Footprints in the Sand, Part 1

Chapter XXX: Footprints in the Sand

VP and BP Standings
Erin - 33 VP - 3300 BP - 1 Achiev
Claire - 32 VP - 6200 BP - 1 Achiev
Marissa - 27 VP - 4800 BP
Norah - 17 VP - 2750 BP - 1 Achiev
Dawn - 11 VP - 4250 BP
Emi - 11 VP - 4750 BP
Liesa - 10 VP - 3900 BP
Sam - 9 VP - 3250 BP
Chloe - 4 VP - 3875 BP

The next morning, the Banquet Room carried the hush of an old chapel before a service: glass doors refracted the early sun, and everything—plates, tableware, even the contestants—waited in patient formation. Only the low clink of coffee being poured, the soft squeak of chair legs, and the relentless ticking of the ornate lobby clock disturbed the peace.

The women arrived in ones and twos. Despite the notoriety of her late sleeping habits, Sam was first, as if on principle, sneakers unlaced and hair still half-wet from the shower. She snagged a mug, picked the least awkward seat, and propped her feet on the rung. Marissa drifted in next, stately as ever, the look only ruined by the tank top that showed a vertiginous amount of cleavage, giving Sam a nod and scanning the empty head of the table—no Andy, no Host, just a plate set for a missing King.

Dawn came next, dressed in leggings and a sports top, hair tied into a ponytail, drinking a tall glass of water and carrying a towel on her shoulder. She looked as bright as her namesake, and plopped herself next to the two women with a grin.

Liesa came with Emi. Emi’s dress was a riot of abstract tulips, while Liesa was wearing slacks, a tank top, an open button-down over it, socks, and a pair of old sneakers. When they sat down, Emi’s six arms worked overtime to fuss with her silverware, her napkin, the hem of her skirt. Liesa whispered something to her as they sat, a quick Dutch-accented comfort.

Claire made her way in, ears swiveling towards sounds in the room, tail swishing nervously, and sat down near enough to listen, not near enough to feel crowded. But if she hoped to have space, she was disappointed: in came Erin and, after surveying the Hall, arms crossed beneath her new bulging assets, beelined straight for Claire, sitting in front of her with an expression that was between ‘we need to talk’ and ‘I might be murdering you soon.’ Claire’s tail stilled.

Norah was last, trailing a minute behind everyone else. She entered like a woman expecting a subpoena, eyes sweeping the room twice before she allowed herself to sit at the far end, well away from the main cluster.

It was only after the first round of coffee and fruit that the atmosphere rippled: Chloe’s arrival. She hovered in the doorway for a breath too long, then stepped inside, hands folded and body angled as if she was expecting to be called out. She’d dressed simply, in pale yellow and navy, the effect demure and slightly childlike. If she noticed the eyes on her, she gave no sign. But the group tensed, every posture stiffening like wind-lashed reeds.

Chloe found an empty spot at the margin and slipped in. For a full minute, no one spoke.

It was Norah who broke the silence, voice flat but not cruel: “I see you survived the first night.” The words hovered, neutral as rain.

Chloe nodded, eyes on her plate. “Thank you,” she said. “It was… fine.”

Marissa cut in, measured but kind. “I imagine it’s an adjustment.” She turned to Dawn, shifting the focus. “How did you sleep?”

Dawn’s smile was quick and real. “We had to share the bed, so I was the middle slice. Emi snores. Not loud, but cute, like a baby owl.”

Emi flushed, lower two hands clapping over her face in embarrassment. “Sorry. I always sleep better with someone next to me. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Dawn, shook her head. “It wasn’t bad. I’m just glad you didn’t steal the covers.”

That drew a laugh from Liesa, and even Norah’s mouth softened at the edges.

Chloe, emboldened by the moment, turned to Dawn. “Thank you for making space for me,” she said, voice small but steady.

Dawn shrugged. “It’s better with company.” She offered a crooked smile. “And your hair smells like cinnamon rolls, which is amazing, so you’re always welcome.”

This, more than anything, seemed to ground Chloe. She managed a real smile and sipped her orange juice with both hands, as if savoring the warmth.

The mood was fragile but holding when the doors at the far end opened, and Arabella swept in like a benediction. Her dress was pale peach this time, cut to the lines of the 1920s, with a single platinum orchid pinned at her breast. Every eye in the room found her. Every body straightened.

She stood at the end of the table and surveyed her flock. “Good morning, darlings.” It was the kind of greeting that made you want to earn it. “I trust you all slept well?” Her gaze flitted from face to face, reading everything.

No one answered immediately. Sam, boldest by default, said, “It’s a hell of a lot better than bunk beds at college. You should see my brother’s apartment—mold in the shower, and he thinks two-for-one bagels are a food group.”

Arabella smiled, not unkind. “I am pleased you find the accommodations sufficient, Sam.” Her tone was teasing, but she pivoted quickly. “As is customary, I will not be joining you for breakfast, but I have two brief announcements.”

She waited, and the room was hers.

“First: as some of you may have noticed, our new Contestant did not start entirely from scratch. She has been given the median of the VPs earned by the group during this Challenge, an easy calculation given last challenge. She has also been given the median of your BP totals, to help her get a good start. No activities with our Andy are logged, so they are all for grabs." She paused. "Furthermore, a new location has been unlocked: the Bamboo Grove. It is to the east, just beyond the koi pond. The path is discreet, but follow the wind chimes, and you’ll find your way.” She allowed herself a pause, the kind that signaled gravity. “It will be open for the remainder of the competition. I suggest you explore it when you have leisure.”

Chloe looked up, eyes wide. “Thank you,” she said.

Arabella nodded, as if Chloe’s gratitude was the only currency that mattered. Then, just as smoothly, she glided to the side and was gone, leaving the women to their thoughts and their plates.

The table relaxed in her wake. The clusters re-formed: Sam, Liesa, and Emi at one end; Claire and Erin at another, whispering in a cat-and-mouse way. Marissa and Norah held down the center, a diplomatic core. Dawn and Chloe occupied the other margin, soft-voiced and companionable.

Sam poked at her hash browns. “Anybody else wonder where all this food comes from? I’ve never seen a single delivery truck, and yet here we are, eating eggs so fresh they probably have their own social security numbers.”

Emi smiled. “Mildred is always making the food. Even when I wake up at night, she’s in the kitchen, slicing fruit or cleaning.”

Liesa laughed. “Does she ever sleep?”

“I leave her an origami crane each morning,” Emi said, shy. “It’s a thank you. I think she likes it, but she never says.”

Sam looked at Emi, her expression softening. “You’re way too pure for this place, you know that?”

Emi shrugged, a blush rising. “I like making things with my hands. It’s easier than words, sometimes.”

Liesa rested her chin on her palm, then nudged Sam. “If I leave a waffle sculpture, will Mildred eat it, or will she throw it at my head?”

Sam grinned. “Only one way to find out.”

At the far end, Claire's pencil scratched across her notebook, the tip pressing hard enough to leave indentations on the next three pages. Her tail swished in lazy arcs as she wrote. When she tore out the page and slid it toward Erin, her eyes were wide and hopeful.

Erin's jaw tightened as she read. Her fingers crumpled the corner of the note. "You can't be serious," she whispered, voice low enough that only Claire could hear. "You've known him what, a week?"

Claire's ears flattened slightly. She reached for the paper, but Erin pulled it back, folding it twice.

"Look," Erin said, leaning closer, "Andy and I have history. Real history. Not just some... game show fantasy." Her knuckles whitened around the note. "I know what he needs."

Claire's tail went still. She wrote again, faster this time, almost jabbing the notebook.

Erin glanced at the new message and exhaled sharply. "Fine. You do whatever you want. But don't expect me to help you get his attention." She slid the crumpled note back. "Just remember who was there for him before all this."

Claire's shoulders hunched inward as she took the paper. Her tail curled protectively around her own waist.

"You know what? We should absolutely talk to him before the next challenge," Erin said, voice honeyed with false brightness. "I'm sure I'd love to hear all about your plans."

Claire's ears perked up. She nodded eagerly, missing the razor edge in Erin's tone completely.

"Meet me at the firepit in an hour," Erin said, standing abruptly. "We'll figure out exactly what to tell him." She turned and stalked away, leaving her half-eaten breakfast behind.

From three seats down, Sam watched the exchange, fork paused midway to her mouth, eyes narrowed with unmistakable concern. She stood up and walked to take a seat near the newly minted catgirl. “What’s going on?” She asked, and Claire blinked, then scribbled:

Not sure. Erin loves him. I’m happy for her. I love him too. I don’t understand where the problem is.

Sam frowned. “Claire…,” the librarian could be remarkably naive sometimes, “Erin is a very loyal person. You know what went on between them, six years ago, right?” Claire nodded vaguely. “Now they have found each other again. I’m glad to see that, she needed it, and frankly, so did he. But Erin’s loyalty sometimes crosses into possessiveness. Not jealousy, really, but… close enough.” She placed a hand on the catgirl’s shoulder comfortingly. “Be careful, okay? I think the idea of sharing Andy may hit Erin hardest, here.” Claire blinked, nodded, but Sam could see she didn’t fully understand. She sighed. “I’ll keep an eye on the conversation, okay?”

Thank you. You’re a good friend.

Sam gave her a lopsided smile. “Thank you, I aim to impress.”

Elsewhere, Marissa and Norah talked quietly, voices almost matching in register. “I thought I was past the point of caring what people think of me,” Marissa said, “but now I can’t stop worrying about how I appear, how I fit in with the others. It’s like being a teenager again, only with more cleavage.”

Norah sipped her coffee, then replied, “You’re overthinking it. You look sexy. Nobody expects you to be the fun one, least of all Andy.”

Marissa frowned. “Is that the problem? I’m always the voice of reason. Maybe I should try being reckless for once.”

Norah shrugged, but her gaze softened. “He’s not looking for a new Marissa. Just the real one.”

Marissa smiled, a little sad. “Isn’t that the same thing, sometimes?”

Norah said, “If it is, then you’re already halfway there.”

At another table, Dawn was trying to make sense of Chloe. Dawn had always considered herself pretty good at reading a room, but Chloe was not a room; she was a closed door, the kind with a frosted glass panel so you could see the shape of someone on the other side but never quite make out what they were doing. Even so, Dawn thought maybe she could try the handle, see if it was locked.

She waited until Chloe was midway through an unsteady bite of melon, then said, “So… how do you know Andy? You’re from his hometown?” Her voice was gentle, coaxing rather than probing, and she tried to keep her expression open, the way you might if you were trying to coax a nervous animal closer.

Chloe blinked at her, then glanced down at her plate, the tines of her fork poking at the fruit. For a second Dawn thought she wouldn’t answer, but then Chloe nodded, as if confirming a fact to herself. “We were in the same class up through middle school.”

Dawn wasn’t sure if the emphasis was on “were” or on “middle school,” but she followed the thread. “Did you drift apart, or…?”

Chloe’s jaw tightened. She looked up at Dawn and then away, toward the window where the morning light painted the table’s edge in stripes. “After Laura, my parents pulled me out. I finished school at home.” The words came out in a single breath, like someone leaping over a puddle and hoping not to get their shoes wet.

Dawn frowned. Chloe spoke as if this ‘Laura’ person should be well-known. “Laura,” she repeated, quietly. “She was—?”

“She was the best of us,” Chloe said. Not “my best friend,” not “Andy’s friend.” The best. As if Laura had been a kind of ideal everyone knew and measured themselves against. Chloe’s voice was softer now, and the next words came easier, as if letting them out hurt less than holding onto them. “After... it happened, nobody really talked about her anymore. But Andy kept her memory alive. Even when everyone else acted like she never existed.”

There was a tremor in Chloe’s hands, but her face remained oddly serene. Dawn saw the signs: the rigidness in her posture, the meticulous way she kept her utensils aligned, the faintest shine of unshed tears in her eyes. This was someone who had spent years learning not to cry in public.

Dawn resisted the urge to ask more. Instead, she offered a simple, “That sounds like him. He’s weirdly good at listening, you know?”

Chloe’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile, or maybe just the ghost of one. “He is,” she echoed. She glanced at Dawn, really looked this time, and for a second there was a bridge between them—two people who knew what it was to be left behind, and what it was to be seen by the one person who never seemed to turn away.

The moment lingered, fragile but real. Then Dawn, feeling the weight might be too much, tried to shift it lightly. She took a sip of juice, then set the glass down and asked, “So, what was Andy like as a kid? Was he always this…?” She struggled for the word. “Intense?”

Chloe considered. “He was always curious. Always asking why.” She looked down, gathering her thoughts. “But he didn’t like being the center of attention. If someone was sitting alone at lunch, Andy would sit with them, but he’d never make them talk if they didn’t want to.” She smiled, small and crooked. “I liked that.”

Dawn felt a surprising fondness for the girl across from her. She’d assumed Chloe might be a threat, or at least an unknown variable, but here she was, open and **** in a way that demanded empathy rather than suspicion. “You know,” she said, “that’s the Andy I know, too. Someone who doesn’t want anyone to feel alone.”

Chloe nodded, visibly comforted. “He’s good at that.”

They both sat in the glow of that sentiment for a while. Around them, the breakfast room hummed: Marissa and Norah chuckled over some in-joke, Liesa and Emi were arguing over how many pancakes could be considered a reasonable serving, and Sam had apparently appointed herself the unofficial Hall Monitor, drifting from group to group like a benevolent shark.

Dawn let herself relax. For the first time since Chloe’s arrival, the air felt less charged, less like an exposed nerve. If anything, Dawn was the one who felt thrown off now, her expectations quietly upended.

But curiosity was a stubborn thing, and it tugged at her once more. She tried to make it sound casual: “So… is it weird, being here? Competing for, you know…” she gestured vaguely toward the Master Suite, “the same guy you grew up with?”

Chloe considered the question for a long time, her gaze drifting to the window and the sea beyond. “It is strange,” she said finally. “But it’s also…” She hesitated, searching for the word. “Hopeful, maybe? Like we’re all trying to heal something.” She blushed furiously. “I had a thing for him in middle school. You know how kids can be. Left him little presents here and there. He was the only one who was always kind to me. Never bullied me for being shy.”

Dawn nodded. She hadn’t thought of it that way, but she liked it.

They sat in contented silence after that, but Dawn’s thoughts kept circling. She found herself wondering what Andy would say if he could see them now—two women with almost nothing in common, except for him. She wondered if that connection was enough to make them friends, or if it would always be a kind of polite truce.

When the lull in the conversation stretched, Dawn risked one last question. “Do you ever regret not keeping in touch with him? After… everything?”

Chloe shook her head, a decisive but gentle no. “I don’t think Andy ever blamed me for leaving. He’s not that kind of person. And I needed time. My family needed time.” She looked up, eyes shining. “But I think he knew we’d find each other again. Even if it was just for a little while.”

Dawn smiled, a real one this time. “Yeah. He kind of has a way of making that happen.”

Chloe’s voice was so quiet that Dawn almost missed it. “I hope I don’t ruin it for him,” she said.

Dawn squeezed her hand. “You won’t. Trust me.”

The hush that settled over their table wasn’t isolation, or the cold silence of outsiders. It was the gentle quiet of shared understanding, of two people who didn’t need to fill the gaps with words.

High above, from a balcony half-shaded by ferns, Arabella watched the room. Her eyes moved from group to group, reading body language, searching for patterns. Her face betrayed nothing: not satisfaction, not concern, just the fixed, patient calm of a woman waiting for her experiment to mature.

Andi woke to the subtle shock of a body that was not quite her own, but not exactly foreign, either. She blinked at the ceiling, registering the smooth arcs and ornate molding of the Master’s Suite, and found the expected presence in the painting already awake: Katherine, eyes fixed on her from across the room, head cocked at a mischievous angle.

The new breasts—she could already think “her breasts” without a wince—spilled against the loose, soft tee she’d pulled on before sleep, and the longer hair, much heavier than Andy’s usual, formed a curtain across her pillow. For a second, she let herself lay there, mapping the updated geometry of her existence. It wasn’t bad, as far as enchantments went. It was just… different.

She swung her legs out of bed and padded to the kitchenette, pouring a careful cup of coffee from the machine. The sense memory was unbroken; the small, competent motions felt native. That was the unnerving part—her brain hadn’t skipped a beat in adapting.

A faint scrape from the frame, and Andi looked up. Katherine had sidled to the left edge of her canvas, leaning so far forward that her painted collarbone all but crossed into three-dimensional space. She wore her usual sly half-smile. Andi set her mug down, approached, and raised both hands in greeting.

Katherine mimed a slow, exaggerated look up and down Andi’s new form, then pointed to herself, then to Andi, then made a circle with her forefinger and thumb.

Andi grinned. “Yeah, you caught me,” she said, voice higher than she expected but with the same dry timbre as always. “I figured it was a good day to burn a few hours.”

Katherine mimed applause, then tapped her lips twice and lifted an eyebrow.

Andi laughed. “No, I haven’t told you about the upgrades yet.” She leaned against the wall, sipping her coffee. “You want the whole changelog?”

Katherine, as always, could not speak. But she could feign impatience better than most living people.

“Alright.” Andi ticked the points off on her fingers. “One, I can give commands to anyone in the harem and if I really mean it, they have to obey—even if I don’t want to **** it. Two, I have a magic console and a cheat code book. I can use it to do weird stuff, though not all the codes are unlocked. Three, I can switch between me and this form—Andi—whenever I want, but I have to be a woman at least 24 hours every round.”

Katherine blinked, processing. She mimed writing with a pencil, then shrugged with both hands, the universal “Why not?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a lot,” Andi admitted. “The thing is, this…” she gestured to her body, “I can’t use it during the date nights—unless maybe Sam’s, because she’s not in it for the sex anyway. So I figured, better to knock out a bunch of hours when it’s just me and the Suite.”

Katherine pointed at Andi’s chest, then at herself, then made the “wow” gesture, fingers splayed and fanned at her own cleavage.

Andi flushed, caught off guard. “You’re one to talk! But… yeah, it’s definitely… a change,” she said, and realized she was absently running her thumb under the line of her own breast. “The weird thing is, it doesn’t feel wrong. Like, physically, my balance and movement are perfect. My brain must have patched itself overnight. It’s just… distracting.” She laughed. “I’m not any different in here, kinks and all, I guess,” she said, tapping her forehead.

Katherine nodded, then made a gesture of peering into a hand-mirror, preening. She struck a pose—arms overhead, chest out, model’s smirk—then pantomimed a curtsy.

Andi gave her a mock bow. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

Katherine mimed zipping her lips, then threw away the key.

Andi laughed again, suddenly grateful for the company. “Alright, shower time,” she said. “Might as well get used to this body, if I’m going to be her regularly.”

Katherine responded with a middle finger, but her painted expression was delighted.

The shower was a lesson in muscle memory and adaptation. The new skin was hypersensitive, and the simple act of washing left Andi oddly content. She studied herself in the steamed-up mirror afterward, letting her hands trace the lines of her hips, the curve of her jaw, the hair now falling halfway down her back. She looked… different, but not unrecognizable. If Andy had a sister, this is what she’d look like.

Getting dressed was trickier. She’d planned to shift back after breakfast, so she pulled on Andy’s button-down and jeans, rolling the cuffs and cinching the waist with a belt. It was a little absurd—her figure filled out the shirt in ways Andy’s never had, and the jeans hung off her hips like borrowed clothing. Still, it was good enough for a morning indoors.

Back in the main room, Katherine was waiting. She did a double-take at the ill-fitting outfit, then fanned herself, pretending to swoon.

Andi rolled her eyes. “Very funny. I’ll change back to Andy when I see the girls, so you know. No need to explode out of clothes, when I do.”

Katherine mimed zipping her own dress, then posed, arms akimbo. Her smile faded as she gestured at her own painted body—always on display, always frozen in the same impossible posture.

Andi’s own amusement softened. “Sorry. I know it’s not fair. But at least you get to see the outside world, a little bit.”

Katherine shrugged. She pointed to Andi, then made a walking gesture with two fingers. Then she cupped her hands around her mouth, as if shouting encouragement.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll go explore soon,” Andi said. “But first, the console.” She crossed to the kitchen table, where a slim booklet sat, the words 'CHEAT CODES' printed on in it in elegant script, the cover etched with gold leaf.

She flipped it open and scanned the first page. Six codes, each with a neat hand-lettered description:

ping # : Select a Contestant, send a mental ping to let her know you need her now. Usage: at will.
listachiev # : List all Achievements available to a person, with cryptic hints as to how to obtain them (if locked) or a full description (if unlocked). Usage: at will.
cactus # : Boost the selected Contestant’s breast size by a cup. Please don’t ****. Overuse can have… interesting consequences. Usage: 1/day.
noclip : Access the selected locked area, with a Contestant, without the Contestant having to spend BPs to temporarily unlock the area. Usage: 1/round.
notarget : For 24 hours, shields a Contestant from conditional transformations, even if they’re triggered.
iknowkungfu # : Use the appropriate skill code (not provided in this booklet) to learn a new skill instantly. Different skill codes exist for each skill, depicting various levels of proficiency. Usage: at will (each code can only be used once).
hint : Get a hint of what you are supposed to do next, if used while embarked on a specific Host-sanctioned course of action. Usage: 1/round.

Andi whistled. “That’s a hell of a menu.” She spun the chair and sat, leafing through the rest of the book. It was blank, but there was space for several more codes.

She glanced at Katherine. “Any suggestions?”

Katherine mimed a show of pushing her breasts together, shrugged, then mimed flexing a muscle.

Andi grinned. “Maybe later. I’ll start with ‘ping’ when I need to assemble the team.”

Katherine gave a thumbs-up, then pointed at Andi, then at her own heart, then made a little finger-heart sign.

Andi tried not to get choked up. “I love you too, weirdo,” she said.

She closed the booklet and, on a whim, typed ‘listachiev’ into the console, adding her name to it. The interface buzzed. A long, scrolling list appeared—far longer than she’d expected.

Unlocked Achievements
No One Left Behind: Ensure one challenge has neither winners nor losers.

Locked Achievements
Final Stand: She deserves it. No More Secrets: Everyone must know.
Safe Harbor: Accept the deal.
Standing Ground: Be the leader, even in difficult times.
Team Skin: Together.
The College Years: Don't let them argue.
The Confidence Whisperer: Let them know what they mean to you.
The Guilt Triangle: Broker peace.
The Hard Choices: Do what you must.
The Heart: Four tasks, one girl.
The Impossible: Do what you couldn't.
The Innocents: Protect them.
The Professionals: Help them shed their skin.
The Three: Emerge stronger.

Andi blinked. “I guess they pegged me as an overachiever,” she said, and laughed.

She finished her coffee, closed the console, and headed for the door.

Andi wandered the edge of the tide, eyes on the horizon but her mind drifting between the surf and the impossible mess of the last week. The resort was mostly quiet at this hour, the breakfast crowd gone and only a handful of gulls daring the shallows for scraps. She liked it better this way—alone, unscripted, free of obligations, just the hush, the grit, and the clean, salted air. For a moment, she almost convinced herself it was just a vacation, a reset, nothing more complicated than a woman getting her steps in before the day began.

She must have walked a mile before the crunch of sand behind her drew her back. Dawn and Emi appeared side by side, matching strides. Dawn’s ponytail bounced cheerfully, and Emi’s six arms moved so fluidly—two shading her eyes, two swinging by her sides, two linked behind her back—that Andi still felt a flicker of wonder each time she saw them.

They caught up in a few quick steps. “Hey, Andi,” Dawn said, winded but smiling.

Emi offered a soft nod. “Hi.”

Andi smiled. “You two tracking my steps, or just working on cardio?”

Dawn laughed and shook her head. “A bit of both. Also… we’re still wrapping our heads around the fact you’re going to look like this from time to time, now.”

Emi nodded vigorously. “It’s… incredible. I mean, you go from him to her so seamlessly.”

Andi gave a rueful shrug. “You and me both. It’s not really seamless. And it feels weird, even if I instinctively know how to move like this. I didn’t expect to meet anyone out here, so I figured I’d burn off some of the compulsory time I have to stay as Andi—and get used to girl time.” She spun a strand of hair around her finger. “Honestly, I needed the practice. This look is very distracting.”

Dawn grinned. “Well, you’re killing it, despite your tragic sense of style.”

Andi glanced back at the water, then at them. “So, what’s up?”

Emi hesitated, then said, “Nothing’s wrong. We just wanted to hang out.”

A warm flutter rose in Andi’s chest. “Yeah. I’d like that too. Sorry if I’ve been”—she waved vaguely—“you know, scattered lately.”

Dawn snorted. “You’re doing great. We get it—it’s a lot to process. And you look better today. Last week, you had that haunted-martyr vibe. Now you’re more… chill vacation-girl.”

Andi laughed softly. “Still weird to hear, but I’ll take that.”

She turned to Emi. “How are you holding up with the new upgrade and all?”

Emi considered. “It’s better. I mean”—she pressed her top pair of hands to her cheeks—“I’m not at war with myself anymore. I still have six arms, but now they feel like… mine.”

Andi’s grin widened. “That’s amazing. I’m so happy for you.”

On impulse, Andi stepped forward and hugged Emi. At first Emi tensed, then returned the embrace with three sets of arms in gentle sequence. When they pulled apart, Emi’s smile was radiant.

Andi faced Dawn. “And you?”

Dawn ran a hand through her hair. “Honestly? My second transformation was a gift. I haven’t felt this alive ever. Plus, since Sam’s transformation is covering for you right now, I don’t have that urge to, you know, do everything for you.”

Andi blinked. “Does that bother you?”

Dawn shook her head. “Not at all. It’s nice. I still care about you, but now I have time to think about what I want, too. I’m… still figuring that part out.”

Andi nodded, letting Dawn’s words settle between them. The three stood on the shore, the morning light glinting off the water, each of them navigating their new forms—and their new lives—together.

They walked along the water, three abreast. Dawn chucked stones into the surf, trying to skip them but only managing two or three bounces before they sank. Emi strolled quietly, fingers occasionally brushing shells or bits of driftwood. Andi fell into step behind them, content simply to be in their company.

“I’m sorry,” Andi said, voice low. “I haven’t been… as present for you both as I should be. There’s been a lot. And I know I’ve focused on some of the others more.”

Emi shook her head so sharply it looked like a cartoon double take. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s… a lot for you, too. We get it.”

Dawn nodded. “Yeah. It’s not like you were ever mean, Andi—you always made time for us, even if it wasn’t as much as the others.” She paused, glancing at Andi’s deliberately loose shirt and lack of bra. “Also, you’re literally managing a harem. You get a pass.”

That broke the tension; all three laughed together, the sound fizzing away like a popped bubble.

Dawn grinned and then, teasing, elbowed Andi in the ribs. “So—any cheat codes in your inventory?”

Emi perked up. “Yeah, Andi, how many are you packing right now?”

Andi dramatically sighed. “Okay, way to harass the cheat master. I’ve got several available at the moment. One helps me learn new skills when I find skill codes.” She snorted. “It’s going to be a treasure hunt, I suppose. One lets me send a mental ping to any of you to let you know I need you. One tells me the list of Achievements for a single one of you. These are decent. There’s one, ‘cactus’, that for some reason allows me to boost the breast size of one of any of you until the end of the round.”

Emi chuckled. “Appropriate for this show.”

Andi grinned. “The last one is the best one. I can pick any one of you, once per round, and if you have conditional transformations, they won’t trigger for a full day.”

Dawn blinked. “You mean… “

Andi nodded. “For example, I could pick Liesa and temporarily nullify her Paint Me Like One of Your French Girls transformation. Or, I guess, not nullify, but make it so that if she takes off her clothes, it won’t trigger.”

Dawn whistled, and Andy nodded again. “Just need to figure out when to use it. And I’m curious to see what other cheat codes are out there, now. Happy?”

Dawn laughed. “We literally have our own walking cheat machine.”

After another moment’s silence, Dawn kicked at a pebble. “So… do you think things are going to get worse? Or better?”

Andi exhaled. “I hope better. I want to get everyone through this. I keep worrying that I’m not doing enough.”

Emi looked at her, all six of her hands clasped behind her back. “You are. If you weren’t here, it would be so much harder.”

They fell into silence for a few steps. Then Dawn shyly said, “Can I ask you something, Andi?”

“Anything,” she replied.

Dawn studied her, eyes bright. “Are you happy with us? With this group, I mean.”

Andi thought about it, really thought—then nodded. “I am. More than I ever thought I could be.”

Dawn smiled, as if she’d been waiting for that answer. “You’re a good one, Andi. We’re lucky.” Emi smiled, too, but hers was softer, more inward. Andi turned pink under her binder, not sure what to do with the praise.

After a minute, Emi said, in a surprisingly small voice, “Andi?”

“Yes, Emi?”

She glanced at the ocean, then back at her. “Next time we have a night together… would you want to see what my Hexasutra transformation can do?”

Andi blinked. She’d expected Emi to be shy forever, but here she was, asking: honest, a little scared, but not hiding. Andi smiled, her cheeks warming. “Yeah. I would.”

Dawn laughed, delighted. “Wow, Emi. You beat me to it.”

Andi looked at Dawn. “What about you?”

She looked down. “I don’t know if I want to jump in bed, exactly. Not right away. But… I want to see where this goes.” She caught Andi’s eye, holding it. “With you.”

Andi grinned. “I’d like that too.”

Dawn tilted her head. “By the way, when you’re in this girl body, you might want to wear a bra. Your boobs are pretty big, your back could start complaining if you don’t.”

Andi rolled her shoulders and shrugged. “Maybe. But if it gets annoying…” She inhaled, features blurring, hair shortening and broadening into familiar angles. Moments later, Andy stood there. “I can always change back.”

Emi’s three right arms fluttered. “Oh wow, I almost forgot you could do that.”

Dawn reached out and poked his cheek. “Still gives me chills every time.”

Andy laughed softly. He looked between them, the two women standing together, more sure of themselves than he’d ever seen. He realized, in that instant, that he really did care about them. Not out of duty, or guilt, but out of something deeper, something that was starting to feel dangerously like love.

“I want you both to be happy,” he said. “If you ever don’t want to do something, or if I’m being an idiot, just tell me. Okay?”

Emi nodded. “Okay.”

Dawn said, “I will.”

They walked a little farther. Andy thought about the others—the whole messy, impossible harem. He realized he didn’t want to lose any of them. He wondered if that made him selfish, or just human.

He glanced at Dawn and Emi. “Do you think the others feel the same?”

Dawn shrugged. “Probably. It’s weird, but we’re all in this together. I don’t think any of us expected it, but here we are.”

Emi said, “We’ve already been through a lot together. I think it would be okay. Even if you cared about all of us.”

He let that land, really land, for the first time. Could it be that he didn’t have to pick? Maybe, they could build something different. Something that worked for them all.

He slung an arm around each of their shoulders, and to his surprise, they both leaned in. Dawn’s arm slid around his waist, strong and steady. Emi’s three right arms wrapped around his back in a perfect, coordinated hug. The three walked together, steps matched, hearts lighter than they’d been all week.

Above, on the balcony, Arabella watched them for a moment, then disappeared into the shadows, a faint smile on her lips.