"Wait, you actually watched Slime Despair for the story?" I asked. My voice was a melodic tone that made my own ears ring in joy at hearing it.

  Yuna snorted, leading me toward her bedroom. "Please, girl. I'm a Sinsa - a true Scholar of the Arts. I didn't watch it for the story; I watched it for the ... deep world building." She pointed a manicured finger at the groin of the girl on my shirt, the tentacle just barely covering her privates, hinting at the ravaging that was about to happen. "That right there? That's some deep lore, if you know what I mean. I'm a woman of culture."

  She winked, waggling her eyebrows, and I felt a fresh wave of heat climb my neck. I was a veteran of a thousand forum wars, hundreds of 'NSFW' channels on Discord servers, but being teased by a cute girl while I was trapped in a woman's body wearing a vintage tentacle-rape t-shirt was a level of humiliation my 32-year old otaku brain wasn't prepared for.

  "Anyway," Yuna said, throwing open a walk-in closet. "We can't have you going to the HeroHub registry wearing that. Let's see what the stash has to offer."

  She started tossing things on to the bed - high-gloss latex, lacy frills, and neon fabrics. "Too small ... too much glitter ... oh, this might work! No, wait, the bust-to-waist ratio on this bodysuit is all wrong. You'd snap the zipper in three seconds."

  She looked at me, her eyes scanning my frame with clinical appreciation. "Ugh, the struggle is real. Everything I have is for my chest - which I used to be proud of. Not your monster tits. There's only one thing I have that's made of a knit stretchy enough to hold those cannons in place."

  Yuna pulled a bundle of charcoal-gray wool from a bottom dresser and held it out to me. As I took it from her hands, I recognized it immediately from doujin, anime, and cosplayers I'd followed online. It was the Virgin-Killer.

  "No," I whispered, backing away. "Absolutely not. I'm not wearing the meme sweater."

  "It's a practical solution!," Yuna insisted. "But wait - we have a bigger problem. You can't wear the t-shirt under it, and you probably don't want to go commando."

  I shook my head furiously. I wasn't comfortable wearing the sweater, but I definitely wasn't going to go without underwear. Yuna turned back to her dresser, opening a small lace-lined drawer and pulling out two options. I could feel my soul leaving my body as she held them for my appraisal. One was a string so thin it looked like a dental floss accident; the other was a set of black lace panties there were ... missing the most vital patch of fabric in the center.

  "Sorry, I only have my 'special' sets clean right now," Yuna said, rubbing the back of her neck with a sheepish grin. "I was going to do laundry, but ... I was too lazy. I guess you can wear the g-string, crotchless, or commando. I'll wear whichever you don't. And trust me - even on my body, commando in that sweater is a very dangerous game."

  I stared at the black lace, my face burning. I was a 32-year old man. I had spent the last two decades of my life staring at panties like this on my computer and phone screens, lusting to touch them. And now ... I was being offered them - in order to put them on. I could already feel heat building between my legs, a horrifying excitement in my gut that I didn't want to acknowledge.

  "I'll ... I'll take the lace," I squeaked, grabbing them out of Yuna's hand and sprinting for the bathroom.

  The struggle was a new kind of hell. Putting on the 'open air' lace felt like a betrayal of every masculine instinct I had left. Then came the sweater. The wool was soft, feeling great on my skin, but because there was no back and no sides, I felt more naked than if I was wearing nothing at all. Every time I moved, the fabric shifted, offering a clear view of the side-boob I'd spent my life worshiping.

  I shuffled back into the living room, hands instinctively trying to pull the hem of the sweater dress down. It didn't help. Each time I moved, the sweater dress shifted, revealing more of my boobs, almost popping out my nipples. When I tugged it down, hoping it would conceal my crotch, instead it revealed the top of my ass.

  Yuna was quiet. She just stared, her face turning a matching shade of pink. "Okay," she whispered quietly. "Holy shit. You look like a goddess in that. I wish I looked half as good."

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  I didn't know what to say, shifting awkwardly on my feet as I blushed. I couldn't take credit for my outlandish appearance, I didn't even want it. And yet I couldn't deny that this body looked amazing. So I changed the subject.

  "Can you tell me more about my powers? Why do you think I'm a Super?" Yuna nodded, sitting on the couch and patting the seat next to her. I sat, carefully holding the dress as I did.

  "Well, some people are born with powers - not everyone, but enough to change the world. It started a little bit after the end of the Second World War when Russia nuked Japan into a chain of radioactive craters. Some people theorized it was due to the nuclear energy, but ... whatever. That's probably too boring. Anyway, that was when the first Goemul emerged as well - coming from the oceans and attacking everyone. And the first Supers came to defend the countries."

  My mouth dropped open in surprise, wanting to correct her horribly mistaken understanding of history, but ... maybe this world was different?

  "The Star-Spangled Vixen fought in Patriot City harbor, giving her life to protect the UDNA against countless waves of Gosu. Meanwhile, the Iron Crusader kept Russia free of them, losing his left arm in the process. And Gumiho protected Korea - helping us to become the shining beacon that led the world into the future."

  "After those three, countless additional Supers have emerged over the years. Thunder Dragon was the first to create the Rank system that we've used for the last eighty years, classifying heroes from Rank F to Rank SSS. The Neon Reaper created HeroHub about twenty years ago, helping bring order to the system. Ever since then, it's been easy for those of us without powers to spectate."

  She pulled out her phone, a slick Samsung model I wasn't familiar with, and opened an app. I watched with wide eyes as she flicked through menus, pulling up the "Tier List" of Supers, seeing some she had starred as favorites. She clicked into one called Glitch Girl, showing me a variety of both professional modeling photos as well as candid fan-supplied action photos. There was an entire forum here, threads of fan-fiction, sightings, discussions about her outfit, dating choices, and so on.

  "Wow," I muttered, leaning back. This was a lot to take in. And ... now I was one of them, apparently?

  "Anyway," she continued, "we'll take you to the local HeroHub office tomorrow, getting you registered. They'll perform some tests, see what your power score is. Everyone is born with a certain power level if they're a Super - and that's their Rank. Then you'll have a page with your details. I can help admin it for you, if you want?"

  I shrugged, having no idea what that involved. "Sure. It's not like I have a phone of my own."

  Yuna gasped, as if she'd forgotten that. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't even think of that. I've probably got an old one you can borrow, at least for now." She let slip a yawn, trying to stifle it but failing. "But maybe that can wait until tomorrow? It's late, I'm exhausted, and you look like you're about to faint. Let's call it a night, if that's okay?"

  "Where ... uhm ... where should I sleep?" I eyed the couch with a dubious eye. It wasn't the cleanest - or the most comfortable - but I suppose it would do.

  "Don't be silly. The couch is for guests I don't like. You're an amnesiac mystery girl. You're sharing the bed with me," Yuna said, heading for the bedroom. "There's nothing weird about two girls sleeping together. It's just a standard sleepover!"

  I followed her, my heart hammering against the wool of the sweater. It might be a standard sleepover to her, but to me ... a 32-year old virgin otaku who'd never seen a naked woman in real life ... this was uncharted territory. As soon as we crossed the threshold into her bedroom, Yuna reached for the hem of her cropped hoodie. "You can put the tentacle shirt back on if you want to be modest, but just as a heads up, I sleep nude. Fabric makes me itchy."

  Before I could even process the sentence, the hoodie was off. Then the skirt. And there wasn't anything else left on her body.

  I stood there, frozen, my violet eyes wide. Yuna Kim was beautiful. In a completely natural, un-waifu way. And she was completely casually naked, turning to glance at me and climbing under the covers like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  "Coming, Kurumi?," she asked, patting the spot next to her.

  I scrambled to put the Slime Despair shirt back on, my hands shaking so hard I almost caught my hair in the collar. I climbed into the bed, sticking to the very edge, my back to her. Maybe it wouldn't be so awkward if I didn't look at her. My skin felt like it was on fire. I could hear her breathing, feel the warmth of her body.

  As a man, this was a dream. As Kurumi ... it was a terrifying, exhilarating sensory overload that I didn't know how to process.

  "Goodnight, mystery girl," Yuna mumbled, already drifting off to sleep.

  "Goodnight, Yuna," I whispered to the dark room.

  I lay there for hours, staring at the teal glow of the LED strips faintly reflecting off the window. I was in a different world. I had to be, it was the only thing that made sense. I'd somehow electrocuted myself, getting isekai'd into a new world. Into a new body. And I was sharing a bed with a beautiful girl who thought I was just like her.

  Will I ever get home?, I wondered, my fingers clutching at the hem of the hentai shirt. And if I can ... do I even want to? Or should I give in to the fantasy and explore this world?

  [author]

  I have a Discord! Want to come talk about the story?

  [/author]