“Dame, she was able to squirt?”
Edward stared down at himself with a mixture of fascination, embarrassment, and the increasingly uncomfortable realization that there were probably better ways to handle waking up in a woman’s body than immediately experimenting with it.
Too late for that now.
By the time the awkward little episode was over, the shower was already running, warm water striking the pale ceramic floor with a steady hiss while steam gathered against the glass. Edward stepped beneath it and immediately shivered when the cold tile touched the bottoms of his feet. The bathroom itself felt expensive in that sterile apartment-building sort of way, all white stone, polished chrome, glass shelving, and absolutely nothing that suggested the person living here had ever cared about decorating it. Even the soap smelled expensive, something floral with a faint citrus edge that grew stronger in the humidity.
He rubbed both hands over his face and let the warm water pour through his fingers, hoping the sensation might somehow wake him up.
It didn’t.
That probably made sense considering he apparently wasn’t dreaming.
Edward leaned forward until his forehead rested against the cool shower wall and tried to organize everything that had happened. He had died. That wasn’t some dramatic exaggeration or one of those moments where someone almost got hit by a car and later claimed they had basically died. He remembered the airplane, the burning wing, the screaming, the stomach-dropping sensation as the aircraft lost control, and then nothing.
Now he was standing naked in a stranger’s shower with red hair hanging halfway down his back.
“Okay,” he whispered, only to hear the woman’s voice come out again, soft and clear and not his.
He grimaced. “Still weird.”
Turning beneath the water, Edward pushed the soaked hair away from his face. There was so much of it that he briefly wondered how women managed to sleep without accidentally strangling themselves. The strands clung heavily to his shoulders and upper back, darkening from bright crimson into something closer to wine beneath the water.
“I wonder what kind of world I’m in.”
The question sounded stupid the moment it left his mouth because he’d already seen the apartment. There were electric lights, modern plumbing, a refrigerator, and tall buildings visible through the bedroom window. Unless some fantasy kingdom had recently discovered stainless steel appliances and central heating, he probably wasn’t about to walk outside and find knights waiting in the hallway.
Edward grabbed the shampoo bottle sitting inside a recessed shelf and read the label.
Rose and bergamot.
Of course.
He squeezed some into his palm and carefully worked it through the long red hair. The scent grew stronger beneath the steam, sweet without becoming overwhelming, and for a moment the sheer normality of washing his hair made everything worse. He knew how showers worked. He knew what shampoo was. He knew what conditioner was. None of those familiar things explained why his hands were smaller, why his body felt completely different, or why every time he looked down his brain briefly rejected what his eyes were showing him.
He rinsed out the shampoo and reached for the conditioner. Girls were particular about hair products, right? Probably. Whoever this body belonged to had already chosen everything in the shower, so Edward decided the safest option was not to experiment.
That thought immediately created another problem.
Whoever this body belonged to.
Edward stopped moving while the water continued running over his shoulders.
“What happened to you?”
Only the shower answered, water drumming against his skin and splashing softly against the tile.
Was she dead? Had they switched bodies somehow? Was she currently inside his old body?
Because if that was what had happened, she had received the absolute worst trade imaginable. Edward’s body had probably been recovered from what remained of an airplane by now, assuming there had been enough left to recover.
“Yeah. Sorry about that.”
He wasn’t entirely sure who he was apologizing to. The woman whose body he had apparently stolen, God, the universe, anime itself. At this point any of them seemed equally plausible.
Edward finished rinsing his hair, washed the rest of himself as quickly and impersonally as possible, then shut off the water. Silence immediately filled the bathroom until all he could hear was the steady drip from the showerhead and the faint hum of ventilation somewhere above him.
He grabbed a dark blue towel from the rack. The fabric was unusually soft against his skin, which only made him more aware of how different everything felt. This body was lighter than his old one and somehow more flexible. His joints didn’t ache, his back didn’t complain when he bent over, and there wasn’t any stiffness lingering in his shoulders.
Honestly, physically, he felt fantastic.
Which seemed extremely unfair considering this was probably the worst morning of his life.
Then another thought arrived.
Periods.
Edward froze halfway through drying his hair and slowly looked toward the mirror.
“Oh, no.”
That problem had somehow escaped him until now.
The red-haired woman in the mirror stared back with the same horrified expression.
“You better not.”
He had no idea who he was threatening. Her uterus, his hormones, the universe again.
“Maybe this whole reincarnation thing screws with the cycle.”
He considered that for a second before nodding hopefully at himself.
“Please screw with the cycle.”
Edward wrapped the towel around himself and left the bathroom before his imagination supplied any additional problems.
The bedroom felt cool after the shower, enough that goosebumps rose along his arms the moment his bare feet touched the hardwood. Morning light poured through the apartment’s single large window and stretched across the bed in a pale rectangle. Beyond the glass, the city filled the view with tall glass buildings, older brick towers, rooftop water tanks, and narrow gaps between structures where Edward could see traffic moving far below. Car horns drifted upward from the street along with a distant siren and the constant low mechanical hum of a city that had already been awake for hours.
Modern.
Very modern.
Edward crossed the room and opened the closet.
The first thing he noticed was that whoever Melody was apparently enjoyed organization far more than he ever had. Five nearly identical outfits hung side by side, each consisting of a white button-up blouse, fitted black blazer with silver piping, dark red ribbon tie, and pleated black skirt. Black knee socks were folded neatly beneath them, and every blazer carried the same embroidered crest over the breast pocket.
A silver rose wrapped around a crown.
Below it, tiny lettering read:
CROWNWELL UNIVERSITY
NEW YORK
Edward stared at the uniforms.
“College students wear uniforms now?”
Apparently these ones did.
The fabric didn’t feel cheap either. The blazer was smooth and heavy beneath his fingers, tailored closely enough that Edward suspected Crownwell wasn’t some little college renting classrooms above a dental office. It looked more like the kind of school where tuition cost more than some people’s houses and students were expected to pretend they enjoyed networking events.
Beside the uniforms sat a small dresser built into the closet. Edward opened the first drawer and immediately found underwear.
He closed it.
Then opened it again because unfortunately clothing was still necessary.
Most of it had been folded neatly, although several pairs toward the back had clearly been shoved in without much effort. A small package of pads sat beside them.
Edward looked at the package for a few seconds.
“So that fear’s real.”
He shut the drawer and checked the next one.
This one contained normal clothes. Jeans, skirts, sweaters, fitted tops, a couple hoodies. Nothing particularly strange. If anything, the ordinary clothes only made the school uniforms look more unusual.
Maybe Crownwell was one of those extremely expensive private schools that still expected everyone to dress like they were attending parliament.
Edward reluctantly returned to the first drawer and grabbed a faded red pair of panties.
They matched the hair.
He held them up.
“Cute.”
Then immediately felt guilty.
This wasn’t his closet. It wasn’t his underwear. Technically this wasn’t even his body. There was something deeply invasive about rummaging through someone else’s possessions, even if his circumstances made using them necessary.
Of course, that moral concern had arrived somewhat late considering what he had already done in the shower.
Edward winced.
“If you’re watching from somewhere, I am extremely sorry about all of this. Especially the shower.”
No answer came.
“Great.”
He chose casual clothes instead of touching the uniform yet, pulling on a soft gray shirt and black shorts. The shirt carried the faint smell of lavender detergent, and even that felt weirdly personal, like another small piece of a life he didn’t understand.
That was when he noticed the charging cable beside the bed.
Phone.
Edward crossed the room so quickly he nearly caught his foot on the rug.
A black smartphone rested on the bedside table.
He picked it up.
Apple logo.
“Apple?”
The lock screen showed 8:17 AM on a Thursday, battery at ninety-four percent, and a weather widget for New York City.
Edward slowly looked toward the window again.
“No way.”
He looked back at the phone.
“Maybe it’s an alternate dimension.”
Compared to everything else, that seemed perfectly reasonable.
“This could be one of those universes where I’m Edward but female. Edwina? Edwin doesn’t work. Eddie is still kind of both. Edeline? Ellie?”
His rambling stopped when his thumb brushed the screen and the phone unlocked.
Edward stared at it.
Fingerprint.
Right.
Apparently whoever owned this body had enrolled that finger.
The home screen wallpaper was almost aggressively boring. White background, black lettering, and a quote in the center.
I never dreamed about success. I worked for it.
Estée Lauder
Edward blinked.
“Okay. Go girl power I guess.”
He swiped through the screens.
There was hardly any social media. No Instagram, TikTok, Snapchat, Facebook, or even random mobile games. Instead there were book apps, a document scanner, budgeting software, Duolingo, a calendar packed with appointments, email, and several university-related programs.
Edward stared at the screen.
“So the previous owner had absolutely no fun.”
That was probably an unfair assumption.
Probably.
But the evidence wasn’t helping her.
He opened Messages.
There were dozens of conversations, but almost all of them felt strangely formal. Every contact was just a name. No Mom, no Dad, no Sister, no heart emojis or dumb nicknames, not even a contact saved as something like DON’T ANSWER.
Edward scrolled through them.
Professor Graham.
Jessica Vale.
Thomas Reed.
Dr. Moreno.
Celestine Aurelia.
His thumb stopped.
“No.”
He scrolled upward.
Then back down again.
Celestine Aurelia.
His heartbeat picked up.
That name was familiar.
Very familiar.
Before opening the conversation, though, Edward noticed the profile icon attached to his own account. It was a selfie of the same red-haired woman he had been seeing in the mirror.
He tapped it.
The contact card opened.
Melody Rosethorn
Below the name sat an email address.
[email protected]
Edward stared.
“Wait.”
He looked toward the mirror across the room.
Red hair.
Green eyes.
Melody.
“No.”
Edward crossed the room so quickly the hardwood slapped beneath his bare feet.
The woman in the mirror looked exactly like someone had taken an anime character and asked a real human being to become her. Same hair, same eyes, same sharp but elegant face.
Not similar.
Exact.
Edward slowly raised one hand.
The woman copied him.
“Melody Rosethorn.”
His stomach tightened.
That was impossible.
Lady Melody Rosethorn was fictional. She was the villainess from The Villainess Will Rewrite Her Ruin, the exact anime he had been watching before his plane went down.
Edward looked around the apartment again.
Modern furniture. Electric lights. Power outlets. Laptop. Phone. City skyline.
This wasn’t Melody’s world.
There were no castles, royal families, saint academies, or magic.
This was Earth.
His Earth, probably.
“So what the hell are you doing here?”
The reflection offered no explanation.
Edward returned to the phone.
Maybe Melody was an actress.
That could explain the resemblance.
Maybe the anime character had been modeled after someone real, and Edward had somehow ended up inside the body of that person.
The identical name made that theory considerably harder to defend.
“Am I the inspiration for the anime?”
It sounded ridiculous, but after dying in a plane crash and waking up as a red-haired woman, Edward felt the standard for ridiculous had moved quite a bit.
He started digging through the messages.
The most recent conversation was with someone named Professor Graham.
Melody had written:
I need an extension until Monday. Jessica has not completed her portion of the project despite multiple reminders, and I cannot finish the data analysis without her section. I have attached screenshots of our task assignments and previous correspondence.
Edward stared at the message.
“Wow.”
Professional. Cold. Efficient.
Professor Graham had replied that he would review the situation.
Another conversation was with Jessica herself.
Edward opened it.
Melody: God, just do your part or I’m telling Professor Graham.
Jessica: Hey! Come on don’t be a bitch. My hubby is working on it as we speak.
Melody: Your hubby?
Melody: It’s YOUR assignment.
Melody: How unbelievably irresponsible can you be?
Jessica: Calm down.
Melody: You’re lucky your father is rich and sleeping with half the administration because anyone else would’ve failed this course already.
Edward’s eyebrows rose.
“Oh.”
He scrolled farther.
Jessica had responded with several impressively creative insults, and Melody had answered every single one back with calm insults to her mental fortitude.
Edward leaned back against the bed.
“Well. Way to throw Jessica under the bus.”
He thought about it.
“Actually, no. Jessica sounds terrible.”
Apparently Melody was currently attending college, which meant she hadn’t been lying in a hospital bed waiting to die. She had recently been completing assignments and threatening classmates over group projects.
That made Edward feel worse.
If Melody had been alive before he arrived, then where had she gone?
He continued scrolling and found more classmates, professors, and several messages related to something called the Crownwell Student Success Office. One email identified Melody as a Peer Academic Counselor.
Edward blinked.
“Wait. You’re a counselor?”
He opened another message.
Apparently Melody helped students plan schedules, locate tutoring resources, navigate academic probation, and handle basic course problems.
“That is an incredibly non-villainous occupation.”
The fictional Melody probably would’ve charged struggling students money and then sabotaged their exams.
This one helped freshmen choose math classes.
The more Edward searched, though, the stranger her life seemed. There were almost no personal conversations. No family. No obvious close friends. No boyfriend or girlfriend. No pictures from parties. No long conversations about random nonsense. Nearly every message existed because Melody needed something from the other person or they needed something from her.
It felt less like looking through someone’s social life and more like reading a business inbox.
Then Edward saw the name again.
Celestine Aurelia.
He finally tapped it.
There was only one message.
Sent nearly a year earlier.
Celestine: Hey! This is me! 😊
Nothing beneath it.
No response.
Edward slowly lowered the phone.
“You ghosted the saintess?”
The apartment suddenly felt much quieter.
Celestine Aurelia wasn’t a normal name.
Neither was Melody Rosethorn.
Those were the two central girls from The Villainess Will Rewrite Her Ruin.
Melody, the villainess.
Celestine, the saintess and heroine.
Both apparently existed here.
In New York.
Going to college.
“What is going on?”
Edward returned to the contact, but there was no profile picture and no additional messages. Maybe they had exchanged numbers at school and Melody simply never responded.
Honestly, after everything Edward had seen so far, that sounded entirely possible.
He opened the university app.
CROWNWELL UNIVERSITY
The crest matched the blazer.
According to the profile page, Melody Rosethorn was enrolled full-time. Twenty-two years old. Psychology major. Minor in Business Administration. Third year. Dean’s List.
Employment: Peer Academic Counselor.
Edward stared.
“You’re twenty-two.”
That at least made one thing slightly less strange.
He had been twenty-four.
Close enough.
Edward opened the schedule and found several classes, a counseling shift, and something labeled Advanced Behavioral Research Seminar.
He groaned.
“Oh, come on. I already did school.”
Apparently dying hadn’t exempted him from homework.
Then another thought occurred.
If Melody existed and Celestine existed, and somehow all of this involved the anime...
Edward slowly stood.
“Magic.”
Nothing happened.
He raised one hand dramatically.
“System open.”
His new voice echoed softly through the apartment.
Nothing.
“Status?”
Still nothing.
“Character sheet?”
Silence.
“Inventory?”
No response.
“Skills?”
Edward frowned.
“Open sesame?”
Nothing.
He considered his options.
“Open sesame chicken?”
Still nothing.
Edward nodded.
“Yeah, figured that one wouldn’t work.”
He sat heavily on the edge of the bed.
For the first time since waking up, he stopped moving. He stopped searching, stopped opening apps, stopped making jokes, and simply sat there while the mattress sank beneath him.
The room smelled faintly of Melody’s shampoo and lavender detergent. Traffic murmured far below the window, and sunlight warmed one side of his face while the other stayed cool beneath damp strands of red hair.
His hands rested in his lap.
Small hands.
Melody’s hands.
Edward stared at them until the humor finally stopped helping.
He had died. He didn’t know where his body was or whether his family knew yet. He didn’t know what had happened to Melody or why fictional characters apparently existed in New York City. He didn’t know whether this was really his Earth, whether Edward Tomik even legally existed anymore, or what he was supposed to do if the answer to any of those questions was worse than he expected.
A pressure slowly built behind his eyes, and his breathing became shallower.
“What am I supposed to do?”
There was no one to answer.
Edward swallowed and looked toward the window at the impossibly ordinary city outside. Cars moved through the streets below. Someone honked. A siren wailed somewhere several blocks away. People were probably buying coffee, going to work, complaining about traffic, and living perfectly normal lives while Edward sat twenty stories above Manhattan wearing the body of an anime villainess.
He pressed both hands against his face.
“What the hell happened to me?”