Thursday, August 28th, 2042, On the way to Newport High School, Bellevue, Washington.

Bip bip bip bip!

The lane departure warning had gone off for the umpteenth time since Jason had left for school. He readjusted the direction once more.

His hands gripped too tightly to the steering wheel, his body caught between freezing and sweating at the same time.

The road ahead blurred, shimmering in the early morning light like he was seeing it through water.

He blinked hard, trying to steady his vision, but the nausea twisting in his stomach would not let go. His body felt wrong, like it was not even his anymore—like he did not belong anywhere.

The nausea crept up again, slowly at first, then tightening around his throat like a vise.

Jason forced his eyes to stay on the road, but his limbs felt disconnected, as if they did not know their own size.

The seat felt too high, the pedals too far away.

His foot pressed the brake at an awkward angle, and his fingers, smaller and more delicate than they should be, gripped the wheel as if they had forgotten how.

What the hell is happening to me?

Dizziness surged, sharper this time.

In a rush, he swerved to the shoulder of the road, heart racing and temples pounding.

He slammed the car into park and fumbled with the seatbelt.

Barely pushing the door open in time, he leaned out and gagged violently as bile surged up his throat.

Oh god…

He retched again, each heave pulling bile up from his gut.

The smell hit him hard—last night’s dinner, Lisa’s perfectly seasoned roast chicken, now splattered across the pavement.

The sight and stench of it only made his stomach churn more.

The chicken had been a rare treat, something special Lisa made for Claire’s visit. Even though she had visited unannounced.

And now, there it was—wasted.

Expelled—his body having clearly rejected it.

Jason wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but the sour taste lingered, along with a gnawing sense of failure.

His body was not just changing—it was betraying him, humiliating him in ways he could not control.

He rinsed his mouth with the last of the sparkling water and spat it out, but the bitter aftertaste still clung to his tongue.

Jason rested his forehead against the cool steering wheel. Sweat trickled down his face, and his ears rang, but at least he felt a little better.

That strange sense of relief always came after throwing up, like his body had rewarded him for surviving it.

He almost smiled.

Of course, I’d find some twisted logic explaining why I feel good after puking.

But there was no time to celebrate the moment of reprieve.

He was not out of the woods yet, not even close.

Still, Jason would take any win he could today. And this was the first. So he held dearly to it.

He exhaled shakily and straightened up, glancing at his reflection in the rearview mirror: a face that was neither his nor Vaelith’s.

Girl, you look like hell, whoever you are.

The air around him felt thick and clammy, but he did not have time to dwell on it. He could not afford to waste another minute—the last thing he needed was a call from HR, on top of... whatever this was.

I can make it. I’m nearly there.

The words felt hollow.

He gripped the steering wheel, took a deep breath, and pulled back onto the road, forcing himself to ignore the lingering nausea.

Ugh, someone’s gonna have to mop up my mess. I’m so sorry.

----------------------------------------

Jason parked in his usual spot, but the moment he stepped out of the car, everything felt wrong again. He leaned against the door, his balance still wavering.

His stomach churned, and the world around him tilted slightly.

Swallowing hard, he tried to push the lingering vertigo away. His eyelids felt heavy as lead, each blink a monumental effort against the crushing weight of exhaustion.

Jason let out a silent sigh of relief, a mental pat on the back for a job well done. He had finally reached his destination.

Now to get to my classroom.

He slowly staggered toward the teacher’s entrance, each step feeling more precarious than the last.

“Jason...?” a familiar voice called out. The words tumbled out, hesitant and uncertain, as if the speaker questioned their truth.

He turned to see Mrs Weaver, one of the science teachers, holding the door open. She gave him a once-over, her brow knitting with concern and confusion.

“Are you... feeling alright?” she asked. Her voice was skeptical, as if she was not entirely sure she was speaking to the right person.

Jason forced a smile. “Just tired,” he said, trying to wave it off.

But her expression said it all—she did not believe for one instant.

It was a wonder she had even recognised him—his slimmer frame, the strange tilt of his posture, how different he felt in this body.

Even his voice sounded foreign, another reminder that this body was not really his.

“Are you… sure? You don’t look too good.”

“I’ll be fine. Can’t let the students down, can we?”

He forced the smile wider, hoping to appeal to her sense of duty.

Mrs Weaver returned a weak smile.

“Ah, so dutiful of you. Come on in, then. Class is about to start.”

She stepped aside, holding the door open for him.

Jason nodded, saying as little as possible, afraid to draw more attention. He stepped past his colleague and into the building, the weight of his situation heavier with every step.

The hallways of Newport High, usually buzzing with adolescent chatter, felt muted and tense today.

Jason could feel the shift in the air as he made his way to his classroom. Conversations faltered, whispers passed between students and teachers alike.

Eyes flicked in his direction, darting away quickly when he looked back.

He caught a group of students whispering, their brows furrowed as they stared. He could see them struggle to reconcile the person in front of them with the Mr Davis they knew.

Jason heard snippets of their conversation—“Who’s that? Is that a new teacher? Isn’t that Mr Davis?”—and his stomach clenched.

He forced himself to keep moving, but each step was harder than the last as the vertigo swirled back inside him.

“Did you change your hair?” a teacher asked casually as they passed each other. His gaze lingered on Jason, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, as if he could not pinpoint what exactly was different, but knew something was off.

Another teacher, Mrs Patel, had given him a strange look before asking, “New shoes?”

Obviously puzzled by the difference, she appeared to latch to the first logical explanation why Jason appeared shorter today.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Jason clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to snap.

New shoes?

What was he supposed to say to that?

Don’t mind me, I’m actually just shrinking and turning into my game character. I’m okay.

Jason shook off the sarcastic comeback.

Not the time to be snappy with your coworkers. Stay under the radar, don’t stir things up.

He finally made it to his classroom. The hardest part was over.

Or so he hoped.

Jason paused outside the classroom door, his hand hovering over the handle for a moment longer than usual. He took a deep breath, forcing his shoulders back, trying to project some semblance of normalcy.

He could already hear the low hum of chatter from the students inside, and the thought of their eyes on him—judging, confused—made his stomach churn.

You’ve got this. Just go in, act normal. Teach the class. Get through the day.

He pushed open the door.

The room fell silent almost instantly.

Twenty pairs of eyes turned toward him, and Jason felt the weight of their stares like a physical force. Normally, he would brush off the occasional comment about his appearance—a messy tie or a too-long beard—but this time, the intensity of their confusion hung in the air, thick and palpable.

He stepped inside, trying to keep his movements steady, though every inch of his body screamed that something was wrong. He felt the heat of their collective stare as he walked to his desk; their eyes, like probing fingers, followed his every step, analyzing his appearance and body language.

One student—Mia, a girl who was always quick to speak her mind—raised her hand, but did not wait to be called on.

“Uh, Mr Davis…?” Her eyes darted around the room, as if debating whether she should even bring it up. “Did you, like, get a makeover or something?”

A ripple of whispers followed her words, a mix of giggles and murmurs spreading across the room.

Jason forced another smile, though it felt more like a grimace.

“Good morning, Mia. Something like that. Just... trying out something new.”

His voice still did not sound right. Too soft, almost airy. He cleared his throat, hoping it would come out stronger next time.

Mia blinked, visibly unsure of how to respond. “Oh? I barely recognised you; you look so different!”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, but the joke fell flat. His own words felt hollow, the weak joke barely covering the anxiety gnawing away at him, threatening to spill out.

As he began setting his materials on the desk, another voice cut through the awkward silence.

“Did you lose weight, Mr Davis?” It was Kevin, the class clown, his usual smirk creeping onto his face as he leaned back in his chair. “You’re, like... way skinnier. And shorter. Dude, are you okay?”

Jason clenched his jaw, sweat prickling at the back of his neck.

Keep it together.

He could feel himself slipping, but he could not let his students see him like that.

“Everything’s fine, Kevin. I appreciate your concern, but let’s focus on today’s lesson, alright?”

But Kevin had no intention of dropping the subject. “Are you sick or something?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his desk, his eyes narrowing like he was studying a science experiment gone wrong.

Before Jason could respond, another student chimed in. “Yeah, you sound different too, like... I dunno, like your voice got higher?”

That was Sarah, usually quiet and observant, but now openly curious, her head cocked slightly as she studied him with a frown.

Jason swallowed, his heart thudding in his chest. He could feel the room slipping out of his control.

Normally, he would handle their questions with ease, guiding them back to the task at hand with a firm but light touch.

Today, though, it felt like every word they spoke chipped away at the fragile wall he had built around himself.

I need to regain control—fast.

“Look,” he said, trying to inject more authority into his voice, though it still came out shakier than he intended. “I know I might look a little off today, but that’s really not important. We have a busy schedule and lessons to get through. I expect you all to pay attention.”

There was a pause, the room lingering in awkward silence, but eventually, the students shifted in their seats, picking up their tablets and pocket computers.

One of the more temperamental student, Anna, a tall, beautiful blonde, was sitting in the back. She furrowed her brow and crossed her arms in what appeared to be a gesture of defiance, but thankfully, appeared to have stayed herself.

Jason exhaled quietly.

Crisis averted—for now.

He turned to the electric whiteboard, picking up a digital marker, though his hands felt awkward, too small and too large at once. A stranger’s hands.

His fingers wrapped around the marker, struggling to find the right amount of force. Even the act of writing on the board felt alien, like he was forcing someone else’s body to move.

As he wrote the first equation, his vision swam for a moment, the lines on the board blurring together. He blinked rapidly, fighting back the dizziness that threatened to overtake him again.

Just get through this.

Behind him, the classroom was unnervingly quiet, but he could feel their eyes boring into his back, unspoken questions pressing in from every angle. He could only imagine the messages they were firing off to each other under the desks, their fingers flying over their phones.

“Did you see that? What’s wrong with him?”

“He looks like a completely different person.”

“Is he sick? Should we be worried?”

Jason could almost feel his stomach twist again, the bile rising in his throat. He took another deep breath, trying to steady himself. He could not afford to lose control, not here. Not in front of them.

“Alright,” he said, turning back to face the class. “Let’s get started.”

But as he spoke, his voice cracked—higher this time, almost feminine.

Several students exchanged wide-eyed glances, the air thick with discomfort. Kevin snorted, making no effort to hide his reaction. Mia stared at him with her mouth ajar, as if trying to reconcile the person in front of her with the teacher they thought they knew.

Jason’s face flushed with heat. His heart raced as a cold sweat broke out across his skin. He could feel the panic creeping in at the edges, the room closing in around him.

Stay calm. You can do this. Just teach.

But even as he told himself that, he could feel the growing dread, the uncomfortable awareness that his body was slipping further from his control with every passing minute.

And worst of all? His students saw it too. Plain as day.

----------------------------------------

Jason was trying to focus, pushing through the nausea that had been hitting him in waves all morning, when a knock at the door made his heart skip. He looked up, feeling a jolt of unease as director Langston stepped into the room.

“Jason,” Langston said, his voice tight, his expression carefully neutral, “can I speak with you for a moment?”

The students’ heads snapped up, curiosity sparking across the room. Anna grinned when she saw the director step in.

Jason gave her an accusatory glare.

What did you do, Anna?

His stomach twisted—this was not just a casual check-in, he could feel it in the pit of his gut.

“Of course, director. Just a minute, class.”

Jason walked out of the classroom, shutting the door behind him. In the hallway, Langston’s expression was strained, his shoulders tight as though he were bracing for a confrontation.

“We’ve received a... concern from one parent.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Apparently, you’re looking... not quite yourself today, and—well, Ms Thompson called. She’s worried about you being in the classroom, given how you’re... appearing.”

Jason’s heart sank. Ms Thompson.

Of course, no surprise there—Anna’s mom has more sway over the school than most of the board members combined.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, but the knot in his stomach tightened painfully.

“It’s nothing,” Jason said, trying to keep his voice level. “I can still do my job.”

Langston sighed, his face softening for a moment. “Look, Jason, it’s not my call. But she is one of our biggest donors, and she’s... concerned about how things look today.” He glanced at Jason, a brief flicker of sympathy in his eyes. “We’re arranging for a substitute to take over the class. You should go straight to the hospital. Get yourself checked out.”

Checked out? As if that was going to fix whatever was happening to him.

Jason clenched his jaw and let out a sigh.

He wanted to argue, to fight. He went through the trouble of coming to school in his condition.

But part of him was relieved. Every minute since he woke up had been miserable.

Once I’m back home, I can just jump back in the game. There, I won’t feel like I’m half-dead, at least.

“Alright, I understand.”

“Oh, and be sure to bring back the doctor’s note, or that will have to count as unpaid leave.”

Jason did not need to be reminded of the school’s rigid policies. The veiled threat hung in the air.

“Yes, director. Thank you.”

Jason quietly slipped back inside the classroom and gathered his things, the weight of his students’ stares pressing down on him. He could feel their eyes on him—watching, whispering. Probably wondering how someone could lose seven inches in a day and still pretend to be fine.

He looked up, hesitated, and just left without saying a word. The director stepped inside, behind him, probably to explain the situation to his students.

As Jason walked down the hallway, the dizziness returned in a wave, the edges of his vision blurring as if the world itself were tilting out of focus. He stopped, bracing himself against the wall, trying to breathe through the nausea.

Dismissed. Like I’m nothing. Just a problem they can sweep away before anyone important notices.

He was not even being sent home because they cared about his health.

Langston was not concerned whether Jason could still teach or if he could manage his class.

All that mattered was Anna’s mom and the rigid way the entire world needed to bend down to her understanding of reality.

They live in luxury. While I can’t even afford to eat real food half the time. And now they’re telling me to go home because I don’t look presentable enough?

Jason gritted his teeth as he stepped outside.

The cool air hit him, but it did nothing to calm the swirling nausea or the growing knot of resentment in his chest.

Be honest, Jason. They’re not just sending you home because of your choice of clothes.

You barely recognised yourself it the mirror this morning.

How did you think you would fool people into thinking everything’s fine? They might be rightfully be afraid that what this is, it could be contagious.

Jason stepped into the driver’s seat of his car.

Okay. Take two. You got here this morning, you can get home now.

He shifted into reverse and started the return trip.

The drive home was a complete blur; Jason could barely remember driving through the nearly empty streets.

He did, however, have memories of the several times the lane departure warning had jolted him back to reality, cutting through his fog as he drifted on the road.

He arrived home before he even realized it, barely remembering the turns he had taken to get there.

His thoughts were drowning in the memory of Anna’s smirk, the pitying looks from the staff, and Langston’s dismissal.

Waiting for the garage door to open, Jason clenched the steering wheel, trying to fight the nausea still churning in his gut.

Getting dismissed like that felt awful. But Jason feared what tomorrow would bring.

He lost over six inches overnight.

What will happen tomorrow? What will I look like? Will I end up even shorter? Even weaker?

His thoughts spiralled as he parked in the garage, shutting the SUV’s door behind him with a loud thunk that echoed with an unsettling finality.

Lisa’s car had been in its usual spot in the driveway, a familiar sight that should have been comforting.

She’s probably fast asleep already, oblivious to everything that happened.

He did not want to wake up her up. He could wait until she woke up by herself.

Then, they could figure things out together.

In the meantime, he could go somewhere that would help him forget this the, so far, worst day of his life.

He could return to the one place where everything still made sense, where he felt like himself—if only for a few fleeting hours.

Maybe he could even figure out what was going on in there?

If the game is behind this, then maybe something in-game can put a stop to it, or reverse it?

Jason walked to the door that lead out of the garage, wincing as his legs wobbled slightly beneath him. He stumbled through the house, skirting past the kitchen and the remains of last night’s dinner.

His stomach churned again at the memory of throwing up by the side of the road.

What a waste.

The mere memory of the leftovers in the fridge made Jason feel queasy.

Enough of that.

Vaelith was waiting for him.

In that world, he hoped everything would still feel right.