I should’ve been celebrating the breakthrough of my career — the world’s first rapid-growth serum. Instead, I stood in my lab watching my reflection twist into a reality I never meant to create. The formula was supposed to bulk muscle mass, enhance strength… but one miscalculated catalyst, one unstable reaction, and the serum rewrote everything from my neck down. My chest swelled into full breasts first, heavy and warm under my shirt, and then the rest of me followed — waist narrowing, hips softening, legs smoothing. My face stayed mine, unmistakably me… but the body staring back was undeniably, irresistibly feminine. And the worst part? The world saw me only as her now. Records changed. ID changed. Even the security scanners welcomed me as a woman I never asked to be.

I didn’t mean for any of this. I was a scientist chasing greatness — not a reality where my own invention forced curves onto me that I had no idea how to carry. Every step felt different, every movement too soft, too swaying, as if the new body insisted on being noticed. And now everyone awaited my “breakthrough presentation,” expecting this new feminine version of me to explain the formula that didn’t just transform science… it transformed me. And until I reverse it, I have no choice but to live in the very body my mistake created.