The rhythmic, mechanical clack-clack of the train tracks was the first thing that brought me back to consciousness.

I blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights of the train car, my head throbbing with a dull ache. The last thing I remembered was my cramped modern apartment, a half-eaten convenience store bento, and my laptop screen glowing with a retro anime forum thread analyzing the psychological collapse of School Days. I had fallen asleep to the sound of rain against my window.

But this wasn't my room. And this definitely wasn't my body.

I looked down. I was wearing a dark, crisp blazer and a pleated skirt. My hands were small, pale, and completely uncalloused. Panic spiking, I lunged toward the dark train window, using the glass as a makeshift mirror.

I gasped. Staring back at me wasn't the generic, floppy-haired face of Makoto Itou. It was my face from my previous life—the same striking eyes, the same sharp jawline, and the same long, dark hair. I was undeniably pretty, arguably more so now that the strange magic of this world had smoothed out my dark circles and imperfections.

But as I looked at the reflection of the student ID card pinned to my blazer, the blood drained completely from my face.

Name: Makoto Itou School: Radical Academy

"No," I whispered, my voice coming out soft, smooth, and distinctly female. "No, no, no. Of all the statistical anomalies, of all the trashy light novel tropes..."

I had transmigrated. I was a girl. But worse than that—I was Makoto Itou. The universal symbol of indecision, infidelity, and a gruesome death by a kitchen knife.

My eyes darted around the train car, tracking the timeline. The morning commute. The start of the semester. If the cosmic rules of this universe were actively trying to ruin my life, then that meant... I looked across the aisle.

Sitting a few feet away was a tall, strikingly handsome boy with a painfully fragile posture. He wore the male version of the Radical Academy uniform. He had soft, elegant features, dark hair that fell neatly around his face, and a thick book held tightly in his trembling, pale hands.

Kouta Katsura. The gender-swapped Kotonoha. Right on cue, he peeked up from his book. His dark eyes locked onto mine. The moment our gazes met, a massive crimson flush crept up his neck, and he quickly looked down, his knuckles turning white against the book's cover. He looked pathetic, beautiful, and deeply, inherently unstable.

The lore, my brain screamed. The original story starts because Makoto takes a secret photo of Kotonoha on the train to use as a romance-charm wallpaper!

Slowly, deliberately, I reached into my pocket. My hand brushed against a sleek smartphone. I pulled it out. If I took his picture, I was locking myself into a narrative that ended with my head in a gym bag. I stared at the phone screen. Then, I opened the settings, scrolled down to the background options, and set my wallpaper to a generic, pre-installed solid blue background.