Is This For Real?
Regression. Possession. Reincarnation.
String the first syllables together and you get the holy trinity of web-novel staples—the comfort food of the genre, the dish that never leaves the menu.
And of the three, it looked like I’d drawn the first one: regression.
No joke. I meant it for real.
On top of that, there was an extra option I never saw coming.
Soft…!
This… this sensation—could it be?!
It felt exactly like sinking my fingers into a fresh marshmallow.
I shot out of bed and bolted for the bathroom.
The moment I threw the door open, the mirror on the far wall stared back at me.
As a proud citizen of the land of courtesy, I normally avoided pointing at people, but right now I had no choice.
“Wh-what the hell. Is this for real?”
The face in the glass was completely alien.
Never mind that my eye level had dropped a solid chunk—my hair now cascaded past my nape and brushed my shoulders in glossy black waves.
And that wasn’t even the half of it.
Porcelain skin that seemed to glow from within, huge liquid eyes, and lips so full and inviting they hijacked every glance.
All of it belonged in daydreams, not reality.
Where the hell had this beauty come from all of a sudden?
“Hah!”
Except it wasn’t a daydream.
When I pointed at the mirror without thinking, the beauty inside copied the gesture perfectly.
Th-this is really me?
I lifted my right hand and pinched my cheek hard.
Ow! That hurt.
Still not enough to convince me.
I cranked the faucet and scrubbed my face with cold water.
“Hoo…”
The chill helped a little. My head cleared a fraction.
I raised my eyes again.
“…….”
The same stranger was still there, blinking those long, elegant eyes at me.
What on earth was going on?
I should call someone—wait. Call who, exactly?
The only numbers floating in my head were 112, 119, and 111. What was I supposed to say if I dialed any of them?
Hey, so I woke up three years in the past and also I’m a girl now?
They’d have me in a psych ward before I finished the sentence.
Calm down.
I dried my face with a towel, walked back to the bedroom, and sat on the edge of the bed.
As unbelievable as it was, the digital clock and the calendar both insisted it was three years ago.
And then there was the body that had somehow become female.
I couldn’t hide how absurd it all felt.
What the hell had happened to me overnight?
“…….”
I forced myself to stay cold and methodical, rewinding my memories.
Right. What had I been doing yesterday?
I’d been glued to the computer all day, refreshing every corner of the internet for any scrap of news about Lucy.
When nothing turned up, I’d started drinking at lunch…
“Huh? Where’d the app go… Ahaha! Right, I deleted it. Got so pissed I just wiped it. Hic!”
Day-drinking with nothing but empty air for snacks was more than enough to wreck one person.
I fumbled through my phone looking for the vanished app and came up empty.
Swaying on my feet, I somehow made it to the computer chair.
No app? Fine. I could just open the site directly.
I swore I’d go free-to-play but I can’t hold back—wallet’s open
T1 vs Gen.G today is the matchup of the century
Our PUBG Dictator Wang-ko’s singing World Cup
I’d only been away from the gallery a few days, yet these pathetic posts felt weirdly welcoming.
I snorted and skimmed them until my brow furrowed.
Miho causes accidents every other day and Mayo just freeloads without ever taking initiative—Blueby really does everything, is that for real? Plus one of the crew members already caused a mess before and now she’s even gone and quit streaming, aigoo lmao
They hadn’t named anyone outright, but the “quit streaming” target was crystal clear.
“Fuck.”
Alcohol already in my system, I couldn’t hold the anger back. I dove straight in.
All she knows how to do is run her mouth and every single collab or joint content she just turns on her own stream to leech data, one-trick pony ok? And you can’t feel how sketchy she is just looking at her? Textbook two-faced type
Public opinion was not on my side.
Blueby had the biggest weight class in the crew and was a perennial favorite on Pan-beo-gal, so the defense pile-on was inevitable.
My own oshi Lucy, meanwhile, handled the singing but sat at the bottom of the hierarchy and was a niche pick on the gallery.
“…….”
I was furious beyond words.
For the past three years I had poured everything into raising Lucy.
Not romantic feelings—think of it like the old hit game Princess Maker.
I just wanted more people to see the charm I’d discovered in her and feel the same way.
And yes, a clumsy need for validation was mixed in there too.
See? My eye for talent.
I’d believed she’d make it ever since she only had ten viewers.
I’d hyped her myself, donated hard enough to earn the chairman badge.
Whether it was Ju-ttak or some other mod, they moved fast—but I’d been mashing refresh like a maniac for the keyboard war, so I still saw the title that hit my reverse scale.
“Fuck.”
Rage erupted like a volcano. I typed out a post dripping with every curse I knew.
As if they’d been waiting, the post vanished and I got a thirty-day ban from Pan-beo-gal.
On a normal day I never would’ve gone that far.
In an anonymous community, wearing your heart on your sleeve was the dumbest move possible.
So what?
Drunk out of my mind, I’d already lost every scrap of self-control.
In short: nothing registered anymore.
I started spamming Ju-ttak with messages.
I’d been active on Pan-beo-gal for two and a half years.
Considering the gallery itself wasn’t even three years old yet, I was practically a founding member, and Ju-ttak and I had a decent rapport.
Ju-ttak kept treating me like some wasted problem customer, and that attitude only poured gasoline on a heart already scraped raw.
My eye for talent was never wrong.
Lucy was absolutely someone who could make it.
In a flash of pure spite I let that old nickname slip.
Years ago Ju-ttak had gone on record hyping a few streamers.
Shockingly, every one of them either exploded in controversy or quit streaming, and the ugly moniker “reverse-plague god” had stuck to him ever since.
After that the alcohol swallowed everything; my memory turned into static.
One fact remained crystal clear, though.
I’d argued with Ju-ttak for a very long time.
And the final message he sent was burned into my skull.
“…….”
Ju-ttak’s last message had hit like a hammer.
Could it actually be real?
My hand drifted down to my chest without thinking.
A soft, full handful filled my palm.
Dizzy, I let the hand travel lower, exploring what used to be there.
“I-it’s gone. For real?!”
An empty space where something important used to be.
I had no idea why this particular check was what finally made it feel real, but the deed was already done.
Three years of regression plus a complete gender swap.
A merciless new reality had crashed down on me.