We arrived at the bathroom.
The door was ajar. Misaki pushed it open with her shoulder and we entered. The scent of bath salts and damp marble hit me immediately. The bathtub—enormous, white, with bronze lion-claw feet—stood empty. The bottles of essential oils gleamed on the shelf under the dim light coming through the skylight.
Misaki released me in front of the bathtub.
“Undress.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Undress, Miss Sienna.” Her voice left no room for argument. “The water is already prepared. You’re the only thing missing.”
I looked at the bathtub. Sure enough, steam was starting to rise from the surface. I didn’t remember filling it. (When…?)
“Misaki… co… could you step out?”
“Step out?” For the first time in the last few minutes, a hint of humanity returned to her eyes. One eyebrow rose in confusion. “Miss Sienna, we’re both girls. There’s no problem.”
“I… it’s just that I’m embarrassed,” I stammered, crossing my arms over my chest.
(Damn it, this is so humiliating!)
Misaki sighed. Her expression softened slightly, as if remembering something.
“Don’t worry. We showered together many times when we were little girls. Please, undress.”
Her tone was practical, almost clinical. But her fingers trembled slightly.
(We showered together? Of course… the real Sienna. She has memories that I don’t.)
“You know…” I said, looking for any excuse to break the tension. “I think, for a change, the Russian method isn’t so bad…”
“Miss Sienna,” she grabbed me by the shoulders, locking eyes with me.
Her fingers pressed firmly into my collarbones.
“That… calm down, Misaki. This doesn’t have to esca—”
She snapped.
The fabric of my pajamas—fine silk, expensive, probably some French brand—tore with a clean, final sound. The cold bathroom air hit my bare skin.
I was left only in my humble boxer shorts.
A few seconds of absolute silence. Misaki’s eyes were fixed on my torso. I had my eyes fixed on hers, waiting… I didn’t know for what.
“It’s all over,” Sienna said in a whisper.
The world slowed down. The steam grew thicker. The lights flickered, or maybe it was just my perception. For a second, I saw a dimly lit room flash before my eyes, like a memory that wasn’t mine: a bed, a fogged-up window, the silhouette of someone crying in the corner.
And then…
“KYAAA!” Misaki screamed.
Her shriek was so sharp that the bottles on the shelf vibrated. She jumped backward, tripped over her own feet, and fell flat on her back. Her skirt rode up. Her white stockings came into view. Her cheeks were two tomatoes.
“Huh?” I didn’t understand anything.
“Miss!” she squealed, covering her eyes with both hands. “Please cover yourself!”
I pressed my lips together. I didn’t know what to do. Why was she screaming if we were the same? She had boobs. I had boobs. What was the problem?
I took a step toward her.
“KYAAA!” another scream, this one even shriller. “PLEASE, GET THAT AWAY FROM ME!”
I looked down.
Ah.
(That’s right…)
My Excalibur had survived.
There it was, under my humble blue boxer shorts, an unmistakable bulge. Something no woman should have. Something that I, as Sienna, shouldn’t have.
But I did.
(The Dragón. My Excalibur. It survived reincarnation. How? Why?)
Misaki remained on the floor, covering her eyes, moaning something unintelligible. I stood there, half-naked, with my breasts exposed and a partial erection poking against the elastic fabric of my boxers.
“Please, stay away,” she pleaded, her voice breaking.
I smiled.
(Come on, come on…)
Something inside me activated. Something dark. Something that had been asleep for years. Male confidence, perhaps. Or simply the fact that, after so many humiliations, for once I was in control.
I leaned over her. My breasts brushed against her uniform. She shrieked as if I were electrocuting her.
“Come on, Misaki,” I said, in a voice I didn’t know I could make so sensual. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S NOT THAT BIG A DEAL?!” she yelled, kicking her legs.
But before I could continue tormenting her, a shadow appeared in the doorway.
“What is all this commotion?”
A deep voice. Feminine. With a slight accent I couldn’t identify.
We froze.
In the threshold, with her arms crossed and a perfectly groomed eyebrow raised in a sign of authority, stood an imposing woman.
Her appearance was clearly Asian: jet-black hair tied in an elegant high ponytail, not a single strand out of place. Slanted dark brown eyes that seemed to pierce the soul. High cheekbones, thin lips painted with a subtle red. She wore a black silk kimono embroidered with golden cranes, cinched at the waist with a crimson obi.
She wasn’t young, but she wasn’t old either. She was the kind of woman who made the word “MILF” feel inadequate.
Her presence completely filled the room.
“Ah,” I managed to say.
Poor Misaki was still on the floor, her uniform wrinkled, her white stockings stained with dust, and her cheeks burning like embers.
I stood in front of her, half-naked, my blue boxers clearly outlining a bulge that shouldn’t be there.
And the woman at the door watched us with a mixture of amusement, severity, and something that looked like malicious amusement.
“This has an explanation,” I began, raising my hands in a peace gesture.
The woman looked me up and down. Her eyes lingered on my breasts, then on my boxers, then on the bulge, then on Misaki on the floor, then on the door to my room at the end of the hallway—which was still open, with a hole in the center.
“I see,” she said, with a smile that promised nothing good. “Sienna.”
“Yes…” I swallowed hard. “And you are…?”
The woman took a step forward. The wooden sandals she wore—geta—made a click-clack sound against the marble floor. The kimono rustled with every movement.
“Don’t you recognize me, granddaughter?”
My blood ran cold.
“Granddaughter?”
“I am Hanako. Your grandmother.” Her smile widened, showing a row of perfect teeth. “Your father’s mother. And I have a question for you, Sienna.”
“A… question?”
Her gaze slowly lowered from my eyes to my boxers. It stopped at the bulge. Then rose again.
“What the hell happened to my granddaughter?”
The world stopped.
Misaki moaned something unintelligible from the floor, covering her face with her hands.
I could only open my mouth.
And then…
Everything went black.
I didn’t know if it was a punch, a fainting from embarrassment, or if my own grandmother had knocked me out with a single karate strike. The last thing I remember was her face getting closer, her lips murmuring “Interesting…”, and then nothingness.
When I woke up, I was in my bed, wearing a new robe, with a note stuck to my forehead.
It said, in elegant and slightly shaky handwriting:
“Sienna. When you wake up, come down for breakfast. Your grandmother and I have a lot to talk about. —Dad”
Below, in smaller, shakier handwriting:
“Sienna, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have broken the door or your pajamas or… the other thing. Please don’t hate me. —Misaki”
And at the bottom, a third note, written in red ink and capital letters:
“COME DOWN RIGHT NOW. —Grandma Hanako”
I sighed, letting the notes fall onto the duvet.
“This…” I murmured, looking at the ceiling. “This isn’t an isekai. It’s a horror, comedy, and ecchi soap opera all at once.”
My phone vibrated.
Message from: Unknown
“You have 6 days left. Kiss a boy or steal panties. By the way… your grandmother wears a thong. A reliable source told me. Good luck.”
I turned off the screen and closed my eyes.
“Grandma thongs?” I whispered. “This universe hates me.”
Outside, the sun was beginning to rise over the mansion’s gardens. And somewhere in the house, an Asian grandmother was waiting for me with questions I didn’t know how to answer.
“Let hell begin.”