When the Original Sub-Male Lead Got TS'd into a Grandmother 3
"Ahh...!"
A cry of rapture burst from Asrion's lips as he passed through the city gates. What unfolded before his eyes—synced perfectly with the witch's body—was nothing short of paradise. Towering cotton candy trees lined the streets, a thick chocolate fountain bubbled in the central boulevard. The sidewalks were paved with colorful macarons, and the building pillars were massive wafers.
"Finally... finally free from that hellish grass-munching nightmare!"
Tears streaming down her face, the witch bolted to the nearest cotton candy tree. Tossing all dignity aside, she ripped off a huge chunk and shoved it into her mouth.
"Mmm!"
The violently intense sweetness exploded across her tongue. It was salvation for taste buds tormented by a week of Hansel and Gretel's infernal cheonggukjang and fermented fish assaults.
This is it! This blinding, tongue-numbing sweetness! My lifelong love, my glucose! Now I can live again!
Asrion's inner thoughts perfectly aligned with the witch's instincts, unleashing a scream of joy. Though the witch's will controlled the body, Asrion had formed such deep empathy with it that he devoured the cotton candy like a whirlwind. He dashed to the chocolate fountain next, dunking his head in and guzzling the thick liquid like a madman. He tore up macaron sidewalk blocks and crammed them down. He yanked out candy canes and crunched them noisily. It was a mindless binge of his dream sweets.
Stuffing himself until his belly nearly burst, he believed he'd forever banish the nightmares of funky dried radish and raw garlic.
But that blind bliss lasted less than three hours.
"Urgh..."
Asrion's stomach began to twist. At first, he thought it was just indigestion from gorging too fast. But as time passed, the symptoms worsened. The lingering sugar aftertaste suddenly felt cloyingly sticky. The heavy buttercream scent assaulting his nose turned into an unbearable greasiness attacking his gut.
Worst of all was the unfillable void. Despite stuffing himself silly with sweets, his stomach felt empty. An instinctive deprivation gnawed at him—a primal lack of something hearty and filling to pack his belly solid.
Why... why is this happening?
Asrion broke out in cold sweat, overwhelmed by confusion.
Why does my stomach feel so queasy and my mouth so pasty? I'd rather... rather have a bite of that bitter, pungent ssumbyeokgi salad to wash away this filthy grease...!
The moment that blasphemous, horrifying thought hit him, Asrion recoiled in shock at his own mind. His tongue and gut had rejected refined sugar after a week of Spartan detox. His palate had been completely remodeled into that of a refined elderly gourmet!
Just looking at the mountain of whipped cream cake piled before him didn't make his mouth water—it triggered dry heaves. The colorful jelly? His instincts screamed it was a dye bomb that would wreck his gut health.
"Waaah! You damn brats! What did you do to my tongue?!"
The witch collapsed in the heart of Sugar Land, sobbing hysterically. Asrion, synced with her anguish, wailed inwardly too.
All around lay dazzling confections. But the body forcibly healthified by Hansel and Gretel—and the reprogrammed taste buds—had etched the revulsion and boredom of sweets deep into his bones.
Swirling in his mind were...
The hearty aroma of bubbling cheonggukjang in the cauldron... the savory umami of fish ferments that cleared the gut... the spicy, pungent raw garlic with soybean paste...
A thick glob of saliva pooled at the corner of Asrion's mouth with a slurp.
* * *
The next morning.
The creaky door of the rundown gingerbread house in the woods swung open. Hansel and Gretel, about to simmer morning dried-radish soup over the cauldron, turned their heads.
Standing there was the witch, more haggard than yesterday but with skin still plump and firm. In her hands fluttered a pathetic white flag made from an old pair of underwear tied to the skeletal remains of a cotton candy stick.
"Grandma? Oh my, why are you back?"
Gretel blinked wide-eyed, ladle in hand.
Asrion, soul-bound to the witch, dropped to his knees on the dirt floor in unison. Holding back a flood of tears, he clutched Hansel's pant leg.
"Kids... kids... this granny was wrong."
Thick tears plopped from Asrion's eyes. If he didn't wash away the cloying in his gut right now, he'd go mad and die.
"I'll never look at cupcakes or donuts or any of that vulgar junk again. Please... please just give me one bowl of that stinky cheonggukjang. Boiling hot in the earthenware pot, topped with fermented perilla leaf pickles, mixed into freshly steamed barley rice... my gut's so greasy I can't live!!"
Asrion begged desperately, snot dripping down.
Hansel and Gretel exchanged glances and smiled with kindly depth.
"See, Grandma? Home-cooked wellness food is the best after all."
Hansel warmly helped the witch to her feet.
From that day, Asrion lived with his nose buried in the cauldron for days. He wolfed down the once-despised cheonggukjang, perilla pickles, and barley rice wraps like the world's finest banquet, shedding hot tears of bliss.
Ahh... this hearty umami! This stable blood sugar comfort! Ferments are the best!
And so the Mage Tower's genius scion fully degenerated in the virtual reality, one with the perfect wellness granny.
Amid those days of peaceful, savory mukbangs...
Simulation Ended. Forced Logout.
"Aaaack!"
Asrion's eyes snapped open as he gasped for air. The blue mana cable embedded in his forehead dissolved into mist and vanished.
As his vision cleared, a familiar sight came into focus. This was the real-world academy—Professor Ashe's private office.
"Oh, you're awake, Asrion? Good morning."
Professor Ashe, jotting notes by the sofa, gave a lazy smile.
"Rian headed back to his dorm at dawn. Breakfast is soon, so hurry and wash up."
"Ah..."
Asrion staggered up from the sofa in a daze. Over ten days of perceived time in the illusion—a grueling eternity trapped in a hunched crone's body.
The moment he stood, the eye level felt alien. His straight back, his taut, smooth teenage limbs—they felt like borrowed flesh, triggering profound dissonance.
My... my body...
Asrion tremblingly touched his face and body. Flat chest.
A boy? No, that's right—I was always a boy. A 13-year-old boy.
Logically, he knew he was a boy. But the sensations etched into his body said otherwise. The old woman's physical data had synced too deeply with his neural pathways.
But why... why does my crotch feel so empty and awkward?! It's like a foreign object—gives me chills!
Asrion's face drained of color. He'd been completely pickled in the crone's senses and mentality. The horrific cognitive dissonance froze him in terror, unable to even scream.
I'm going mad. I'm losing my mind!
He bolted from the lab, sprinting full-tilt to his dorm like a fugitive.
* * *
Bam—!
The door to dorm 402 nearly shattered open.
Panting as he burst in, Asrion's eyes locked first on Rian. Freshly showered that morning, Rian regarded him with a refreshed face.
"You're back? Quite the racket for breakfast time."
Seeing that nonchalant expression ignited the volcanic fury of ten days' hellish grievances in Asrion's gut.
Grrrrumble—.
But before he could erupt, his stomach let out a massive, room-shaking growl at the scent of impending breakfast. His growing teenage body sensed the fast immediately.
Hungry.
His brain instinctively craved food. As the Mage Tower heir and noble scion, he should have pictured butter-seared steak or fresh croissants.
But what flashed madly in his mind was entirely different.
Steaming barley rice... a pot of hearty, bubbling cheonggukjang topped with fermented perilla leaves...
Saliva flooded his mouth like a deluge.
Asrion realized with bone-deep humiliation that even his tastes had been perfectly remodeled by that fiend in that nightmare world. It was unbearable.
"You damn brat!"
Veins bulging in rage, Asrion lost his reason and lunged to grab Rian's collar.
"You rascal! What the hell did you do to this granny?!"
A heavy silence blanketed the room.
Asrion's charge halted abruptly, like tripping on a rock.
The words that had slipped unconsciously from his mouth. You rascal. This granny. Undeniably the voice of a crotchety old woman.
"......"
"......"
Asrion froze in horror at his own speech, mortified to the point of explosion.
But Rian just nodded at the pathetic identity meltdown unfolding before him.
"Hm. As expected. The effects do linger."