Kessoku Band's Gender-Swap Curse: Bocchi's Place to Belong - White smoke and an unfamiliar face

The evening air in STARRY's dressing room was muggy, thick with the damp that seeped up from underground and the lingering heat of the equipment. Posters of past performing bands hung on the wall, floating dimly in the low light. In the corner of the six-mat room, curled up on a round stool in front of the mirror, Gotou Hitori sat hugging their knees. On the phone screen: Guitar Hero. Subscribers past a hundred thousand. The version of themself in the videos, face hidden behind a black mask and long bangs. The comments scrolled by — "godlike," "I cried," "this is genius." (This is me, and yet—) Hitori stroked the screen gently. The self in the videos stood tall, confident in the sound, certain of being acknowledged. The real self had taken fifteen minutes to open this dressing room door. Raised a hand to knock three times, lowered it three times. In the end, Nijika had noticed and opened it for them. " Bocchi-chan, all done cleaning up?" The voice came from beyond the door. Bright, bouncing — the kind of voice that lifts your spirits just to hear it. Hitori's shoulders jerked, and they nearly dropped the phone. "...Ah, yes, um, just, a moment—" Their voice cracked. Something caught in the back of their throat. They almost met their own eyes in the dressing room mirror and hurriedly fled behind their bangs. Messy black short hair. Beneath the long fringe, deep brown eyes that were always swimming. Pink jersey top and bottom over a black T-shirt. With a guitar on their back, their shoulders curved inward without thinking. (Why can't I even answer a single question?) Hitori squeezed the fingertips of their left hand — hardened by guitar strings — with their right. The door opened. A girl appeared, tossing long hair a bright brown close to blonde. The polka-dot ribbon caught the eye instantly in the dim dressing room. Her big brown eyes always sparkled. Ijichi Nijika. Kessoku Band's drummer, its leader, and the one who had dragged Hitori to this place. " Good work today, as always. It's gotten cooler outside." As she spoke, Nijika swung the door wide to air out the room. Cool hallway air flowed in. Hitori's bangs fluttered. " Oh, Ryou and Ikuyo are waiting outside too. Let's walk to the station together." "...Okay." Hitori shoved the phone into a jersey pocket and hoisted the guitar case onto their back like something to cling to. Holding the guitar, strangely, straightened their spine a little. Just a little. Pushing open STARRY's heavy soundproof door, the evening air of Shimokitazawa touched their skin. The shopping street by the station was gently crowded with people heading home from work and shoppers. Colorful clothes lined the fronts of vintage shops. The smell of coffee drifting from a café. Somewhere far off, someone playing guitar on the street. Shimokitazawa was a town packed tight with vintage clothing, live houses, and tiny theaters. In the alleys radiating out from the station, young people expressed themselves however they pleased. Every time Hitori came here, the same thought surfaced. Is it really okay for an inkya like me to be in a place like this? " Hitori-chan, good work!" A bright voice flew at them. Turning, Hitori saw a girl with loosely curled reddish-brown long hair waving. Big, round, bright brown eyes. The kind of social youkya who could befriend anyone instantly — Kita Ikuyo. Kessoku Band's guitarist and vocalist. " Good work." Beside her, a girl with black short hair and bedhead raised a hand slightly. Her narrow, sharp black eyes, as always, gave away nothing. Yamada Ryou. On bass. Nijika's best friend, and a laid-back weirdo. " Hey, hey, listen!" Ikuyo stepped forward. "Do you know Biwajima Shrine? It's about a fifteen-minute walk from the station." "Biwajima Shrine?" Nijika tilted her head. The polka-dot ribbon swayed. " Yeah! There's a tiny hokora in the shrine grounds, apparently. If you write a wish and put in an offering, it's supposed to come true!" "Sounds sketchy." Nijika's jab came flying. " Aww, but it sounds fun, doesn't it? Let's all go. We can pray for the next live to go well, too." " If writing a wish makes it come true, maybe my being broke will sort itself out too." Ryou muttered. " Your being broke isn't a wish problem. It's a spending problem." Nijika fired back without missing a beat. Ryou looked away as if nothing had happened. "...Um, so, the shrine — we're going?" Hitori ventured timidly. Honestly, walking through crowds was hard. But with everyone together, it felt like maybe, just a little, it would be okay. " Let's go, let's go! Hitori-chan's into it too!" Ikuyo grabbed Hitori's arm. A warm palm. Hitori felt their heart jump and looked down. Northwest from Shimokitazawa Station. Past the shopping street, the road grew steadily quieter. Turning down narrow residential lanes, climbing a gentle slope toward a low hill. Streetlights thinned out, and the color of the sky deepened in their place. Biwajima Shrine's approach was a stone path about three meters wide. On both sides, keyaki trees over eighty years old spread their branches. The evening sun cast long, thin shadows through the leaves. " It's, like, quieter than I expected." Ikuyo lowered her voice. " Apparently almost no one comes here normally. Only around the annual festival." Nijika lowered hers too, caught up in it. Stepping onto the grounds, only the rustle of keyaki leaves and distant birdsong could be heard. Grass pushed up through the gaps in the stone paving. There, three stone steps up and to the back right of the main hall, stood the hokora. A small wooden shrine about a meter tall. Its gabled roof was moss-covered, the offering box wooden and unlocked. The interior was dark, and something like a small wooden board seemed to be visible in the back. " This is it. The hokora from the rumor." Ikuyo crouched in front of it. " Do wishes really come true?" " If they do, I'm moving in here." " You are not moving in. Go home." At Nijika's jab, Ryou smiled faintly. Ikuyo pulled a small notepad and pen from her bag. " Okay, I'll write it on everyone's behalf! Let's see..." Ikuyo scribbled something on the notepad, folded it in two, and placed it on the offering box. Then she took a hundred-yen coin from her pocket. "Please let us all stay in this band together, just like this, forever!" Clink — the coin dropped into the offering box. And that was the moment. White smoke burst out from deep inside the hokora. "Wh—" "What is this?" "Ohh." "Eep—" The smoke swallowed all four of them in an instant. A strange smell — sweet and burnt at once. Their vision went pure white. The rustle of the keyaki leaves receded, and the feeling left their feet. Still clutching the guitar case, Hitori crumpled to the ground. The last thing they heard was Ikuyo's voice — "W-wait, hold on—" —And then consciousness cut out. The next morning. The Gotou family house. A six-mat room on the second floor. Morning sun through the window lit the soundproof-padded walls white. Three guitars in the room. Two amps. Band posters on the wall. Hitori woke on the bed. (Huh... yesterday, I...) Their body was heavy. Their arms were heavy. Their neck ached. The kind of exhaustion that came from carrying something heavy all night long. "...Nn." They spoke, and noticed something wrong. Low. Their voice was low. Completely different from the voice that had come out of their throat until yesterday. Hitori rose sluggishly. Their field of view seemed somehow higher than usual. The room looked subtly different. (...?) A mirror. A small mirror on the desk. Hitori crawled toward the desk. Peered into the mirror. What was reflected there was an unfamiliar young man. "————!!" A scream that couldn't become a scream died in their throat. Messy black short hair. Long bangs. Deep brown eyes. Those were certainly their own facial features. But the contours were different. A hard jaw. Broad shoulders. An Adam's apple rising at the throat. "Wh— wh— wh— wh—" The voice was low. A man's voice. Hitori touched their own face with trembling hands. A hard jaw. Rough skin. The feel of morning stubble that hadn't been there last night. (What is this what is this what is this) The man in the mirror was panicking just the same. Hitori pulled at the collar of their pajamas. Their chest was flat. No — flat wasn't the word. Hard. Muscle? "No... no way..." Tears were coming. No — they were already here. The man in the mirror was crying with a pathetic face. (Yesterday, at the shrine, I breathed in that white smoke... and then...) Their head turned to chaos. Ping — the phone rang. Hitori crawled back to the bed and picked up the phone. Their hands shook so badly they failed the lock screen three times. It was a call from Nijika. "Hello, hello?" " Hitori!? Bocchi-chan!? You too!?" A low voice burst through the phone. "Nijika-chan...?" " Yes! It's me! My voice is low but it's me! My body — my body's turned into a guy's!!" It was definitely Nijika's way of speaking. But the pitch was more than an octave lower. "I— me too, I'm a guy too..." " I knew it!? Ryou and Ikuyo are the same! I called them earlier — Ryou just goes 'Hoh, the muscle makes the bass easier to play,' all weirdly calm, and Ikuyo's wailing 'My cute clothes don't fit!'" Nijika's voice rattled on through the phone. A low voice, but the tempo was pure Nijika. " Wh-what is going on with this... A curse? From that hokora?" "Probably, that white smoke..." Hitori nearly cried again at the lowness of their own voice. " Anyway, it's better not to go outside today. Explaining this to family would be a nightmare too." "...Okay." " Tomorrow, we'll sort out the situation. I swear we'll find a way to turn back." There was a solid core inside Nijika's fear. "Yeah..." The call ended. Hitori held the phone to their chest and couldn't move for a while. (A man's body...) They looked at their own hands. Long fingers. On the fingertips of the left hand, calluses from guitar strings. That, at least, was the same as yesterday. (My fingers.) Hitori's eyes went to the guitar leaning in the corner of the room. An electric guitar. The first one, handed down from their father. Hitori stood on trembling legs. The pajama sleeves were absurdly short. Their arms had gotten longer. They picked up the guitar. The weight was the same. Fearfully, they placed their fingers on the strings. The fingertips of the left hand pressed the strings as always. The right hand held the pick. Jara — the sound rang out. The sound was the same as always. Hitori plucked the strings once more. Slower this time. A low note echoed through the room. (Ah...) A tear fell with a plop. (I... only when I'm playing guitar...) Whatever their body was. Whatever their voice was. (This is my sound.) Hitori hugged the guitar tight. But the anxiety rushed in right after. (Going outside in this body is...) Impossible. Explaining to family, impossible. Going to school, impossible. Going to the convenience store, impossible. (But...) Hitori looked out the window. The morning sun was lighting up the streets of Shimokitazawa. Ping — the phone rang again. A message from Nijika. "Anyway, tomorrow we sort out the situation! Can everyone meet up?" Hitori typed a reply with trembling fingers. "Yes." Just two characters. But they could type them. Hitori hugged the guitar again. Placed their fingers on the strings. Jara. The sound was the same as always. (I can still play guitar.) That single fact was just barely holding up a heart on the verge of collapse.

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Episode 1

Name: Kessoku Band's Gender-Swap Curse: Bocchi's Place to Belong
Author: Novelia

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