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Which was funny, considering he spent most parties hiding near snacks pretending to check his phone.

He wandered away from the group quickly, weaving through the mythology exhibit in his wrinkled sweater and worn sneakers, looking exactly like he always did — pale, awkward, perpetually exhausted.

Then he found the statue of Dionysus.

Unlike the others, this one almost seemed alive.

The god reclined lazily across marble vines, expression relaxed and dangerously beautiful. Broad chest half-exposed, curls spilling around a face carved with effortless pleasure and confidence. Wine overflowed from a stone goblet at his side.

Elliot stared longer than he meant to.

“Okay,” he muttered. “That guy definitely gets invited to parties.”

The plaque read:

PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH

Naturally, after two free glasses of wine at the museum fundraiser—

He touched the goblet.

Warmth flooded through him instantly.

Not lightning.

Not fire.

Intoxication.

Rich heat spread beneath his skin like velvet and sunlight, making his knees buckle slightly as violet-gold light shimmered through the room.

“Oh God…”

His voice melted lower, smoother.

The transformation began immediately.

His posture loosened first.

Not weaker — effortless. The nervous stiffness he carried in every movement dissolved as his shoulders relaxed and broadened simultaneously, sweater tightening across a chest that rapidly expanded beneath it.

Elliot inhaled sharply as muscle formed across his torso in smooth, aesthetic lines. Not warrior muscle. Beautiful muscle. Defined pecs, sculpted arms, lean abs appearing beneath warming skin like he’d spent years dancing shirtless at rooftop parties in the Mediterranean.

The heat spread downward.

His waist tightened while his hips and legs strengthened into a balanced, graceful build that made every movement suddenly fluid. He felt taller too, body stretching subtly upward until he stood with relaxed confidence instead of awkward hesitation.

Then came the skin.

Pale exhaustion faded instantly beneath spreading warmth, replaced by a rich golden olive tan that looked permanently kissed by sunset. His entire body seemed to glow softly beneath the museum lights.

A pulse reached his face.

Elliot gasped quietly.

His jaw sharpened elegantly, cheekbones lifting into striking symmetry while his lips softened into naturally inviting curves. Every trace of tired awkwardness vanished from his expression, replaced with effortless sensual confidence.

Then his hair changed.

Flat brown strands darkened into thick luxurious curls, deep wine-black with hints of auburn when the light hit them. They framed his face perfectly — artfully messy in a way that looked intentional without trying.

His eyes flashed next.

Dull gray-brown melted into rich violet-hazel, warm and hypnotic like candlelight reflecting through red wine.

He stared breathlessly at his reflection in the glass wine display nearby.

The anxious nerd was gone.

Now he looked like temptation personified.

Tall. Lean. Beautiful. Golden skin glowing warmly against perfectly sculpted muscle. Thick dark curls falling around a face so effortlessly handsome it almost looked unfair.

But the biggest change wasn’t physical.

It was social.

For the first time in his life, Elliot felt magnetic.

Like every glance naturally drifted toward him.

Like every room wanted him inside it.

Nearby museum guests had completely stopped pretending not to stare.

One woman lowered her champagne glass slowly.

A man near the entrance openly watched him with wide eyes.

Elliot noticed both instantly.

And instead of panicking—

He smiled.

Slow. Easy. Dangerous.

The entire room seemed warmer when he did.

He looked back toward the Dionysus statue.

The marble god now wore the exact same expression.

Which was fine with him.

Less people. Less conversations. Less chances to get talked over.

He spent most nights quietly cataloging artifacts while louder, more confident coworkers took credit for everything. Tall but painfully skinny, shoulders always hunched inward, he looked more like an exhausted grad student than museum staff.

Then he opened the Set exhibit.

The room itself felt wrong.

Hotter than the rest of the museum. Dry air. Black stone walls etched with violent-looking hieroglyphs. At the center stood a massive statue of Set, carved with broad shoulders, hard muscle, and a brutal expression that looked one second away from smiling or starting a war.

Marcus stared at it uneasily.

“Definitely evil,” he muttered.

A curved obsidian blade rested beside the statue inside the display case.

The plaque read:

DO NOT HANDLE THE RITUAL OBJECTS

Marcus sighed.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Then he picked up the blade.

The entire room shook.

A blast of scorching desert heat exploded through his body as crimson-gold energy surged beneath his skin like wildfire. Marcus doubled over with a gasp while every light in the exhibit flickered violently overhead.

Then came the transformation.

His spine snapped upright first, years of passive nervous posture erased instantly. His shoulders broadened hard beneath his work shirt, seams straining as thick muscle rapidly spread across his chest and upper body.

Not polished muscle.

Predatory muscle.

Power built for dominance.

Marcus grabbed the display table as his arms thickened dramatically, veins surfacing beneath warming skin while dense muscle packed onto his biceps and forearms. Strength settled into him fast and heavy, making his entire body feel grounded and dangerous.

Another surge hit.

His stomach tightened violently, skinny softness hardening into deep carved abs beneath his shirt. His waist narrowed while his chest expanded even wider, forming a brutally masculine V-shaped torso.

The heat spread downward.

His legs thickened with dense athletic muscle, stance naturally widening as he grew taller, heavier, more imposing. Every movement suddenly carried weight behind it.

Then his skin changed.

Pale tired skin darkened into rich bronze, sun-baked and powerful-looking like he’d spent years surviving brutal desert heat. Faint black markings spread slowly across his arms and shoulders next—

Tattoos.

Ancient geometric patterns mixed with sharp black symbols wrapped around his new muscular frame like ritual war paint.

Marcus stared breathlessly as more ink appeared across his chest and neck, perfectly placed like they’d always belonged there.

Then came his face.

His jaw sharpened aggressively, cheekbones hardening into rugged masculine angles while faint stubble darkened across his face. Every trace of softness disappeared completely.

He looked intimidating now.

Beautiful in a dangerous way.

His dark hair shortened rapidly, falling away until only a clean buzz cut remained, sharp against his bronzed skin and angular features.

Then his eyes flashed.

Brown irises burned molten gold for one terrifying second before settling into intense amber eyes with reddish undertones that seemed to glow beneath the dim exhibit lights.

Marcus looked up slowly at his reflection in the black glass display case.

And froze.

The weak pushover was gone.

Now he looked like a walking desert storm.

Tall. Broad. Violently muscular. Bronze skin covered in black tattoos. Thick neck, heavy shoulders, carved abs, buzz cut sharp enough to make his entire face look harsher. Strong jaw. Intense eyes.

The kind of man people instinctively moved out of the way for.

The air around him felt hotter now.

More dangerous.

A nearby security guard stepped into the room— Then immediately stopped.

Marcus looked toward him calmly.

The guard visibly swallowed.

Because Marcus didn’t just look powerful.

He looked like chaos barely being restrained.

Marcus slowly rolled his shoulders, feeling overwhelming strength settle naturally through his transformed body.

Then he smirked.

Confident.

Mean.

Like he’d finally gotten tired of being ignored.

Not the guests. Not the board members. Barely even the staff.

He was the quiet curator who handled the classical wing — soft-spoken, thin, permanently tired-looking behind wire-frame glasses and neatly combed brown hair that never quite sat right. He spent more time around statues than people.

Which was probably why he noticed the Apollo statue behaving strangely before anyone else did.

The marble seemed warmer than usual.

Almost glowing beneath the afternoon sunlight pouring through the skylight above the exhibit.

Daniel stepped closer cautiously.

Apollo stood impossibly beautiful even in stone — youthful, athletic, perfect. Broad chest. Elegant posture. The face of someone born adored.

Daniel sighed quietly.

“Some people get all the luck.”

Then he noticed something odd near the base of the statue — a crack running through the marble pedestal.

Instinctively, he reached down to inspect it.

The second his hand touched the statue—

Light exploded through him.

Golden sunlight surged beneath his skin so intensely it nearly knocked him backward. The entire gallery brightened at once as warm radiant energy flooded through his body like liquid dawn.

Daniel gasped sharply.

His glasses hit the floor.

Then the transformation began.

His posture straightened immediately, years of timid stiffness unraveling in seconds. His shoulders widened smoothly beneath his button-up shirt as elegant lean muscle formed across his frame, stretching the fabric tight against a rapidly expanding chest.

Not bulky.

Perfect.

Balanced.

Like every inch of him was being sculpted according to divine proportions.

Warmth spread through his torso next, his stomach tightening into smooth defined abs while his waist narrowed slightly beneath them. His body wasn’t just becoming muscular—

It was becoming beautiful.

His arms lengthened subtly as toned muscle wrapped around them in clean graceful lines. Even his hands transformed — slender but strong, artist’s hands turned into something worthy of marble carvings.

Then he felt himself growing taller.

The world lowered around him as his proportions adjusted flawlessly, every movement suddenly fluid and elegant instead of awkward.

A pulse of golden heat reached his face.

Daniel inhaled sharply.

His jawline refined into soft masculine perfection while high cheekbones emerged beneath glowing sun-kissed skin. Every trace of exhaustion vanished instantly. His features balanced themselves with impossible symmetry until he looked less like a normal man and more like a Renaissance painting brought to life.

Then his hair changed.

Dull brown strands brightened rapidly into rich golden blond, sunlight shimmering through soft waves that curled naturally around his face. It looked effortless. Untouched.

Beautiful.

Finally—

His eyes.

Warm brown lightened slowly into vivid amber-gold, bright and radiant like sunlight passing through honey.

The gallery itself seemed brighter when he opened them.

Daniel stared at his reflection in the polished glass surrounding the exhibit and completely froze.

The invisible curator was gone.

Now standing there was a living incarnation of Apollo himself.

Tall. Golden-haired. Sun-kissed skin glowing softly beneath museum lights. Lean sculpted body built with divine precision. A face so striking people would instinctively stop talking when he entered a room.

And they had.

Visitors throughout the gallery openly stared now.

One woman lowered her phone slowly.

A security guard actually forgot to move.

Because Daniel didn’t just look handsome.

He radiated presence.

Warmth.

Attention.

Like the human embodiment of sunlight and admiration.

Daniel slowly bent down, picking up his fallen glasses between newly elegant fingers.

Then he smiled slightly.

The entire room somehow felt warmer when he did.

Behind him, sunlight poured across the Apollo statue—

And for the first time, the marble god no longer looked more beautiful than him.

Which was funny, considering he spent most parties hiding near snacks pretending to check his phone.

He wandered away from the group quickly, weaving through the mythology exhibit in his wrinkled sweater and worn sneakers, looking exactly like he always did — pale, awkward, perpetually exhausted.

Then he found the statue of Dionysus.

Unlike the others, this one almost seemed alive.

The god reclined lazily across marble vines, expression relaxed and dangerously beautiful. Broad chest half-exposed, curls spilling around a face carved with effortless pleasure and confidence. Wine overflowed from a stone goblet at his side.

Elliot stared longer than he meant to.

“Okay,” he muttered. “That guy definitely gets invited to parties.”

The plaque read:

PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH

Naturally, after two free glasses of wine at the museum fundraiser—

He touched the goblet.

Warmth flooded through him instantly.

Not lightning.

Not fire.

Intoxication.

Rich heat spread beneath his skin like velvet and sunlight, making his knees buckle slightly as violet-gold light shimmered through the room.

“Oh God…”

His voice melted lower, smoother.

The transformation began immediately.

His posture loosened first.

Not weaker — effortless. The nervous stiffness he carried in every movement dissolved as his shoulders relaxed and broadened simultaneously, sweater tightening across a chest that rapidly expanded beneath it.

Elliot inhaled sharply as muscle formed across his torso in smooth, aesthetic lines. Not warrior muscle. Beautiful muscle. Defined pecs, sculpted arms, lean abs appearing beneath warming skin like he’d spent years dancing shirtless at rooftop parties in the Mediterranean.

The heat spread downward.

His waist tightened while his hips and legs strengthened into a balanced, graceful build that made every movement suddenly fluid. He felt taller too, body stretching subtly upward until he stood with relaxed confidence instead of awkward hesitation.

Then came the skin.

Pale exhaustion faded instantly beneath spreading warmth, replaced by a rich golden olive tan that looked permanently kissed by sunset. His entire body seemed to glow softly beneath the museum lights.

A pulse reached his face.

Elliot gasped quietly.

His jaw sharpened elegantly, cheekbones lifting into striking symmetry while his lips softened into naturally inviting curves. Every trace of tired awkwardness vanished from his expression, replaced with effortless sensual confidence.

Then his hair changed.

Flat brown strands darkened into thick luxurious curls, deep wine-black with hints of auburn when the light hit them. They framed his face perfectly — artfully messy in a way that looked intentional without trying.

His eyes flashed next.

Dull gray-brown melted into rich violet-hazel, warm and hypnotic like candlelight reflecting through red wine.

He stared breathlessly at his reflection in the glass wine display nearby.

The anxious nerd was gone.

Now he looked like temptation personified.

Tall. Lean. Beautiful. Golden skin glowing warmly against perfectly sculpted muscle. Thick dark curls falling around a face so effortlessly handsome it almost looked unfair.

But the biggest change wasn’t physical.

It was social.

For the first time in his life, Elliot felt magnetic.

Like every glance naturally drifted toward him.

Like every room wanted him inside it.

Nearby museum guests had completely stopped pretending not to stare.

One woman lowered her champagne glass slowly.

A man near the entrance openly watched him with wide eyes.

Elliot noticed both instantly.

And instead of panicking—

He smiled.

Slow. Easy. Dangerous.

The entire room seemed warmer when he did.

He looked back toward the Dionysus statue.

The marble god now wore the exact same expression.

Like he knew this would happen all along.

Quiet halls. Security guards everywhere. No football players shoving him into lockers or mocking the way he talked.

He kept his hoodie up as he wandered through the mythology exhibit, hands stuffed into his pockets, shoulders hunched inward automatically.

Small.

Forgettable.

Safe.

Then he saw the statue of Ares.

Unlike the others, this one didn’t look calm or noble. It looked dangerous. Massive marble muscles coiled with tension, expression sharp and fearless, like the god was seconds away from stepping off the pedestal and starting a war.

Kevin swallowed.

“Must be nice,” he muttered quietly.

A plaque nearby warned visitors not to touch the displays.

Kevin touched the spear anyway.

The reaction was instant.

A violent pulse exploded through his body like a shockwave, red-gold energy surging beneath his skin. He gasped sharply as the museum lights flickered overhead and the floor beneath him vibrated.

Then came the heat.

Not soft warmth.

Combat heat.

Adrenaline.

His entire body locked upright as his spine straightened violently, years of nervous slouching erased in seconds. His shoulders jerked backward and widened hard beneath his hoodie, fabric stretching tight as dense muscle rapidly formed across his chest and upper body.

Kevin grabbed the display railing instinctively.

“What’s happening—”

His voice cut lower mid-sentence.

Muscle surged onto his frame fast now.

His arms thickened visibly, lean but powerful definition wrapping around them like armor. Veins surfaced faintly along his forearms while his hands grew larger and steadier, no longer trembling with nervous energy.

Another pulse hit his torso.

His stomach tightened instantly, soft flatness hardening into carved abs beneath his hoodie. His waist narrowed slightly while his chest broadened even further, creating a powerful athletic frame that looked built for speed and strength instead of hiding.

The transformation spread downward.

His legs lengthened and thickened simultaneously, jeans tightening around powerful thighs and athletic calves. He grew several inches taller in seconds, stance naturally widening as balance and confidence settled into his body like instinct.

Then his face changed.

Kevin inhaled sharply as his jaw sharpened into strong masculine lines. His cheekbones lifted subtly beneath smoothing skin while years of awkwardness seemed to vanish from his features completely.

He looked older.

Sharper.

Dangerously handsome.

His black hair thickened next, soft flat strands transforming into dark textured layers that framed his face perfectly — effortless in that unfair way some people just naturally looked good.

Then his eyes flashed.

Dark brown shifted subtly lighter, becoming rich amber-brown with gold flickering near the center whenever the light hit them.

Intense.

Focused.

Fearless.

His glasses slipped from his face and shattered against the floor.

He barely noticed.

Because he was staring at his reflection in the polished bronze shield beside the statue.

The skinny bullied kid was gone.

Now staring back at him was an Asian hunk who looked like he belonged at the center of attention instead of hiding from it.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Lean muscular body built like an athlete and a fighter at once. Sharp jawline. Thick dark hair. Intense eyes that actually held eye contact instead of avoiding it.

And the biggest change wasn’t physical.

It was the feeling.

The fear was gone.

Not hidden.

Gone.

A group of louder students rounded the corner into the exhibit — guys Kevin instantly recognized from school.

Usually his stomach would’ve dropped.

Instead, he just looked at them calmly.

One of them started laughing automatically— Then stopped.

Because Kevin looked bigger than all of them now.

Stronger too.

The room went quiet.

Kevin rolled his shoulders slowly, feeling controlled power settle naturally through his new frame.

Then, for the first time in his life—

He smiled without uncertainty.

And suddenly the bullies looked nervous instead of him.

Honestly, he expected dusty statues and overpriced coffee.

Instead, he found himself standing alone in front of Hephaestus.

The statue was different from the others. Less polished. More solid. Broad-chested and powerful, arms thick with muscle, hands scarred from work. A forge god. A builder.

Miles adjusted his glasses awkwardly.

“Yeah,” he muttered quietly. “Wish I looked like that.”

He looked exactly the opposite.

Thin shoulders curled inward. Weak posture. Soft hands. Narrow chest hidden beneath an oversized hoodie. The kind of guy who apologized before speaking.

Then he noticed the hammer.

Bronze. Worn smooth.

Without thinking, he touched it.

Heat exploded through him instantly.

Not fire.

Molten metal.

Miles gasped as a wave of unbearable warmth surged beneath his skin, glowing orange light racing across his body like cracks through steel fresh from the forge.

The museum floor shook softly beneath him.

“What the hell—”

His voice caught.

Deeper already.

The transformation hit hard.

His spine snapped upright as if his body physically rejected weakness. Shoulders broadened violently beneath his hoodie, seams straining as thick muscle spread across his upper frame. His chest expanded next, pecs pushing firmly against fabric while his torso widened into a powerful V-shape.

Miles grabbed the pedestal as heat surged through his arms.

Muscle packed onto them rapidly — dense, heavy, earned-looking strength. His forearms thickened first, veins surfacing beneath warming bronze-toned skin while his hands grew rougher and larger, fingers calloused like they’d spent years working with tools and fire.

Then his waist tightened.

His stomach flattened instantly, lean abs carving themselves beneath his hoodie as soft weakness burned away completely. Every inch of his body looked forged instead of grown — solid, masculine, deliberate.

Another pulse shot upward.

Miles staggered slightly as his legs thickened beneath him, jeans tightening around powerful thighs and calves. He grew taller too, not enormous, but enough that the world suddenly felt smaller around him.

Then his skin changed.

Pale nerdy softness darkened gradually into a rich golden-brown tan, warm and sunlit like he’d spent years working outdoors beneath blazing heat. The color settled naturally across his new muscular frame, highlighting every line and contour.

His face transformed next.

Soft features sharpened rapidly into rugged masculine structure. His jaw became stronger and wider, cheekbones lifting subtly beneath warm bronze skin while faint stubble darkened across his face.

His glasses slipped off completely.

He didn’t need them anymore.

Then his hair changed.

Light brown strands darkened into thick dark curls, almost black, styled naturally messy like he’d just walked out of a machine shop after twelve hours looking impossibly good anyway.

His eyes flashed gold for a split second—

Then settled into deep amber-brown, warm, confident, intense.

Miles stared at his reflection in a polished metal display nearby.

And froze.

The weak, nervous nerd was gone.

In his place stood a towering Latino hunk who looked like he could build a motorcycle with his bare hands before heading to the beach afterward.

Broad shoulders. Thick muscular arms. Strong hands. Warm brown skin glowing under the museum lights. Ruggedly handsome face framed by dark curls and confident eyes.

Even the way he stood had changed.

Grounded.

Steady.

Like nobody in the room could push him around ever again.

Visitors nearby openly stared now.

One guy whispered, “Holy shit…”

Miles slowly flexed his hand, watching heat shimmer faintly beneath his skin like embers trapped under metal.

For the first time in his life—

He didn’t feel fragile.

He was just killing time while his daughter and grandkids rushed through the museum gift shop. At seventy-one, he moved slower than everyone else now anyway. Slight stoop in his back. Thin gray hair. Soft belly pressing against his polo shirt.

Invisible.

That’s what aging felt like, mostly.

Then he saw the statue.

Poseidon stood at the center of the room, towering marble wrapped in sea-green light from the aquarium walls nearby. Unlike the stern perfection of the other Greek statues, this one looked alive somehow — relaxed, powerful, sun-warmed.

The body of a man who belonged to the ocean.

Walter stared longer than he meant to.

“Hell of a physique,” he muttered quietly.

He stepped closer.

And before thinking better of it, rested a hand against the marble trident.

Cold surged through him instantly.

Not freezing.

Ocean cold.

Deep-water pressure slammed into his body as blue-green light exploded beneath his skin. Walter gasped sharply, stumbling backward as the entire room echoed with the sound of crashing waves.

“What in God’s name—”

His voice cracked younger mid-sentence.

The transformation hit hard.

His spine straightened violently, years of stiffness unraveling in seconds. Walter felt vertebrae shift and align as his posture corrected fully, chest lifting high as his lungs filled deeper than they had in decades.

Then came the strength.

His shoulders broadened powerfully beneath his polo, seams tightening as dense muscle formed across his chest and back. His soft stomach flattened rapidly, skin tightening into firm definition while thick abdominal lines carved themselves visibly beneath the damp fabric.

Walter grabbed the railing beside him as his arms swelled with solid, functional muscle — not bodybuilder size, but the kind earned from hauling nets and swimming against tides. Veins surfaced lightly along his forearms as his hands grew larger, rougher, stronger.

Another pulse surged upward.

His legs thickened beneath him, knees strengthening as age disappeared from them completely. Lean muscle wrapped around his calves and thighs while his whole frame expanded taller, broader, heavier with effortless power.

His skin changed next.

Years of pale aging faded under spreading warmth, replaced by a rich bronze tan like he’d spent every day of his life under the sun. Weathered wrinkles smoothed away rapidly, leaving behind strong masculine features touched only by maturity instead of age.

Walter inhaled sharply as his face transformed.

The loose softness of old age vanished. His jaw hardened into clean rugged lines while his cheekbones sharpened subtly beneath sun-bronzed skin. His neck thickened, face restructuring into something handsome in a timeless, masculine way.

Then his hair.

Thin gray strands darkened instantly, color flooding back through them into thick chestnut-brown waves. It grew fuller with each second, falling naturally into wind-tossed curls like he’d just stepped off a sailboat.

He reached up instinctively—

And froze when he saw his hands.

Young hands.

Strong hands.

Another flash surged through his eyes.

The museum lights reflected suddenly off vivid ocean-blue irises, bright and clear as tropical water. Every trace of age-cloudiness disappeared completely, replaced with calm intensity that seemed almost unreal.

Walter stared breathlessly at his reflection in the glass aquarium wall nearby.

Gone was the tired old man who wandered into the exhibit.

Now he looked like the human embodiment of summer itself.

Tall. Broad. Deeply tanned. Thick brown hair curling naturally around a face that looked carved by salt air and sunlight. His body was powerful but relaxed, every movement smooth and confident like the ocean moving around rocks.

A beach hunk straight out of a travel advertisement.

Or a god.

Museum visitors were openly staring now.

One woman nearly dropped her phone.

Walter barely noticed.

Because for the first time in years—

His body didn’t ache.

He rolled his shoulders slowly, feeling strength move effortlessly beneath bronzed skin. Somewhere nearby, water in the aquarium began rippling unnaturally despite the still room.

Walter looked back toward the Poseidon statue.

It no longer looked ancient.

It looked familiar.

Then a slow grin spread across his face — easy, confident, sun-warmed.

Like he’d spent his entire life under blue skies beside the sea.

That was the kind of thing he did — small, impulsive decisions made by people who assumed nobody paid attention to them anyway. He stood there in the Greek exhibit, skinny arms folded awkwardly over his hoodie, glasses sliding down his nose as he stared up at the towering marble statue of Zeus.

Perfect body. Perfect face. Completely unreal.

Ethan sighed quietly.

“Yeah, okay,” he muttered. “Easy for you.”

A nearby plaque read:

DO NOT TOUCH THE EXHIBITS

He rolled his eyes and pressed two fingers against the marble foot.

Lightning detonated through him.

His entire body seized as blinding electricity surged under his skin, bright enough to illuminate his veins through his arms and neck. He gasped sharply, stumbling backward as every light in the exhibit flickered at once.

“What the—”

His voice dropped deeper mid-word.

The electricity spread instantly, racing through him like his body was being rewritten from the inside out.

His posture snapped upright first. Years of slouching disappeared in a second as his spine straightened fully, shoulders jerking back hard. He felt them broaden immediately, hoodie tightening across a chest that rapidly expanded beneath the fabric.

Muscle poured onto his frame.

Not bulky. Not natural.

Divine.

His arms thickened visibly as smooth, sculpted muscle formed beneath pale skin that was already beginning to darken. Warmth spread across his body like sunlight, turning his complexion from soft and washed-out into a rich golden tan that looked like it belonged on ancient statues and Mediterranean beaches.

He grabbed the nearby pedestal for balance as his stomach tightened violently, soft flatness hardening into deep, carved abs. Every line looked impossibly symmetrical, like his body had been designed instead of grown.

The floor creaked beneath him as he grew taller.

And taller.

His jeans suddenly felt too short as his legs lengthened, thighs and calves thickening with dense, powerful muscle that made him feel heavy in the best possible way — grounded, immovable.

Another surge hit his face.

He inhaled sharply.

His jaw sharpened dramatically, soft features restructuring into something heroic and striking. High cheekbones formed beneath tightening skin while his nose straightened subtly, balancing perfectly against a stronger brow and clean, masculine angles.

Then his eyes flashed.

Bright blue lightning sparked across his vision—

And when he blinked, the color had changed completely.

Gone were the dull brown eyes he’d spent his life hiding behind glasses.

Now they glowed an intense electric blue, vivid and clear like a summer sky lit by a storm.

His glasses slipped from his face entirely.

He didn’t need them anymore.

A final pulse ran through his hair.

Dark brown strands lightened instantly, color washing upward from the roots into rich golden blond. It thickened as it changed, soft messy hair transforming into sunlit curls that framed his face perfectly, like something painted onto the ceiling of a temple.

People nearby were openly staring now.

Ethan barely noticed.

He was too busy staring at his reflection in the polished marble floor.

The nervous, forgettable nerd was gone.

In his place stood a living Greek god.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Golden-skinned. Sculpted so perfectly he looked unreal. His blue eyes crackled faintly with static as arcs of electricity danced harmlessly across his forearms.

Even the way he stood had changed.

Relaxed.

Commanding.

Like the entire room belonged to him by default.

Thunder rumbled outside the museum.

Ethan slowly lifted a hand, watching tiny sparks jump between his fingers.

Then he smiled.

Confident. Effortless. Dangerous.

And somewhere above the city—

The storm answered him.

One of those online quizzes her friend sent her at 2 a.m.

“Build Your Ideal Man 🖤”

She rolled her eyes but clicked it anyway.

Height. Build. Style. Presence.

She answered without thinking too hard — just instincts.

Tall, but not absurd.

Broad shoulders. Defined, athletic.

Confident, but not loud.

Sharp jaw. Calm eyes.

The kind of guy who walks into a room and doesn’t need to prove anything.

She smirked at her own answers.

“Predictable,” she muttered.

The last question blinked:

“Would you recognize him if you became him?”

She paused.

“…weird.”

But she clicked YES anyway.

The screen flashed.

“Applying match.”

Her phone went dark.

“Okay, that’s—”

Her words cut off.

Something shifted.

Not around her.

Inside.

Her posture snapped upright first, shoulders pulling back like an invisible force had corrected them. Her spine lengthened slightly, chest lifting as her center of gravity adjusted.

“What—”

Her voice caught.

Lower.

She stood up too quickly, knocking her chair back as her body continued changing. Her frame stretched upward, not dramatically — but enough that the room felt subtly smaller. Her limbs adjusted with it, proportions recalculating into something longer, more balanced.

Her hands flexed.

Larger.

Stronger.

Her arms tightened next, muscle forming in clean lines under her skin — not bulky, just defined, like her body had been rebuilt with intention. Her shoulders broadened to match, pulling her stance wider, more grounded.

She stumbled toward the mirror.

And froze halfway there as her torso shifted.

Her chest flattened, reshaping as her frame solidified into something unmistakably masculine. Her waist pulled in slightly, forming a sharper V as her upper body filled out.

Her breathing slowed.

Deepened.

“Okay—okay—”

That voice again.

Not hers.

She reached the mirror.

And stopped completely.

The face staring back at her was… familiar.

But not hers.

Her jaw had sharpened into clean, defined lines. Her cheekbones sat higher, giving her face structure she’d only ever noticed in other people. Her skin looked clearer, tighter. Her eyes — still hers, somehow — but steadier now. Focused.

Her hair shifted as she watched, shortening slightly, settling into a style that looked effortless without trying.

She lifted a hand to her face.

The reflection did the same.

But it didn’t feel like imitation.

It felt like alignment.

Her body finished the transition with one last adjustment — her stance settling naturally, weight balanced, presence solidifying into something calm and certain.

Not forced.

Not exaggerated.

Just… right.

Her phone buzzed on the desk behind her.

She turned, movement smooth without thinking, and picked it up.

The screen lit up again:

“MATCH COMPLETE.”

“You are now your ideal.”

She stared at it, then slowly looked back at her reflection.

Tall. Broad. Composed. Effortless.

Every detail matched what she’d picked — not in a checklist way, but in a way that felt intentional.

She tested her voice again.

“…huh.”

Still deeper. Still steady.

She didn’t panic.

Didn’t even feel the need to.

Instead, she watched herself for a long moment, taking in the posture, the expression, the way her body naturally held space now.

Then, almost unconsciously, a small smirk formed.

“Guess I’d recognize him,” she said.

And this time—

I would’ve stayed home. Less sun, less people, less everything. But he’d been in a mood all week, so I gave in.

He was already halfway to the water before I even dropped my bag. Shorter than me, a little soft around the middle, shirt clinging in that way he always tried to ignore. He waved me over anyway, smiling like none of that mattered.

“Come on, Jun,” he called. “Water’s perfect.”

I sighed and followed.

The water was warm.

We waded in side by side — me tall and lanky, all elbows and awkward lines, him solid but soft, breathing a little heavier as the water hit his chest.

He laughed when a wave splashed up at us, grabbing my arm.

“Okay, yeah, this is nice,” he admitted.

I nodded.

Then something shifted.

At first, I thought it was just the current pulling differently — but my posture snapped straight, like something had corrected it without asking. My shoulders pulled back, chest lifting, and I felt tension spread across my frame.

Mateo went quiet next to me.

“You feel that?” he said.

“Yeah…”

Another wave rolled through.

His grip on my arm tightened.

I looked over—and did a double take.

He was… changing.

Not all at once, but fast enough that I couldn’t ignore it. His shoulders broadened first, pushing outward under the water, stretching his frame wider. His chest lifted, soft edges tightening into something firm, defined. His stomach pulled in, the softness compressing, reshaping into solid structure.

“Uh—Jun?” he said, voice catching slightly.

His voice sounded deeper already.

I stared as his arms thickened, not just bigger — denser, muscle settling in like it belonged there. Dark hair spread across his forearms, then higher, across his chest as it rose above the waterline.

“Okay, what the hell—” he started, but stopped as another shift hit him.

His stance widened as his legs lengthened, body rising slightly higher out of the water.

“Taller?” he muttered.

Definitely taller.

His whole frame was stretching upward, proportions adjusting as everything scaled with it — broad shoulders, thick chest, powerful legs anchoring him in place.

He ran a hand through his hair, breathing heavier now, but not from strain.

From the change.

“Jun, you’re—” he started again, eyes locking onto me.

I turned toward the water’s reflection.

And froze.

I wasn’t the same either.

My narrow frame had filled out — not bulky, but built. My shoulders had broadened to match my height, arms thickening with clean, defined muscle. My chest sat higher, fuller, balanced with a torso that finally looked proportional.

My stomach tightened, abs forming in sharp lines beneath the surface. My posture felt natural now — not forced, not stiff, just… correct.

I flexed my hand slightly.

Even that felt different.

Controlled.

Strong.

I looked back at him.

And paused.

Mateo looked completely different.

Tall now — nearly my height, maybe more. Broad, muscular, thick in a way that made him look solid and grounded. His chest was full and defined, dusted with dark hair that continued down his torso. His arms hung heavy at his sides, relaxed but powerful.

His face had shifted too — jaw stronger, features sharper, but still unmistakably him.

Just… more.

He blinked, looking me up and down slowly.

“Dude,” he said, voice deeper now, steadier. “You got… big.”

I let out a breath, still trying to process.

“So did you.”

Another wave hit.

Everything locked in.

No more shifting. No more adjusting.

Just… finished.

We stood there in the water, both of us different, both of us right in a way that didn’t feel random.

Mateo looked at me again, this time with a small, almost disbelieving grin.

“Not gonna lie,” he said, glancing over my shoulders, my chest, then back up. “This is… kinda exactly my type.”

I raised an eyebrow, feeling a strange calm settle into me.

“Yeah?” I said.

He nodded once, like it had just clicked for him.

I looked at him again too — really looked this time.

The height. The build. The presence.

“…same,” I admitted.

We both laughed under our breath, the tension breaking just a little.

Around us, nothing had changed. People swam, talked, moved like normal.

But standing there, waist-deep in the water, it felt like something had quietly rewritten both of us.

Not into different people.

Just into something more deliberate.

Mateo stretched his shoulders slightly, testing the weight of them, then smirked.

“Guess we picked the right beach,” he said.

I nodded, glancing at our reflections in the water one more time.

“Yeah,” I said.

FORM//EDIT (Beta)

“Design your optimal self. Apply changes in real time.”

At first it looked like a fitness gimmick. Clean UI. Minimal design. Sliders. Stats.

Height. Weight. Body fat percentage. Muscle mass. Posture. Even “presence intensity,” whatever that meant.

He hesitated, then laughed under his breath.

“Sure,” he muttered. “Why not.”

He started simple.

Height: 5’9 → 6’1

A warning blinked.

“Structural recalibration required.”

He clicked confirm anyway.

The change didn’t wait for permission.

His feet suddenly felt heavier on the floor. Not painful — repositioned. His knees unlocked slightly, joints stretching with a slow, internal shift like his skeleton was being re-measured from the inside out. His spine followed, elongating in controlled increments that made him grab the edge of his desk.

The room felt lower.

He looked up.

His perspective had changed.

“…no way.”

The next slider caught his attention.

Body fat: 18% → 10%

He hesitated longer this time. Then dragged it down.

APPLY.

Warmth spread through him instantly, like his body had switched to a different operating mode. Softness tightened. Not disappearing violently — refining. His stomach pulled inward as if his core had been re-centered. His face subtly sharpened in the reflection of his dark monitor screen, cheekbones becoming more defined as the system recalculated proportions.

He stood up without thinking.

His clothes shifted on him already — shirt hanging differently, sleeves sitting higher on forearms that now had visible structure under the skin.

He swallowed.

His voice sounded… deeper when he exhaled.

The app was still open.

Now it showed advanced controls.

Muscle density. Shoulder width. Frame optimization.

He didn’t even sit down this time.

Shoulder width: +12%

The change hit instantly — a pressure across his upper back as his frame broadened, collarbones spreading slightly, posture forced into a more dominant alignment. He instinctively straightened, like his body was learning a new default position.

Muscle density: +20%

That one made him stagger.

Not because it hurt — because it replaced the feeling of being ordinary. His arms filled out next, not ballooning, but tightening with compact strength. His grip clenched involuntarily, fingers flexing like they finally had purpose. Even standing still felt different now — grounded, stable, heavier in a controlled way.

He looked at the mirror across the room.

And paused completely.

He wasn’t “becoming” someone else.

He was being rendered into someone else.

Sharper face. Broader frame. Lean, defined build that looked like it had been designed instead of grown. Everything proportional, intentional, balanced in a way that made his old reflection feel like a rough draft.

The app chimed again:

“TARGET PHYSIQUE: STABLE.”

One final slider glowed at the bottom.

Presence (confidence projection)

Default: 50%

He stared at it for a long moment.

Then pushed it to 90%.

The effect wasn’t physical at first.

It was perception.

His breathing slowed. His posture locked into place naturally. The hesitation he always carried — gone. Like it had been filtered out. When he looked at himself again, he didn’t just see a changed body.

He saw certainty.

He picked up his phone.

The app had one final message:

“YOU ARE NOW OPTIMIZED.”

He set it down slowly.

That’s the part I kept telling myself mattered.

The girl at the wellness shop said it was “meant for transformation — confidence, presence, embodiment.” I laughed it off at the time, but I still paid for it. Still brought it home. Still stared at it on the bathroom counter like it meant something.

I dropped it into the tub anyway.

It hit the water with a hiss and immediately turned deep, shimmering blue — too bright for something that was supposed to be normal.

I stepped in.

And my body didn’t adjust.

It upgraded.

The first thing I felt was my spine locking straight, like gravity suddenly remembered I wasn’t supposed to slouch. My shoulders pulled back hard — not painfully, just decisively — widening as muscle tightened under my skin. My chest followed, expanding with a slow but unstoppable pressure until I had to inhale sharply just to keep up with it.

Then it accelerated.

My arms changed in real time as I stared at them — soft definition sharpening into clean, visible structure. Biceps forming like they’d been waiting under the surface, forearms tightening, veins faintly rising as if my body had suddenly become efficient instead of passive.

My stomach hit next.

Not discomfort — correction.

Softness pulled inward, tightening into firm, defined lines that made me instinctively tense just from seeing them. My breathing changed with it, deeper, steadier, like my lungs had more room now that I was built differently.

I grabbed the edge of the tub.

My hands looked stronger than they should’ve. Not just bigger — capable. Like they belonged to someone who used them, who mattered with them.

My legs followed, heaviness settling into them as muscle density increased, grounding me in a way I wasn’t used to. Even sitting in water, I felt taller. Heavier. Realer.

Then my face changed.

I saw it happen in the mirror through the steam — jaw tightening, sharpening into clean angles. Cheekbones lifting. Skin smoothing, clearing, like fatigue and hesitation were being erased layer by layer. My eyes shifted too — not color, not shape, but focus. Like I was finally looking outward instead of inward.

My hair fell differently when I ran a hand through it. More natural. More intentional, like it knew what it was supposed to do now.

By the time the glow faded, the water was just water again.

But I wasn’t the same guy who got in.

I stepped out slowly.

The bathroom felt smaller. My movements felt heavier in a controlled way, like I was aware of every inch of space I occupied. My reflection confirmed it — not a fantasy body, not something unreal.

Just… the most complete version of me I had ever seen.

Strong. Sharp. Put together. Impossible to ignore.

My phone buzzed on the counter.

A message from her: “Did it work?”

I looked at myself again, flexing my hand slightly as if testing whether this was permanent.

Then I typed back:

“Yeah.”

And I didn’t need to add anything else.

Didn’t really see the point. I wasn’t exactly “beach body” material — soft in all the wrong places, pale, shoulders slouched like I was apologizing for existing. But my friends insisted, so there I was, standing in a cramped changing room, staring at myself in harsh fluorescent lighting.

Board shorts on. Shirt off.

Big mistake.

I looked… average. Worse than average. Nothing stood out. No definition, no presence. Just a body that blended into the background. I exhaled, already reaching for my shirt again.

Then the air shifted.

Warm.

Not like the room — like sunlight, but stronger, wrapping around me. I froze as it sank into my skin.

My posture snapped upright first, shoulders pulling back, chest lifting like something inside me refused to slouch anymore. My frame expanded — not huge, just right. My chest broadened, pecs forming smoothly, naturally, like they’d always been there beneath the surface.

My stomach tightened next, soft giving way to firm, defined abs, each line clean and visible without being overdone. My waist pulled in just enough to sharpen everything above it.

“Whoa—”

My voice came out deeper, steadier.

I looked down as my arms changed — lean muscle wrapping around them, biceps shaping, forearms thickening just enough to look strong without trying. My hands flexed, veins faintly visible under sun-warmed skin.

Then my legs — my thighs filled out, powerful, built for movement, calves tightening into clean definition. I felt taller, grounded, balanced in a way I never had before.

The warmth spread across my skin, leaving behind a golden tone — not artificial, just perfectly sun-kissed, like I spent every day out here.

I turned to the mirror.

And stopped.

My face had changed.

My jawline was sharper, cleaner, giving my whole face structure. My cheekbones stood out just enough to catch the light. My skin looked clear, healthy, glowing in a way that didn’t need effort.

My hair… lighter, tousled naturally like the ocean breeze had already hit it, falling perfectly without trying.

And my eyes — brighter. Relaxed. Confident. Like I had nothing to prove.

I smiled slightly without thinking.

It looked… easy. Natural. The kind of smile people trust.

I stepped back, taking it all in.

Not over-the-top. Not exaggerated.

Just… ideal.

Like the version of me that belonged on a beach like this.

I pushed open the door and stepped outside.

Sunlight hit me — and it felt right.

People noticed. Not in a loud way — just subtle shifts. Conversations pausing for a second, glances lingering a little longer than they should.

As I walked across the sand, it felt different under my feet — familiar, like I’d done this a thousand times. My stride was steady, confident, effortless.

Near the water, a group was struggling, calling out, trying to drag something heavy through the waves. Without thinking, I moved.

My body responded instantly — cutting through the sand, into the water, strength kicking in naturally. No hesitation. No doubt. Just action.

By the time it was over, people were thanking me, voices overlapping.

“You’re a lifeguard, right?” someone asked.

I paused.

The answer came easy.

“Yeah.”

Because it felt true.

I glanced toward one of the beach towers — empty, waiting.

Then I caught my reflection in the window of a nearby stand.

Golden skin. Strong frame. Calm, confident expression.

Like I’d always been the guy people relied on.

I adjusted my stance slightly, scanning the water without thinking.

And just like that…

I wasn’t visiting the beach anymore.

I caught my reflection in a dark window — same old me. Slim in the wrong way, shoulders narrow, posture slightly hunched like I didn’t want to take up space. Hair flat, face forgettable.

Yeah. Not my scene.

I slipped into the bathroom to get a breather.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, mirror streaked and cracked along the edges. I leaned on the sink, staring at myself, already planning how early I could leave.

Then the lights flickered.

Just once.

And everything hit at the same time.

My shoulders snapped back, widening instantly, stretching my shirt tight across a chest that wasn’t there a second ago. Lean muscle wrapped around my frame, not bulky — sharp, defined, like it had been carved in. My arms thickened, veins surfacing faintly as they settled into something strong, controlled.

I gripped the sink as my waist pulled in, torso tightening into clean lines, abs locking into place under my shirt. My stance shifted without me thinking — feet planted wider, grounded, like I couldn’t slouch even if I tried.

“…what the hell—”

My voice cut off. Lower. Rougher.

Then my skin burned — not painful, just… alive. I looked down as ink started spreading across my forearms. Black lines, intricate, deliberate, wrapping around muscle like they’d always belonged there. The designs climbed higher, disappearing under my sleeves, hinting at more beneath.

I yanked one sleeve up.

More ink. Clean. Expensive-looking. Perfectly placed.

My breath slowed as I looked back at the mirror.

My face was changing.

My jaw sharpened, edges cleaner, stronger. Cheekbones lifted slightly, giving my face structure — not soft anymore, not forgettable. My skin looked clearer, tighter, like every flaw had been erased.

A faint shadow darkened along my jaw — not messy, just enough stubble to make it look intentional. My lips pulled into a slight, natural smirk without me trying.

I ran a hand through my hair.

It fell back effortlessly — textured, styled in that messy way that somehow looked better than anything I’d ever tried to do on purpose.

Then my eyes.

They didn’t just look different — they felt different. Sharper. Heavier. Like I was actually looking at people instead of avoiding them.

I stood there for a second, just… taking it in.

I didn’t look like a different guy.

I looked like the version of me that didn’t care what anyone thought.

The kind of guy people notice — and don’t mess with.

Someone walked into the bathroom, glanced at me, then immediately looked away. Not awkward — cautious. Respectful.

I straightened slightly, rolling my shoulders. The movement felt natural. Controlled.

Yeah. That felt right.

I pushed the door open and stepped back into the club.

And it was instant.

People moved without realizing it, making space as I walked through. Conversations dipped for half a second, eyes flicking toward me before snapping away. Not staring — just aware.

I caught my reflection again in a glass panel near the bar.

Broad shoulders. Lean muscle. Ink tracing down my arms. Sharp jaw. Relaxed, confident expression like I’d been this guy my whole life.

A girl nearby glanced at me, then did a double take, nudging her friend.

I didn’t react. Didn’t need to.

I just leaned against the bar, resting one arm casually, watching the room like it belonged to me.

And for the first time in my life…

The tailor barely looked up.

“Too big,” he said.

Yeah. Story of my life.

He stepped in close, tape brushing my shoulders — and everything changed.

My spine straightened first, like something inside me refused to slouch anymore. My shoulders pushed back and widened, stretching the suit outward. Not bulky — just perfectly built. My chest filled next, smooth, defined muscle pressing against the shirt, giving it shape it never had before.

I sucked in a breath, but my stomach was already flat. No — more than flat. Tight. Defined. My waist pulled in just enough to exaggerate the V of my torso, every line clean, deliberate.

“Hold still,” the tailor said, like this was routine.

My arms thickened subtly, sleeves tightening as lean muscle formed — not oversized, just sharp, athletic, the kind that looks effortless but impossible to ignore. My hands looked better too — veins faintly visible, fingers longer, steadier.

Then my face shifted.

I felt it before I saw it — a tightening along my jaw, the structure sharpening into something clean and strong. My cheekbones lifted slightly, giving my face angles it never had. My skin smoothed out, clearer, healthier, like I actually took care of myself.

I blinked, and even my eyes looked different — brighter, more focused, framed by thicker brows that gave me a naturally intense look without trying.

My hair… I ran a hand through it without thinking. It fell back perfectly, styled but not overdone, like I’d just walked out of somewhere expensive.

I turned to the mirror.

And damn.

I didn’t just look better — I looked striking. The kind of guy people notice the second he walks into a room. Tall, balanced, every feature working together. Nothing awkward, nothing out of place. Effortless. Expensive. Like I belonged in tailored suits and didn’t even have to think about it.

The final shift hit quietly.

A small smirk tugged at my lips — natural, controlled. Not forced confidence. Real confidence. The kind that comes from knowing exactly what you look like and exactly what people see.

“Walk,” the tailor said.

I did, catching my reflection again as I moved. The suit fit like a second skin, emphasizing everything — broad shoulders, narrow waist, long, steady stride.

I checked my watch — sleek, high-end — and adjusted my cufflinks like it was second nature.

“Perfect,” I said, voice low, smooth, certain.

The tailor nodded once. “Obviously.”

I stepped outside, and the difference was immediate. People glanced. Then looked again. Not staring — just… drawn.

I passed a window and caught my reflection one more time.

Sharp jaw. Clear eyes. Perfect posture.

Yeah.

This wasn’t just an upgrade.

The first time I sat in there, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The heat wrapped around me, heavy, almost alive. My roommate just leaned back on the bench, muscles shining with sweat, completely relaxed.

“Stay in longer,” he told me. “You’ll get used to it.”

So I did.

After a few minutes, my skin started tingling. Not burning — tightening. My stomach pulled inward, fat melting away like it was being cooked off. My chest twitched, pecs swelling against my shirt until I had to take it off just to breathe. My arms rested on my knees, but they didn’t look like my arms anymore. Thicker. Harder. Veins showing through the heat.

I stood up too fast, dizzy, and the ceiling felt lower. Or maybe I was taller. My legs looked longer, thighs pressing together with solid muscle I’d never had before. Sweat ran down my abs, real abs, deep lines cutting across my stomach like I’d been training for years.

My roommate opened one eye and looked me up and down slowly.

He didn’t even look surprised.

“Told you,” he said, voice low. “Sauna fixes people.”

I sat back down next to him, the bench creaking under my weight now. My voice came out deeper when I asked,

“Why didn’t you tell me this would happen?”

He smirked, eyes sliding across my chest, my arms, my thighs.

“Would you have come if I did?”

I didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because the longer I sat there, the more the heat pushed into me, packing on size, confidence, something heavier than muscle.

And the way he kept looking at me…

Made me feel like the sauna wasn’t the only thing changing me.

First punch felt weird. Not painful, just… heavy. Like my arm weighed more than it should. Second punch, my shoulders tightened, muscles pulling under my shirt. By the third, my stance felt wider, stronger, like my legs didn’t want to stand close together anymore. I looked down and my forearms were thicker, veins running across them like ropes.

I kept hitting the bag, faster now, harder. My shirt started clinging to my chest as it pushed outward, pecs filling the fabric until the seams creaked. My stomach tightened, abs pressing through like I’d been training for years. Every breath came out deeper, rougher, my voice slipping when I muttered “shit” under my breath, dropping into this low growl that didn’t sound like me at all.

One of the big guys in the gym stopped his workout and stared. He smirked, like he knew exactly what was happening.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Gym picks who it wants.”

By the time I stopped, my gloves barely fit. My hands were bigger, wrists thicker, arms heavy with muscle. I caught my reflection in the mirror and just laughed. I wasn’t the skinny newbie anymore. I looked like I’d been fighting my whole life.

When I walked past the guy who smirked earlier, he gave my chest a quick glance, then my arms, then back to my face.

“Stick around,” he said quietly.

I felt my stomach flip, but not from nerves this time.

From excitement.

And for the first time in my life, I wanted someone to see how strong I’d become.