When I ask you this question, I want you to know this. I'm not talking about some phase, I'm talking about what you truly are. If you had to pretend to be the opposite of what you are, how would you react? Would you abide by this order? Or would you continue to be what you truly are? In the story I'm about to tell you, I stayed to what I am.
"Yo, Michael, clean the gym up for us.” Daniel asked as he was grabbing his gear, his voice echoing in the almost-empty space. I could see the weariness in his eyes, evidence of the intense sparring session we'd just had. I hesitated, my muscles still tingling from the intense workout. "Why me?" I countered, but Daniel's response was a mix of playful ribbing and a hint of earnestness. "Come on, man, you practically left everyone with souvenirs today! Bruises for days! They've already scattered, and I'm beat. Trust me, you don't want the owner walking into a dirty gym next time." His words were true, a reality I didn't want to accept.
Reluctantly, I relented. Placing my hands on the ring, I agreed, "Fine, dude. But next time…" Daniel flashed a grateful smile as he finished packing his gloves. "Thanks, man. I owe you one. See you next session?" I nodded in response as Daniel made his way out, leaving behind a quiet that settled over the gym like a comforting blanket.
The solitude was a familiar comfort. As I dropped my bag by the entrance, I grabbed the storage's broom and began the task of mopping the floor. Midway through, my phone chimed insistently, breaking the serene ambiance. Glancing at the screen, a text flashed: "Michael, your debut match is in a month, take a rest for now." I scoffed silently at the suggestion. Rest was not what I needed; more sparring, more practice, that was the key to readiness.
Shrugging off the message, I powered through the cleaning, muscles still humming with readiness from today's sparring session. Moving the gym equipment—punching bags, focus mitts, kicking shields—seemed effortless. The minutes ticked away on the clock, and within half an hour, the gym was spotless, every piece of equipment neatly arranged. I stood there, admiring the pristine surroundings, a testament to the discipline and dedication we all shared. Thirty minutes well spent, but the burning desire to train, to spar, still lingered within me.
Leaving the gym, I began my familiar walk home, the day winding down with the usual tranquility of the neighborhood. But then, in an inexplicable twist, everything around me shifted. The night sky, once a canvas of dark hues, suddenly ignited into a brilliant burst of light, casting an otherworldly glow. It was a surreal sight—one that made me question my senses, prompting me to rub my eyes in disbelief, wondering if I'd stumbled into a dream or a strange, elaborate illusion.
My footsteps slowed as I found myself near a lightly-filled restaurant, the ambient chatter disrupted by the unmistakable sound of a camera shutter. I chuckled inwardly, surprised that amid this bizarre occurrence, people still found delight in capturing their meals. Glancing at my phone to make sense of this oddity, I was taken aback as the time display flickered and leaped forward to six in the morning. Confusion knitted my brows together as I frantically checked the date, only to be met with a jolt—Monday? It couldn't be right. It had been Saturday just moments ago, hadn't it? Doubts of amnesia or a dream crept into my thoughts, but the realization that it was time for school snapped me back to urgency.
Panic surged through me; I couldn't afford to tarnish my perfect attendance record. Sprinting towards my college, determination clashed with a sudden physical restriction. My body, typically capable of enduring long runs without breaking a sweat, now rebelled. Beads of perspiration formed on my forehead, and my legs, usually tireless, refused to propel me even halfway to my destination. The perplexity of this situation left me momentarily stunned, hands on my knees as I gasped for breath, the world around me still in a state of unfathomable disarray.
And then, in the midst of my confusion and exhaustion, a sudden touch on my butt startled me, shattering the eerie silence that had enveloped the moment.
A hand?! I spun around to face the sudden intruder, muscles tensed and senses on high alert. But what I saw defied my expectations. It was a woman—albeit one who appeared to be cut from a different cloth, a semblance of a rebel, yet undeniably striking in her own way. The contradictions were baffling. Her presence exuded an air of defiance, but beneath that exterior lay an unexpected beauty. It was an odd blend that left me momentarily speechless—was this some sort of unexpected encounter or an offbeat beginning to an improbable tale?
Before I could regain my bearings, she brazenly commented, "You got an a** alright!" The shock of her words left my expression in a state of disbelief. Reacting instinctively, I placed a firm hand on her shoulder, a warning etched into my voice as I spoke, "Do that again, and there won't be a second chance." I'd never tolerated disrespect, not in my years as an MMA fighter. My pride wouldn't allow it.
To my surprise, she responded with a smile, seizing my hand and effortlessly tightening her grip. The strength emanating from her petite frame was astonishing. Instinctively, I attempted to disengage from her grasp, but her hold remained unyielding. Stepping back, my astonishment evident, I couldn't help but question, "How on earth are you so strong?!"
Her reply threw me off balance even more, "What are you talking about? You're good for a man, but you're not at a woman's level!" The statement raised my eyebrows in surprise; it was a reversal of the usual assumption that men were stronger. Did she possess some hidden expertise in martial arts or strength training that defied comprehension? Any explanation I thought of seemed wrong.
Despite my internal confusion, she moved closer, and a wave of discomfort washed over me. Sensing this had gone far enough, I launched a left jab with practiced precision. But to my astonishment, she effortlessly intercepted my punch, closing the distance between us as she remarked, "You know, I like that you have fight in you."
Her hand moved slowly for my crotch. In the tense moment I tried to swipe her hand away. She clasped my other hand, and a depressing sinking feeling settled in. The threat of impending harm gripped my mind. Was this truly happening? Even as the thought raced through my mind, an unexpected intervention shattered the impending confrontation. A foot materialized, impacting the assailant's face from the left with a forceful blow, momentarily halting her advance. Alongside this sudden act, another figure emerged—a swift and determined presence. Did she just kick her?
She confidently strode towards me, a blend of assurance and determination in her voice, declaring, "Run away, I'll handle this. Protecting you is true chivalry!"
But fleeing wasn't an option I could entertain. I pushed her aside, asserting, "I can deal with this! She caught me off guard!" Despite my resistance, a gentle yet firm push sent me sprawling to the ground, a silent admonition, "Know when to back down, buddy."
Fueled by a surge of wounded pride, I couldn't let this unfold without a fight. Whoever this unexpected 'savior' was, she dashed toward the assailant. The assailant retorted sharply, "This one's mine, back off!" A flurry of action followed—the savior's lightning-fast reflexes blocking a punch, swiftly followed by a targeted kick to the assailant's solar plexus. The assailant grimaced, clutching her chest in pain, hurling profanities, "This is my prey, you b###h!" Yet, undeterred, the savior landed another powerful kick to her head, rendering her unconscious as she crumpled to the ground, concussed.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The intensity of the situation overwhelmed me. Ignoring my dwindling stamina, I bolted in the opposite direction, the urgent need to escape eclipsing all else. Despite the cries from the woman who had intervened, I shut out the noise, consumed by my own fear and confusion.
Confusion wrapped around me like a suffocating shroud. Those two women—were they simply superhuman? Running for what felt like an eternity, I finally reached the school grounds. However, what met my eyes was a bizarre scene—a congregation of unfamiliar faces, men whose existence in the school was a complete mystery. These weren't the familiar faces of my fellow students; this was an unexpected gathering, stirring a sense of unease. Were we experiencing some sudden influx of a new fashion trend or a particular subculture? The men's attire was strikingly unconventional—some in heels, others dressed in a manner that challenged conventional norms.
A feminine voice broke my thoughts, "Oh, Michael, what's up?" Startled, I turned to my right to find a man sporting a dress with flowing black hair. Despite the attire, the adam's apple was a stark giveaway of his gender. Confusion etched on my face, until he persisted, "Why are you dressed like that? You need to man up, dress like me if you want a girlfriend!"
Stunned, I replied firmly, "There's no way I'm doing that. Who are you?" His distress was palpable as he nervously adjusted his hair, insisting, "Are you alright? It's me, your friend, Kyle. Hit your head or something?"
Uncertain of the situation, I played along, feigning remorse, "Sorry, Kyle, guess I did, haha. Let's head inside." His nod of agreement was a relief, and we proceeded into the school. But once inside, the discomfort only grew. Was my classroom still in the usual spot? This is the way. Navigating through the halls, I felt an unsettling shift in attention. Women's gazes lingered, whispers of combat sports drifting in my direction. It was as if our societal roles had reversed, leaving me feeling exposed and out of place.
As I entered the classroom, a strange familiarity mixed with an unnerving twist met me. Everything appeared as it had been before, yet subtly different. The teacher, previously a woman, now a man, held an uncanny resemblance to his former self. His voice, demeanor, unchanged. It was as if someone had shifted the universe's details with eerie precision. I exchanged a nod with him and took my seat at the back, accustomed to the higher vantage point. My MMA bag doubled as my trusty backpack, housing my notes and essentials.
A new figure disrupted the odd sense of normalcy, striding into the room—a pretty woman with cascading blonde hair. Had she been part of this class all along? Her voice sliced through the air as she pointedly remarked, resting her hand on the table, "What are you wearing, Michael? It doesn't suit you." Confusion surged within me, and I countered, "Why doesn't it suit me?"
She adopted a confrontational stance, hands on hips, swaying slightly as she retorted, "Because it's not manly. Are you trying to copy women's style or something?" Exasperation clawed at my patience. "It's my choice how I dress. I won't passively accept judgments anymore." I asserted firmly, feeling the weight of this bizarre world pressing down on me.
Her hand brushed my chin in a gesture that sent a chill down my spine. "That's kind of hot, but I preferred you as you were." she remarked before sauntering back to her seat, leaving me even more bewildered. The confirmation was undeniable. This world was not mine; our roles had reversed, entangling me in a reality that isn't acceptable. As the class prepared to start, my mind was a jumble of confusion, unable to focus amidst this disconcerting scenario.
The class period unfolded while I sat immersed in a whirlwind of research on historical figures and events. A peculiar revelation had unfurled before me—figures deemed 'important' had undergone a complete transformation. Napoleon, now Napolea, and Washington, rechristened as Washingsonette. The very essence of renowned male historical figures had shifted. The atmosphere crackled with an inexplicable distortion, leaving me adrift in a sea of inexplicable alterations. The question lingered like an unshakable ghost—if this world had changed, why had my existence remained unaltered?
Suddenly, the teacher's voice thundered from the front, disrupting my thoughts, "Michael, are you paying attention?" Startled, I hurriedly responded, "Yes, sir!" A ripple of chuckles from some of the female students followed. Commanded, "Solve this then." I made my way down, feeling the tension thickening around me. Gazing at the chalkboard, the math problem presented—a two-digit multiplication question. Doubt crept in, "Is this it? Seems rather elementary."
The teacher, now named Joji, met my skepticism with a challenge, "Let's see how elementary it truly is. Give it a shot." With a focused mind, I took a moment to solve the problem. The solution emerged swiftly, surprising everyone in the room. Joji's response carried a note of respect, "Impressive work. Now, return to your seat."
As I walked back, the girl who had conversed with me earlier offered a subtle thumbs-up, a gesture that felt like genuine goodwill. I mirrored the gesture, and she blushed, exchanging whispers with her friends. Kyle, in his characteristic manner, offered a compliment while playfully hitting my shoulder, "Even in that attire, you're a Casanova, huh?" The classroom seemed draped in an odd blend of familiarity and distortion, leaving me grappling with a reality that defied all logical explanation.
Class shortly ended and I was ready to go to the cafeteria. Now that I've confirmed this world is different, I had set up three goals. One, get stronger, enough to match this world's women. Two, to see if I can continue MMA, as that gym probably changed and so did my circumstances, seeing as I can't even beat a delinquent. And three, find-
"Find love."
"What?" That was not the goal I had in mind. The command echoed through the otherwise mundane scene, a voice that felt authoritative yet unfamiliar. A strange hush enveloped the people heading toward the cafeteria. Colors drained from the surroundings, leaving everything in grayscale, except for me. A surreal unease settled in as I grappled with this inexplicable intrusion.
"Find love while becoming strong, and I might let you return."
The cryptic words hung in the air, resonating in my mind. Whatever force or entity spoke to me seemed to hold the strings of this shift. In a world that had undergone a metamorphosis, these bizarre instructions somehow felt oddly plausible. Clenching my fist, I dared to question, "And who might you be, oh great being?"
"Don't play coy. Find love while embodying 'masculinity,' not in this altered world's sense, but in the realm you once knew. Fail, and this world becomes your eternal reality."
The gravity of the situation settled like a heavy shroud. It wasn't just about adapting to a changed reality; there was a directive, a challenge that seemed to hold the key to my return. The task appeared both daunting and surreal, a quest to redefine concepts in a world where the rules had been rewritten. The weight of the unknown hung heavy, leaving me to grapple with a challenge that felt both absurd and strangely profound.
In a moment of resignation, I grumbled under my breath, "Ergh, fine. I don't want to stay in this world anyway." The echo of my own voice lingered momentarily before dissipating into the bustling background noise. I trudged forward, the weight of confusion and discontentment heavy on my shoulders. The voice that had interrupted my solitude didn't return, leaving me to navigate this altered reality some more.
As I continued my stride, the sight of the cafeteria came into view, offering a momentary distraction. Amidst the crowd, a figure stood out—a girl, recognizable from a recent encounter. She was the one who intervened when I faced that predator. Our eyes met, and without hesitation, she hurried over to me, her meal left half-eaten on the table. Her voice carried concern as she confronted me, "Why did you run away? What if you got in trouble again?"
Perplexed by her persistence, I retorted, "Why do you even care? Do you have a Hero Complex or something?"
Her response came with a tinge of frustration and a pout, "Because I like you, you idiot!"
Oh dear, this is going to be complicated, isn't it?