I was just grinding through another miserable cardio session, hating every second of it, when the machine suddenly flickered — and so did I. In an instant, I wasn’t in my old, tired body anymore. I was staring down at a tight sports bra soaked in sweat, curves bouncing with every step, my face swapped into a young, fit, ridiculously busty body that definitely wasn’t mine. I panicked for a second, grabbing the treadmill handles, but the way everything moved… the way I moved… made my breath hitch in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

And then the text on the screen flashed: “The longer you do cardio, the longer you can fuk.”* My cheeks heated instantly — I didn’t write that, I didn’t even think it — but the longer I kept running, the more that new body reacted, trembling in places I’d never had before. By the time the session ended, I was flushed, shaky, and way too aware of every bounce and sway. Somehow, cardio didn’t seem so bad anymore.