiko wasn't that good of a mom, considering the state of-.... everything.

But no, I had to calm down. They were probably just out playing or something. Right? Right. I had to trust that they were okay.

With a sigh, I decided to take a break. I couldn't keep going on adrenaline and rice alone. My body was begging for sleep, and my mind was about to implode from the sheer absurdity of the situation. So, I did the only thing I could think of—covered the food and retreated to the bedroom.

I kicked off my flip-flops and collapsed onto the mattress, the springs groaning in protest.

The tightness of Keiko's clothes had been a constant source of discomfort all day, but I'd ignored it, focusing on the more pressing issues at hand. But now, as I lay on the bed, the fabric felt like a boa constrictor, slowly squeezing the life out of me.

With a grunt, I sat up and peeled off the pants, feeling the sweet relief of freedom. The shirt was next, the fabric sticking to my sweaty skin like a second layer. I tossed them onto the floor, not caring where they fell.

I rummaged through the closet and pulled out the first clean-ish looking t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants I'd found in the guy's section. They had to be Keiko's ex's or something.

Probably or something considering her gallery.

Who cares tho, they are comfortable so I'm keeping them.

Chapter Text

I flopped onto the bed, the softness enveloping me like a warm blanket. I didn't know how long it had been since I'd slept, but my body felt like it had been run over by a convoy of trucks.

But that second turned into minutes, and the minutes turned into hours. Before I knew it, the room was dark, and the only sound was the hum of the air conditioner.

When I woke up, the house was still eerily quiet. The clock on the bedside table read 10 PM.

Shit.

The kids had to be home by now, right?

My stomach twisted with worry. What if something had happened to them? What if they were out there, lost or hurt, because I possessed their mother?

I stumbled out of the bedroom, the oversized sweatpants slipping down my hips. "Kids?" I called out, my voice echoing through the silent house. "You guys okay?"

No answer.

The living room was still, the kitchen spotless but eerie. The plates of rice and meat sat on the table, untouched.

My heart sank. Had they seen the food and realized something was wrong? Or were they just not hungry?

I approached their bedroom, the door slightly ajar. My hand hovered over the knob, my breath shallow. I didn't know what I'd find on the other side. Would they be crying? Would they be... gone?

I pushed the door open, and there they were. The little girl and boy, sitting on the floor, their backs against the wall. They stared at me with wide, unblinking eyes, their cheeks flushed.

The girl's arms were wrapped around the boy, his head resting on her shoulder. They were so still, so quiet, it was like they were trying to make themselves invisible.

"Hey," I said softly, my voice cracking with the weight of their gaze. "It's okay. I made dinner."

They stared at me, not moving an inch. It was like I'd just announced I was an alien come to probe them. The girl's grip on the boy tightened, and he whimpered.

Oh, shit.

This was not good. The last thing I needed was to traumatize these kids. I took a deep breath and forced a smile, trying to look as non-threatening as possible.

"Hey, guys," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "It's just .... me."

The girl's eyes searched mine, looking for any sign of deception. I held up my hands in a peaceful gesture. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

The boy looked up at me, his eyes studying me. The girl's grip loosened slightly, and she whispered something in his ear. He nodded, and she finally spoke up.

"Mother, why are you wearing those clothes?" Her voice was small, trembling.

I glanced down at the sweatpants, feeling like I'd just been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. "Uh, well, I found them. They're... comfortable?"

I mean yeah, the were comfortable and also they were like 3 sizes too big so it's was better than the sticky, tight shit Keiko has.

But those kids. They looked at me like I'd just told them Santa was a pedophile. I sighed, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't make them run screaming into the night.

The boy's gaze was unwavering, his eyes searching mine for the truth.

I felt like a deer caught in the headlights, except the headlights were the judgmental stare of a little boy.

The girl tightened her grip on him, whispering something I couldn't quite make out.

I took a step back, feeling the weight of their doubt pressing down on me.

This wasn't normal, and they could tell.

This wasn't my body, and they could tell.

It was like I was wearing a costume that didn't fit right.

My heart was racing, and my palms were sweaty. I wanted to crawl out of my own skin and hide. This wasn't what I'd signed up for. I'd just wanted to be a normal fish scientist -whatever they call that- , not some weird imposter playing dress-up with a stranger's life.

The boy's gaze was unyielding, his eyes boring into me like he was trying to see my soul.

The girl clung to him, her eyes never leaving mine. I could see the fear in them, the uncertainty. They didn't know what to make of me, and I couldn't blame them.

I didn't know what to make of myself. I was a teenager in a woman's body, playing house in a foreign country. It was like someone had dumped me into a simulator game without the manual.

The room felt smaller, the air heavier. I was the stranger in their lives, the one who didn't even know their names or how old are they, but here I am trying to pass as their mom.

Chapter Text

The silence stretched on, thick with tension. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it was as stubborn as a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe. "I, uh, I just thought you'd be hungry," I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.

The girl looked at me, her eyes searching for something—answers, maybe, or the truth. But all she'd find was confusion. "We're... we're okay," she finally said, her voice tentative. "We had... some snacks."

The lie hung in the air, as transparent as a ghost. But I didn't call them out on it. They were scared, and I couldn't blame them.

After all, I was too.

I nodded, trying to play it cool. "Okay, well, if you're sure."

The boy looked up at me, his eyes still wide with fear.

"Mother," the girl said said, her voice small and shaky. "What happened to you?"

The question was like a punch to the gut.

I didn't know how to answer without giving away the fact that I am not Keiko.

I had no idea what I was doing.

So, I did what any reasonable person would do in my position—I lied through my teeth.

"I just had a... really long day," I said, forcing a smile. "But I promise, everything's fine."

The girl looked skeptical, but she nodded, her arms still wrapped tightly around her brother. "We're just worried," she said. "You don't-."

"Well, I, uh, I've been under a lot of stress lately," I said, cutting her off, trying to think on my feet. "It's, you know, hormones. Adult stuff."

They exchanged a look that was beyond their years, a look that said 'we know you're full of shit, but we're too scared to call you on it'. The room felt like it was closing in on me, and I suddenly realized I had no idea how to navigate this minefield of parenthood.

"Okay," I said, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. "Why don't we all sit down, and I'll, uh, I'll help you with your homework or something"

The kids stared at me like I'd just suggested we summon a demon for family game night.

"We don't have homework," the girl said, her voice tight. "We already done them."

"Okay, okay," I backpedaled, holding up my hands. "You go to sleep, and I'll... I'll just be in here if you need anything."

They nodded, their eyes never leaving me as they backed out of the room, closing the door with a soft click.

The silence was deafening.

I felt like I'd just failed the most important test of my life—a test I didn't even know I was taking.

Defeated, I trudged back to the kitchen, the plates of food on the table mocking me with their coldness. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't cook, I couldn't communicate, and I definitely couldn't be a mother.

I slumped onto the chair, staring at the rice and meat. It looked like a sad little island in a sea of regret.

But I had to keep going. For them.

So, I turned to the one thing I could do without screwing up too badly— bake. It was like a lifeline in a sea of incompetence. I rummaged through the cabinets and found some flour, sugar, eggs, and a sad little stick of butter. I hoped it was enough to whip up something edible.

Oh shit I stole those.

I mixed the ingredients together, trying to remember the basic recipe for cookies my mom had taught me when I was little. It was a mindless task, something that didn't require me to think about the mess I'd gotten myself into.

The dough came together, sticky and sweet. I rolled it out on the counter, feeling the familiar comfort of the repetitive motion. It was like a dance—measure, mix, roll, cut. And for a few minutes, I was just a teenager baking cookies, not a lost soul in a stranger's body.

The oven dinged, and I pulled out the tray, the sweet scent of sugar and vanilla filling the room. They weren't perfect, but they were something. A small victory in a day of chaos.

I hoped the smell would coax the kids out of their room. Maybe food was the universal language, and cookies were the key to their hearts. Or at least their stomachs.

I set the cookies on the counter to cool, the warmth radiating up to my face. I watched them, willing them to be the bridge between us.

The door to the bedroom creaked open, and the girl poked her head out, her eyes on the cookies. She whispered something to her brother, and then they both emerged, tentative and cautious.

"I made these," I said, trying to sound casual. "They're, uh, cookies. Do you guys like cookies?"

The boy's eyes lit up, and he took a shaky step forward. The girl held him back, her gaze never leaving me.

"It's okay," I assured them. "They're just cookies."

They approached the counter, their eyes fixed on the sweet treats. The girl picked one up, sniffed it, and took a bite.

Her eyes grew wide, and she looked at me like I'd just offered her a taste of pure, unfiltered happiness.

The boy, seeing his sister's reaction, didn't hesitate. He grabbed a cookie and shoved it into his mouth, his cheeks puffing out like a squirrel with a nut.

For a moment, the tension in the room dissipated, replaced by the sweet, buttery scent of the cookies. They devoured them like they hadn't eaten in days, and maybe they hadn't. The sound of crunching and muffled moans of pleasure filled the room, and I felt a flicker of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, everything will be ok.

"You guys like them?" I asked, trying to sound casual. The girl nodded, her mouth full of cookie, crumbs spilling down her chin. The boy just stared at me, cookie in hand, his eyes wide with wonder.

"Yeah," he mumbled around a mouthful of dough. "They're good."

It was the first time he'd spoken to me, and it was like the sun had peeked out from behind the clouds. I managed a smile, trying to ignore the mess of crumbs and drool on his chin. "Glad you like them," I said, trying to sound as natural as possible.

But inside, I was spiraling.

I didn't even know their names.

What kind of mother doesn't know her own kids' names?

A fake one, apparently.

A fake one who can't even cook rice without burning it.

A fake one who's wearing a dead woman's clothes and cooking with stolen groceries.

The thought of Keiko, the real mother, sent a chill down my spine.

Oh God, I don't even know their names, and I'm supposed to be their protector.

The weight of the responsibility was suffocating, like wearing a pair of clown shoes in a tightrope walk over a pit of hungry alligators.

But as they scarfed down the cookies, their little faces lighting up, I knew I'd do anything to keep them safe.

Even if it meant stealing.

Even if it meant lying.

Even if it meant pretending to be someone I wasn't.

Even if it meant wearing a dead woman's skin.

Chapter Text

Their names. I had to know their names. But how could I ask without them realizing something was off?

I racked my brain, trying to remember any clues from the house, any little detail that could help me. But the only things I'd found were a whip and a bunch of naked photos of Keiko with various men. Not exactly family-friendly.

As the last cookie disappeared, the girl looked up at me, her eyes hopeful. "Can we have more, Mother?"

"I-uh, I don't know if there's enough," I said, my mind racing. "But, I can make some more tomorrow."

They exchanged a look, the kind that said 'I dont belove you' But they didn't voice it. Maybe they were too scared.

The girl took the boy's hand and led him back to their room. "Thank you," she said, the words barely audible.

I watched them go, feeling like the world's shittiest imposter. "Goodnight," I called after them, the words hollow.

The house was quiet again, the only sound the ticking of the clock in the living room. I slumped onto the floor, my back against the cold kitchen tiles.

Okay, so maybe cookies weren't the most nutritious dinner, but it was something. And maybe, just maybe, it was a start.

But what the fuck was I going to do tomorrow? And the day after that?

I couldn't keep pretending forever.

Eventually, they'd figure out that I didn't know anything about them or their lives. And when that happened, who knows what would go down. Would they call the cops? Would they run away?

Would they hate me?

The thought made my chest ache. I didn't want to be the reason these kids had to go through any more pain. They'd been through enough already, living in this shithole with a mother who clearly didn't give a shit about them.

But what choice did I have?

I couldn't just leave them. Not now. Not when they looked at me with those big, scared eyes.

So, I made a decision.

I'd stay. I'd keep pretending. And I'd do whatever it took to make sure they were safe and fed.

But first, I needed some answers.

I grabbed the flip phone again, the digital clock flashing 1 AM. Too late to call anyone, even if I knew who to call. But maybe there was something in the contacts that could help me.

I scrolled through the names, mostly in Japanese, but there were a few English ones. Friends? Coworkers? A possible ex? Nothing that screamed 'call me in an existential crisis'

Not that I'm going to call anyone.

Heh, like anyone would believe me anyway. "Hi, I'm a teen who woke up in a stranger's body, and I think I'm supposed to be their mom now. Can you help?" Yeah, right.

But as I scrolled through the phone, my eyes caught several numbers with single-letter names. T, J, P... who names their contacts with letters?

It was like playing a game of "spot the asshole who's actually important."

I opened the messages app and scrolled through the notifications, my eyes glazing over with the sheer volume of texts and calls from random numbers.

It was like Keiko had her own fan club (i mean she does probably) .

These were texts from hell.

Each message was more disturbing than the last—explicit photos, messages in broken English, and even a few voice notes that made my skin crawl.

Oh shit did some send a video of him jerking off, sound and picture.

It was clear that whoever these people were, they had a very... intimate relationship with the woman whose body I now occupied.

Or were freaks, pure fucking pervs.

But amidst the deluge of depravity, I spotted something —a message in English, which was a relief, but the content was no less disturbing.

"Where are you, slut?" it read.

OK first of all wtf is up with your insult, honestly considering all her activities, I doubt that would do anything to her.

Fucking uncreative asshole.

As I sat there, scrolling through the phone, my stomach churned. The messages were like a window into a world I never wanted to see, let alone be a part of.

It was like Keiko had signed up for a VIP subscription to the seven circles of hell, and now I was getting the daily digest.

The texts ranged from 'missed you~' and 'When can I see you again' to 'I need you now', 'fuck that pussy was so good' and 'can't wait to use that mouth again'.

The explicit images and videos were like a punch to the guts.

I stared at the phone, my hand shaking.

It was overwhelming, disgusting, and... confusing.

What kind of life did Keiko lead? And why the hell was I stuck in it?

But I couldn't ignore the notifications forever. They kept popping up, each one more demanding than the last. The phone buzzed incessantly, the screen lighting up with lewd messages and unsolicited dick pics.

I couldn't handle it.

My chest tightened, my heart racing. I felt like I couldn't breathe, like the walls were closing in on me.

The room spun around me, the floor tilting like a carnival ride gone wrong. I dropped the phone, the plastic clattering against the tiles.

My breath came in ragged gasps, and my eyes watered.

This was my life now.

I was stuck in a body that wasn't mine, with kids that weren't mine, in a house that wasn't mine, with a phone that was basically a treasure trove of fucked-up shit.

I hate this.

I want to die.

Chapter Text

The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the house. I leaned against the porch railing, trying to calm my racing heart. The stars above twinkled like they didn't have a care in the world, while I was down here, stuck in someone else's mess.

The bright sky looked beautiful, a canvas of black velvet studded with diamonds. It was the kind of sky that made you feel insignificant in the best way possible. Like your problems were just tiny specks in the grand scheme of the universe.

I took a deep breath, the cool air filling my lungs and calming my nerves.

The sound of the distant hum of crickets serenaded me, a stark contrast to the chaos in my head. It was a comforting reminder that the world outside was still spinning, that there was life beyond this twisted game of pretend.

I leaned over the porch rail, the wood rough against my palms. The neighborhood was quiet, the occasional sound of a car engine breaking the silence. It was eerie, but it was peaceful.

For a brief moment, I considered running. Just leaving it all behind and disappearing into the night. But the image of those two scared kids' faces stopped me. They needed me, or at least someone, and right now, that someone was me.

I took a deep breath, the cool night air filling my lungs. I had to figure this out. I had to be strong for them. So, I did the only thing I could think of to clear my head—I closed my eyes and started humming a song. It was an old tune, one my mom used to sing to me when I was little.

"C'était un jeune marin," I murmured, the French words rolling off my tongue like a forgotten lullaby. "Qui revenait de guerre."

"Qui revenait de guerre," I repeated, my voice growing stronger, "Avec son régiment."

The words took me back to a simpler time, a time before I had to worry about feeding children I didn't know and pretending to be someone I wasn't.

"Pour aller voir Adèle," I sang softly, "Adèle, Adèle, Adèle. Adèle sa bien aimée."

I opened my eyes, the house looming behind me. The lights were off, the curtains drawn, giving it the look of a sleeping giant. A sleeping giant filled with secrets and lies.

"Le jeune marin s'en va" I whispered to myself, the melody echoing in my head. It was a sad, sweet tune.

"Trouver son capitaine. Salut mon capitaine," I murmured to myself, the French words feeling strange off my tongue.

"Signez moi un congé"

"Pour aller voir Adèle," The words of the song lingered in the air, a faint echo of a simpler time that now felt so far away. "Adèle, Adèle, Adèle"

"Pour allez voir Adèle, Adèle m'a bien aimée"

"Le capitaine lui dit:"

"Montes dans ta chambre, mets ta casquette blanche et ta ceinture dorée, pour aller voir Adèle,"

"Adèle, Adèle, Adèle. Adèle ta bien aimée" I sang to myself, the melody becoming a mantra.

"Le jeune marin s'en va chez les parents d'Adèle"

The door to the house creaked open, and the boy peeked out. His sister nowhere to be seen, his eyes half-closed with sleep. He looked at me, his expressions a mix of curiosity and fear.

"Salut chers père et mère ainsi que frères et sœurs."

"Sans oublier Adèle, Adèle, Adèle, Adèle"

The boy's eyes widened at the sound of my voice, the song clearly not what he expected to hear from his supposed mother.

"Adèle m'a bien aimée" The boy took a tentative step forward, his eyes fixed on me. He looked so small in the doorway, the light from the house framing him like a ghostly apparition.

"Le père d'Adèle répond"

"Il n'y a plus d'Adèle ,Adèle, Adèle, Adèle"

The boy looked at me, his eyes wide and full of confusion. But something in my voice, or maybe just the unfamiliarwords, seemed to put him at ease. He took a few cautious steps and sat down on the grass next to me, his legs folded under him.

"Adèle est loin d'ici."

"Son corps est sous la terre, son âme au paradis"

I stared at him for a while.

"Son corps est sous la terre, son âme au paradis"

Slowly, I reached out and placed my hand on his head, my heart racing as I waited for his reaction.

"Le jeune marin s'en va chez le tombeau d'Adèle"

He flinched, tensing a bit before melting into the touch, his tiny frame relaxing under my hand.

"Adèle, Adèle, Adèle."

"Adèle réveille-toi."

"C'est ton ami fidèle qui vient prier pour toi

I began to gently play with the boy's hair, the soft strands slipping through my fingers like silk.

"C'est ton ami fidèle qui vient prier pour toi"

The boy's eyes grew heavier, his breathing deepening. He seemed too sleepy to question the sudden serenade, his head lolling slightly against my hand.

"Un angle lui répond, Il n'y a plus d'Adèle"

"Adèle, Adèle, Adèle"

"Adèle est loin d'ici"

"Son corps est sous la terre, son âme au paradis"

"Son corps est sous la terre, son âme au paradis"

The boy's eyes grew heavier, his body leaning deeper into my touch as I continued to stroke his hair.

"Le jeune marin s'en va trouver son capitaine"

"Bonjour mon capitaine"

"Me voilà de retour"

The boy's eyes finally closed, his breaths evening out into the steady rhythm of sleep.

"Puisque Adèle est morte je m'engage pour Toujours"

The last words of the song hung in the air, a bittersweet melody that seemed to resonate with the quiet night.

I gently picked up the boy, his weight surprisingly light in my arms. He didn't stir, lost in the embrace of slumber.

Walking back into the house, I made my way to their bedroom, the floorboards creaking under my feet.

I laid him down on the bed, his little body curling up like a kitten seeking warmth.

I brushed the hair out of his face, the simple act feeling almost maternal. It was strange, feeling a bond with someone who was essentially a stranger to me. But in this twisted reality, he and his sister were the closest thing I had to family.

With a gentle sigh, I tucked the blanket around him, the soft fabric whispering against his skin. It was a simple act of care, something, but it felt good. It felt right.

I tiptoed to the girl's side of the room, her chest rising and falling in the quiet rhythm of sleep. She looked so peaceful, so innocent. I didn't want to disturb her, but I had to make sure she was okay.

Her blanket had slipped off, exposing one thin shoulder. I carefully pulled it back up, making sure to cover her completely. She stirred slightly, a soft moan escaping her lips.

I froze, my heart in my throat. But she didn't wake up. Instead, she just snuggled deeper into the blanket, her eyes fluttering closed again.

Chapter Text

I sighed heavily, pushing myself off the bed.

I couldn't sleep, there was no point in slaying here.

I had to figure out what the fuck was happening, and fast.

I padded back into the living room, the flip phone feeling like a hot potato in my hand. I didn't want to touch it, but I knew I needed to. I had to find a way out of this mess.

The couch groaned under my weight as I sat down, the springs protesting. It was like the universe was telling me to keep moving, but I couldn't. Not yet. I needed to think.

The TV flickered to life, the sound of a news report cutting through the silence. I stared at the screen, the Japanese words flashing by in a blur.

I couldn't focus on the news.

I opened the banking app trying my best to ignore the notifications that JUST KEEP COMING.

And then my jaw dropped. The balance on the screen was in the millions. Millions!

The numbers blurred together like a Jackson Pollock painting of someone's wildest financial dreams. Keiko was loaded. I mean, like "I can buy my own fucking island" loaded.

But why? What the hell did she do to get all this cash?

I scrolled through the transaction history, my eyes popping out of my head with each line that passed. Cash withdrawals in the tens of thousands, transactions with names that looked like they belonged in a James Bond movie, and a whole bunch of numbers that probably had their own zip code.

This shit was deeper than the Mariana Trench, and I was just a tiny submarine trying not to implode under the pressure.

But wait.

There was a pattern.

Every time she had a meeting with one of these mysterious men, there was a corresponding deposit. It was like a twisted game of Simon Says, except instead of clapping hands and sticking out tongues, it was banging and getting paid.

I felt sick. Who the fuck was I? Who was this woman I was pretending to be?

And why was I stuck in her life?

I couldn't shake off the feeling of disgust, but also a strange fascination. It was like watching a train wreck; you didn't want to look, but you couldn't tear your eyes away.

I scrolled through the transactions, each one a slap in the face with a wet fish. There were so many men, so much money, and all of it seemingly tied to her body.

But amidst the sleaze, there was something else. Something that made my stomach twist in a different way.

A transaction to an unknown recipient. A large one. Larger than the others. And it was recurring. Monthly.

My heart skipped a beat. Could it be for the kids? A hopeful thought in the sea of despair that was my new life.

But no, the recipient was unknown. And it was too much, too consistent to be for something... innocent.

My mind raced as I scrolled through more transactions, trying to find a pattern, a clue, anything that would help me understand what was happening. But it was like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube blindfolded. The more I looked, the more mixed up everything became.

I couldn't trace it.

The transactions were a labyrinth, a maze of numbers and names that led to dead ends and more questions than answers. The only thing I knew for sure was that Keiko was in deep.

Deeper than I ever wanted to be.

But the kids. Those sweet, innocent kids. They didn't deserve to be caught in this shitstorm.

So, I decided that today would be different.

I'd start by doing something simple, something that felt right. I'd make them a cake. A fucking cake. Who doesn't love cake, right?

They didn't eat the rice, but they ate the cookies so cake would be good right?

I set to work, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets and the fridge. I found some eggs, flour, sugar, and a tiny bit of milk that hadn't gone bad. It wasn't much, but it was something.

I mixed the ingredients together, the whisk moving in rhythmic circles as I lost myself in the task. The smell of vanilla filled the air, a sweet respite from the stench of the house.

The oven preheated, the ding echoing through the quiet house like a bell tolling for the end of my sanity.

The cake batter looked like a science experiment gone right—smooth, fluffy, and the perfect shade of golden brown.

I poured it into a pan, the batter bubbling up around the edges like a cauldron of hope.

As I slid the pan into the oven, I whispered a little prayer. Not to any god, just to whatever force of nature might be listening.

Please let this work.

The timer ticked down, each second feeling like an eternity. The house was eerily silent, the only sound the occasional drip from the faucet and the low hum of the oven.

When it finally beeped, I practically threw open the oven door, half expecting a burnt mess. But there it was, a golden-brown cake, risen perfectly, like a little slice of heaven in a hellish situation. I couldn't believe it. I'd actually done something right.

I let it cool, the sweet aroma spreading through the house like a comforting embrace. It was like the universe was giving me a thumbs up, saying, "You got this, fake mom."

As the cake cooled, I set to work on lunch. I had to try to make something edible, something that didn't come with a side of guilt and despair. I rifled through the fridge, the sad contents staring back at me like the last survivors of a zombie apocalypse. But amid the wilted veggies and questionable meat, I found salvation in the form of a couple of eggs and a half loaf of bread.

I whipped up some French toast, the kind my mom used to make on Sundays. The kind that made the whole house smell like love and happiness. I hoped the kids would feel something similar, even if it was just for a brief moment.

The bread soaked up the egg mixture like a sponge, turning from beige to a warm, inviting yellow. The smell of cinnamon filled the air, mixing with the lingering sweetness from the cake. It was a strange, comforting scent in this alien kitchen.

I flipped the slices in the pan, the sizzle and crackle of the butter a familiar dance. Each golden-brown piece was a small victory in the chaos of my day.

Once they were done, I plated them up in the boxes that I found, the steam rising like a silent cheer. I added a sprinkle of powdered sugar, for that extra touch of sweetness that could hopefully cut through the bitterness of our situation.

Then, I turned my attention back to the phone. Time to cut ties with Keiko's sleazy admirers.

I took the SIM card out, holding it between my thumb and forefinger like a piece of gum I didn't want to touch. I grabbed a lighter from the kitchen drawer and held the card over the gas burner. It sizzled and melted, the plastic curling up into a black, acrid mess. The flame reflected in my eyes, a symbol of the life I was burning away.

The smell of burnt plastic filled the kitchen, but it was a small price to pay for the sweet smell of freedom. Or at least the illusion of it.

With the SIM card a crispy memory, I took the phone outside and hurled it into the bushes. It felt like throwing a hot potato into a bonfire, but the sound of it smashing was oddly satisfying.

Now, all I had to do was get to the ATM. I had to be strategic about this. If I took too much at once, it would look suspicious. But if I didn't take enough, I'd be stuck with no way to survive.

Keiko's notes were meticulously organized, with dates, times, and amounts scribbled in her tiny, neat handwriting. She kept all her codes in a small notebook wich is kinda stupid if you ask me, but oh well.

I packed the kids' lunches carefully, trying not to think about what Keiko had done to afford all this cash. I slipped the notebook into my pocket with the same ease I tucked in the lollipops into the toast boxes. They were little treasures in a world that had gone to hell.

The plastic bags crinkled as I filled them with simple sandwiches, the French toasts, a few pieces of fruit, and those damn rice balls that were starting to feel like a personal vendetta against my culinary skills.

I checked the clock—it was still early, but the kids would be up soon. I hoped the smell of French toast and cake would coax them out of their room.

Chapter Text

The children filed into the kitchen, their eyes heavy with sleep and their expressions etched with worry. The boy squinted at the bright kitchen lights, his sister clutching two backpacks to her chest, both looking at me with a mix of suspicion.

"Good morning," I said, forcing a smile that felt as fake as a two-dollar bill.

They stared at the spread of food, their eyes widening in surprise. The girl took a tentative step forward, the carpet muffling her footsteps.

"Is that... cake?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"It is," I nodded, feeling a tiny spark of pride. "And French toast and a sandwich for your lunch and snacks. Do you like it?"

The girl looked up at me, her eyes wide with a mix of hope and fear. "Is it... is it for us?" she asked, her grip on the backpacks tightening.

"Of course it's for you," I said, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. "Who else would I make it for?"

The boy took a step forward, eyeing the food warily. "What's in it?" he asked, his voice gruff.

"Just eggs, milk, butter, flour..." I said, keeping it simple. "It's cake just cake. I promise, I didn't put anything weird in it."

They both stared at me for a long moment, their expressions unreadable. Then, the girl took a step closer to the table, her curiosity getting the better of her. She reached out and poked at the cake with her index finger, breaking the tension.

"Can we... can we have some?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Please," I said, pouring two small glasses of milk. "Sit down. Let's have breakfast together."

They did, their eyes never leaving the food. They sat down at the table.

The cake was a hit. They devoured it, the crumbs sticking to their little faces like confetti.

"You know what?" I said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. "I'll walk you to school today."

Their smiles froze mid-bite, their eyes meeting mine with a shared look of terror. "No," the boy said firmly, his voice a little too loud for the quiet morning.

The girl nodded in agreement, her cheeks flushing red. "We can go by ourselves," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

I freeze.

FUCK.

The joy on their faces vanished like a wisp of smoke in the wind.

"It's okay," I said, my voice shaking.

The children stared at me for a moment, their eyes wide and cautious. Then, without a word, they took their lunchbags and shoved them on their backpacks.

"Thank you," the girl murmured, her voice so quiet it was almost lost in the sound of their shoes scraping against the floor as they shuffled out of the kitchen.

I watched them go, my heart heavy. The cake had brought a brief moment of joy, but it couldn't erase their fear. They didn't trust me, not really. And who could blame them?

The house felt empty as they left, the only sound the ticking of the clock in the hallway. The silence was deafening.

I took a deep breath and looked around the kitchen. The dishes were still piled up from the night before, the sink filled with dirty water. The cake plates sat on the table, half-eaten slices and sticky forks abandoned.

It was time to face the music.

I gathered up the cash I'd found, feeling the weight of it in my hand.

Remembering what I stole.

I had to give it back.

I put on the male clothes that I found, the only wearable shit in the house, feeling ridiculous but also oddly empowered. The shorts were like a tent around my legs, and the hoodie was like a blanket. But it was better than nothing.

I stuffed the cash into a plastic bag, the one I stole, and tied it with a piece of string I found. It looked like a sad little gift.

The grandma's shop was only a few blocks away. The walk was quiet, the early morning sun casting long shadows across the street.

With trembling hands, I placed the bag in front of the shop's door, the plastic crinkling like a guilty conscience. I took a moment to compose myself, took a deep breath, and knocked—three quick raps—before sprinting away.

I didn't dare to look back, fearful that the old woman would spot me. I didn't know if she'd recognize me or if she'd even care about the money. But I had to try to fix what I'd done, even if it was just a small piece of the mess I'd stumbled into.

I kept walking, the quiet streets of the neighborhood stretching out before me like an unexplored map. The houses grew farther apart, the buildings turning from quaint to industrial. The air grew colder, a stark reminder that I was in a world I didn't know.

I stoping, realizing I'd taken a wrong turn. Or have I?

I'm not sure.

The streets grew unfamiliar, the signs and billboards a jumble of kanji and katakana that made my head spin.

I wandered aimlessly, each step taking me further from the house and the kids. The buildings grew taller, the streets wider. The sounds of the city swallowed me up, the rumble of cars and the chatter of distant voices.

Suddenly, a hand clapped on my shoulder, making me jump. I spun around, ready to bolt, only to find myself face to face with a friendly-looking young woman in a business suit. She had a bright smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, a forced cheeriness that was almost more unnerving than a glower.

"Are you okay?" she asked in Japanese, her words tumbling out like a waterfall. "You look lost."

I took a deep breath and hoped my own smile looked less strained. "Yeah, I'm fine," I replied. "Could you help me? I'm looking for the nearest mall."

Her eyebrows shot up, surprise flashing across her face. "The mall?" she repeated, her grip on my shoulder tightening slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I nodded, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "I need to get some things for... the kids."

The mention of children seemed to disarm her. Her smile grew genuine, and she nodded. "Of course," she said, switching to a gentle tone.