The Succubus in the Mirror

I turned around, thinking something might have been reflected behind me, but all that met my eyes was a trash heap crawling with flying insects. Nothing matched the shape that had appeared on the display.

I turned my head back and examined the screen again.

Something had definitely been visible beyond the display. Yet in selfie mode it vanished completely. Only the woman on the lit screen remained, brows drawn tight. The moment I switched the screen off, that pale, indistinct something returned.

…It felt like I was being possessed.

I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again. The presence beyond the display was still there.

I rummaged through the room until I found a glass cup. Through the glass, a faint outline of her body appeared—and with it, the same something I had seen on the phone. Too faint to make out clearly.

I searched the room for a mirror but found nothing. Then it struck me that a bathroom would have one. I went straight to the door and pulled it open.

A foul stench hit me first, followed by the sight of discarded sanitary pads and other trash. None of that mattered. What mattered was a mirror that could show me my face.

Filthy as it was, the glass was still clear enough to see.

And floating there was a strangely shaped window.

I was thoroughly rattled.

The only possible cause for something this unreal was the wish. So what the hell had this woman wished for?

Haa…

I let out a silent sigh and forced my thoughts to stop. No—nothing came at all. It felt like staring at an impossibly difficult problem with no way forward.

That was when I noticed the strange sensation on my tongue.

I leaned closer to the mirror and opened my mouth.

Between neat white teeth sat a vivid pink tongue without a single patch of coating—and the tip was split cleanly in two. I stuck it out to be sure. Definitely forked. And long.

Staring at it, something stronger than instinctive revulsion seized my gaze. The tongue swayed lightly the way I willed it, twin tips glistening with beads of saliva.

For reasons I couldn’t name, it looked obscenely erotic.

I kept watching until a droplet of spit fell onto my chest. Only then did I snap back to myself.

Was it from looking at the tongue? Or from looking at her body?

Just a little… my body had grown hot.

“Hnn… mm…”

Both hands rose to cup my breasts; I gave the pink nipples a light pinch. It hurt a little, yet the excitement that flooded past the pain soaked through me completely.

One hand slid slowly downward, tracing the defined curves of my abdomen, past the smooth lower belly, and brushed over the completely hairless mound.

I kept one breast in my grip while the other hand parted the plump folds. The same pink flesh showed faintly in the mirror. I sank a finger inside and began to move. Every time the knuckle ridges dragged across that spot, a shiver raced up my spine.

“Hnnn… sss…”

I trapped a nipple between my fingers and squeezed. A thin, cream-like fluid began to bead at the tip. With every firm clench it welled up thicker, then ran down my fingers and dripped from my elbow.

— Tap… tap.. tap.. tap. taptap. tap

As the drips grew closer together, the fingers below sped up. Thick, clear fluid coated them as well.

— Squish… squish.. squi.. shh…

The sensation climbing my tailbone flooded my entire body. Rough breaths echoed off the bathroom walls.

In that moment nothing else existed. Eyes closed, I focused only on the feeling inside me. Like ink spreading through water, the sensation thickened and darkened as it piled higher and higher—

Then it tore through my skull.

“Haaa… ahh…”

The wave that had surged from below seemed to pour out through my mouth. My breath locked as if I might choke; strength left my legs.

I had clearly finished, yet the dense ink still refused to drain away. Frothy white fluid slid down my clenched thighs. Beyond the stained mirror I saw a woman slumped against the wall.

I needed to clean up the impulsive mess I had made, but I didn’t want to move. No—I couldn’t move. I felt ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠completely spent, incapable of a single coherent ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thought.

When the aftershocks finally faded I was still on my knees, leaning against the wall. I stood and checked the mirror: flushed cheeks and an expression that still looked unfinished. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Another impulse stirred at the sight, but it wasn’t the kind that would drag me under again. So I washed my hands and cleaned every trace of the fluid that had run down my legs.

While I tidied up I noticed my irises held the faintest violet tint. Only then did I properly examine the things I had ignored in the heat of the moment.

Judging by the shape hovering to the right of my face, it was information about this woman. I had already guessed her race from the appearance itself—Succubus was no surprise. What I couldn’t understand were the entries under “Detailed Info.”

Mental Power and Charm, both grayed out, were clearly deactivated. And the two lines under Traits.

Super Regeneration I could guess—something that healed injuries at movie-level speed. But the word Gamification…

The character “hwa” suggested something had been turned into a game. What, exactly, had become game-like?

No idea.

I set the unknowns aside and moved on to the Skills section.

An icon blinked in a slanted “N” shape. The little “▼” marks suggested each of the three large categories held more entries inside. I reached out to touch one—before my finger even made contact the categories expanded on their own.

“…”

I awkwardly lowered the hand that had been about to tap the mirror and looked at what was listed.

Common and Game each held only one or two skills, but the Race category was packed. Among them, one name seized my attention: [Camouflage].

Only a level of 1 and a single short line of description—yet that description was irresistible.

The problem was I had no idea how to hide anything.

Thinking the skill name did nothing. Touching it with my finger produced no reaction. It wasn’t voice-activated either. Even imagining myself using a game skill, the way the unique trait “Gamification” suggested, changed nothing.

“...?”

I spent several minutes searching my phone for absurd things like “how to use skills.” Then I closed my eyes as if in prayer.

Camouflage!

I cracked my eyes open and checked the mirror. Still the same.

This time I closed my eyes again, but instead of focusing on the skill name itself I concentrated on concealing the “me” that was a Succubus. A strange tightness settled over my skin. At the same time I felt, with absolute certainty, that something had changed.

I opened my eyes slowly. The horns, the ears, the wings—all the alien features—were gone.

“Oh!”

Even when I touched the places with my hands, nothing remained. The tattoo on my lower abdomen had vanished. The long split tongue had shortened and fused into an ordinary human one. And, unexpectedly, the faintly violet eyes had turned pure black.

The description said it hid Succubus traits, so the violet irises must have counted as one of them.

It felt a little constricting, like wearing clothes a size too small, but that much I could endure. Right now I was too busy checking every part of myself.

Everything I had thought of as Succubus features had disappeared completely. Where the wings and tail had been, not even the faintest mark remained—only the same clean white skin as the rest of me. Where the horns had sat, I felt only hair.

Relief loosened my shoulders, and my gaze drifted back to the reflection.

At a glance the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠head was small, the face clearly East Asian, yet the sharp features and vivid eyes carried an atmosphere words couldn’t capture. That brought the unique trait “Gamification” back to mind.

If this body had become like a game character, the appearance made perfect sense. The woman in the mirror gave off that same unreal quality you only ever saw in game models. The longer I looked, the heavier that suspicion grew.

The hand that had been tracing my face slid down the pale throat and closed around a breast. It felt as heavy as a solid dumbbell. When I released it, the massive mound bounced back into a perfect teardrop shape, proudly elastic.

My hand continued lower, following the faint eleven-line abs visible in the mirror, then the wide hips and springy buttocks, finishing with the gap that formed between my thighs.

Everything was perfect—an ideal form completely divorced from reality.

I closed my eyes and tried to reveal the features again. Nothing happened.

Huh…?

I carefully retraced the earlier sensation, closed my eyes once more, and, while keeping the Camouflage skill in mind, willed the features to show. The constricting feeling vanished.

I knew instantly it had worked. When I opened my eyes, the mirror showed exactly what I expected: a Succubus who looked ready to step out of a game.

Apparently the skill only worked while I consciously maintained it. I recalled the same feeling and hid the features again. Constriction returned at once, and every mark of the Succubus vanished.

“Thank god… seriously, thank god.”

Even looking like this I would draw every eye the moment I stepped outside—but that would only be because I was beautiful. Not a real problem.

The fear of becoming a zoo monkey finally lifted, and exhaustion rolled in after it. Along with the fatigue came the emotion I had forgotten while wrestling with the skill.

She’s really beautiful.

A wish I never even asked for had hit the jackpot.

In modern society an appearance like this was already an absurd high-spec asset. Yet I had no intention of using it aggressively. In my previous life I had scraped by as an ordinary citizen right up until the moment I died. This time I only wanted to earn enough for myself and live comfortably.

And there were no parents watching over me. Everything was perfect.

In the memories I had inherited, this girl had been abandoned by her parents as a child and raised by her grandmother. She had met the woman called “mother” only once, at the grandmother’s funeral. For all practical purposes she had no parents at all.

That meant I no longer needed to race through university, military service, job hunting, and marriage while glancing over my shoulder at parental expectations. On top of that, this body was female—no military service required. There was nothing left that could be called a constraint on this new life.

And more than anything else, this body was deeply, thoroughly satisfying.