You rub your eyes as you wake, the harsh sensation of dirt and gravel grating against your skin. A groan escapes you as you squeeze your eyes shut again, trying to block out the discomfort while brushing everything off. Next to you, you hear a yawn—must be Mista—and a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips. Despite the confusion of your surroundings, his presence offers a small comfort. You still can’t figure out how or why you passed out in the middle of the Colosseum—or why everyone else around you seems to be out cold as well—but hearing Mista’s voice is a welcome relief.

You rest your head against his neck, instinctively sliding your hand across his stomach and down his back, drawing him into a side hug.

"Morning..." you mumble, your voice groggy and deeper than usual.

Your brows furrow at the sound of your voice. Something feels off. His body feels… different. His frame seems thinner than usual. You know his chest has always been broad, but now it feels like he’s sporting a chest that’s, well, noticeably more endowed. You open your eyes, pulling back slightly. A chill runs down your spine as your gaze locks onto what’s in front of you—wait, those aren’t Mista’s pecs. They’re your tits. Your face goes pale as realization strikes like a bolt of lightning. You look down and see them, your own body, in a state you didn’t expect—sitting right there in front of you, too close for comfort.

What the hell is happening?

It’s not just that, though. You pull away, your senses now alert, and as you examine yourself further, you realize that everything is wrong. Your hands are bigger, rougher—calloused in a way that’s unfamiliar. Your fingers are hairy—too hairy—and the smell… it’s odd. It’s not entirely bad, but it’s not you. It’s Mista’s scent, somehow mixed with something else, something you can't quite place. You’ve never smelled like this before.