Romantic route

"Alright, alright, alright... calm down. Calm down, Jack, now you're gonna count to three, open your eyes, and you’ll be back in that damn office you hate so much and somehow still crave. You’ll be sitting at your stupid computer again and never, do you hear me, never try playing those weird games ever again..."

Jack didn’t finish the thought — the weight of the soft, heavy, alien shape on his chest became unbearable, like two warm water bags dragging him down to the floor. He gasped — and opened his eyes.

— "Mon Dieu… je suis encore ici…" (My God… I'm still here…), — slipped out of him in a melodious voice, too high, too sensual, too feminine.

He froze. There was no dim fluorescent office light. No plastic chair, no smell of cheap coffee, no annoying coworker’s voice — nothing familiar. Just antique furniture, heavy curtains, and himself — or rather, herself — in the body of a young woman sitting upright in a chair, her breasts literally spilling over the emerald dress’s neckline.

He… she… tried to breathe deeper, but the corset’s fabric squeezed her ribcage unpleasantly and tightly.

— "Non, non, non…" (No, no, no…) — Jack whispered, staring at his hands. Slim, delicate, with long fingers, nails gently rounded, fingertips soft, skin... smooth, like someone rubbed jasmine and honey oil into it every day.

‘What the fuck, what the actual fuck! Did I seriously become that character from that shitty dating game I downloaded on my phone?! This is fucking insane!’ — breathing heavily and feeling the fabric of the dress brush against the tender skin of his new body, holding up the full weight of his newly acquired tits, Jack squeezed his eyes shut. And at that moment, as if to spite him, he became acutely aware of the empty space between his legs, felt it the moment he shifted them slightly. And with that movement, something just below his belly turned too soft, too delicate… and definitely not his.

And then the door opened.

— "Mademoiselle Leclair," — came a confident voice with that typically British, haughty accent. — "The general awaits your reply."

A man stood in the doorway, dressed in a uniform with golden epaulets and a short sword at his side. Tall, hawkish nose, eyes the color of wet stone. Everything about him screamed what Jack hated — discipline, power, a total lack of empathy, and worst of all, he had that same commanding presence as Jack’s boss. He stared straight ahead, unblinking, like his words were meant to provoke immediate action.

— "Le général…?" (The general…?) — Jack barely managed to get out, cringing either from how foreign his French sounded or from the pathetic tone of his own voice, — "Je… je ne comprends pas, monsieur…" (I… I don’t understand, sir…)

The man smirked, stepped closer and, without asking, took Jack’s hand — light, weightless, so feminine that Jack instinctively wanted to yank it back and hide it behind his back. Instead, he froze.

— "Still pretending, Élise? After last night?" — he said in a lower voice, leaning in — "Or have you truly forgotten, you, little spy?"

Jack swallowed hard, somehow recalling the summary of that ridiculous mobile roleplay game — something like “The Spy and the General: A Dangerous Affair.” Jesus, the title alone screamed cheap melodrama with a fake historical vibe. He had only downloaded that “girly” game out of boredom, and now the horrifying realization hit him — he’d become the main character — some Élise Leclair, a French spy who seduced the British army general to steal battle plans. The cover of that visual novel flickered in his mind — the elegant lady in the same turquoise dress, wrapped in the arms of a tall, masculine general, gazing at him with dreamy eyes, face tilted for a kiss, a knife hidden behind her back.

His heart pounded wildly in his chest, like a bird trapped in a cage, desperate to break free. Jack felt the heat of a furious blush cover his cheeks. ‘No, no… no-no-no! I don’t want this! I’m not going to follow this damn storyline! Just send me back home!’

But nothing happened. The officer was still standing beside him, holding Jack’s — or rather Élise’s — delicate little hand, as if waiting for something. The game clearly wasn’t stopping, but to be honest, this didn’t feel like a game at all.

— "Mademoiselle Leclair?" — the officer’s voice turned sharper, a hint of suspicion in it. He tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to look into her eyes, searching for something that shouldn’t be there. — "You are unusually… silent, this morning."

Jack—Élise—was still sitting as if glued to the chair, feeling how the dress pressed down on her knees and the rigid corset wouldn’t let her take a deep breath. She didn’t know what scared her more — his watchful gaze or the fact that all of this was actually happening and didn’t feel like a dream at all, not even a vivid one. ‘He’s definitely speaking English… fuck, is this really not my native language anymore…?’

Élise looked up, took a shaky breath, and as she formed a sentence in her mind, searching for English equivalents to the words, she finally said:

— “I… I 'ave just… forgot ze… ze details from yesterday, monsieur,” — her voice trembled, the words melting into a strange mix of soft French accent and girlish flirtation, even though she hadn’t meant them to sound that way. She just needed to say something. — “Maybe… too much vin, yes?” — she forced a smile, though inside everything twisted into a tight knot — panic, humiliation, and a strange, completely unfamiliar sense of vulnerability all tangled together.

The officer didn’t respond right away. His gray eyes lingered on her just a moment too long. It was as if he was listening closely to her voice, studying the lines of her face, looking for inconsistencies. And he found them. Or decided he had.

— “Either we go see the general now… or I tell him you’re having second thoughts about your loyalties,” — he said calmly, almost lazily, letting go of her hand like he was dropping a silk glove. — “Your choice, mademoiselle.”

Those words hit like she was standing at the edge of a cliff — either take the step forward or… fall. Élise felt a bead of sweat slowly run down her back under the dress. ‘This is just an absurd dream… right? It has to be. But God, what if it’s not? What’ll they do to me if I don’t go see that general?’ Because the truth was — she really was a woman now, in an uncomfortable corset, in this ridiculous old-fashioned dress, with breasts she couldn’t ignore, and with this terrifying officer who maybe knew more than he let on.

— “Ze general…” — Élise managed, lifting her chin, though her voice still trembled. — “Oui, I vill come.”

The officer gave a curt nod, sharp and military-like, and opened the door wide.

Élise took a step — the first in a new life, the first in these tight little shoes, in a dress that made walking feel like a chore, in a body that moved by different rules. Her hips swayed slightly with each step, as if something invisible nudged them from the sides. She tried to walk straight, but the body moved differently — feminine, graceful — even though Jack was still very much alive in her head.

And the moment she crossed the threshold, the space before her eyes shimmered.

A message appeared. Glowing, neat, golden letters, as if from another reality:

“The Romantic Route has been chosen. Seduce or be seduced.”

Then — it vanished, like it had never been there. The officer continued ahead through the corridor with his crisp, rhythmic stride, as if he hadn’t seen a thing.

— “Did… did you see zat?” — Élise breathed out, hoping someone else shared her madness.

— “See what, mademoiselle?” — the officer replied without turning, a faint trace of amusement in his voice.

— “Merde…” — Élise exhaled sharply, instinctively clutching her hands to her chest, only to pull them back when she once again felt the soft skin of her cleavage and the fullness of her breasts, which bounced slightly with each step despite the corset. Her heart pounded like crazy. ‘Romantic route, seduce or be seduced — what the fuck? Did I just make a choice? That was a choice?! I could’ve stayed and maybe it all would’ve ended?!’ her thoughts raced. But yes — the choice had been made, and the “Romantic route” was now the path she had to follow in this game.

Or was it not a game at all?