Tomi becomes Korean-American

Kekyll cleared his throat and turned to the console, pretending to double-check the data while stealing glances at the girl in the chair. Tomi sat with the same relaxed posture as Tommy had—albeit adjusted to her now subtly shifted frame. She looked every bit the college student: hoodie, shorts, a textbook still resting forgotten on the side table.

“Just a few quick questions before we proceed,” he said, tapping on a nearby tablet to bring up a profile screen.

Tomi perked up. “Like a survey?”

“Something like that.”

He glanced at the RAC’s live log:

[SUBJECT: TOMI MCFIRTH | PARAM: GENDER INVERT | STATUS: COMPLETE]
[MEMETIC STABILITY: HIGH | MEMORY CONSISTENCY: 98.4%]
[SOCIAL HISTORY: REWRITTEN | BIOLOGICAL TRAIT ALIGNMENT: SUCCESSFUL]

“Name?” Kekyll prompted, though he already knew.

“Tomi McFirth,” she answered without hesitation.

“Year and major?”

“Second year. Economics, but—ugh, honestly I was thinking about switching. It’s kinda soul-crushing.”

Kekyll smiled. “Fair. Hobbies?”

“Um, hiking, I guess? Oh, and I used to do ballet when I was younger, but not seriously. Mostly just to get out of the house.”

That caught his attention. Ballet?

He made a note, then leaned against the lab bench. “How do you feel, Tomi? Physically, emotionally, anything you’d say feels… off?”

Tomi tilted her head, thinking. “Nope. I mean, I had a weird dream last night about flying a bus, but I’m pretty sure that’s just from too much caffeine.”

Her physiology matched the baseline Tommy—same BMI, posture tendencies, vocal rhythm, even the slight overbite he remembered—but all feminized with stunning seamlessness. Personality traits had carried over too: easygoing, slightly spacey, compliant to authority. She was, unmistakably, the female equivalent of the subject he’d started with.

Kekyll folded his arms, nodding in quiet satisfaction. Perfect mimicry of self through perception-based gender inversion. No psychological disruption. Memory consistency above 98 percent.

He was about to deactivate the session when a new thought slithered into his mind: What if perception wasn’t just a filter over reality, but a lens through which history itself could be rewritten?

He tapped the console again, pulling up the deeper calibration menu.

[PARAM: CULTURAL BACKGROUND ADJUSTMENT]
[NEW INPUT: KOREAN-AMERICAN]
[HERITAGE: KOREAN-IMMIGRANT (2ND GENERATION)]
[LINGUISTIC FLUENCY: ENGLISH (PRIMARY), KOREAN (CONVERSATIONAL)]
[SOCIAL CONTEXT: CALIFORNIA UPBRINGING / TRADITIONAL FAMILY]
[STATUS: PENDING]

“Tomi,” he said gently, “would you be willing to continue this experiment? There’s more we can learn—if you’re open to helping.”

She blinked. “Uh, yeah, I guess? Is this still about perception?”

“In a manner of speaking. I want to explore how deeper self-conceptual models—memories, identity—adapt to externally shifted reference frames.”

Tomi squinted at him. “So, like…?”

“It’s all still you,” Kekyll assured. “But I want to see if I can make you remember something new. Like…a new skill!”

“Like playing the drums?” she inquired, almost pleadingly.

“Sure, like playing the drums.” the Doctor responded.

Tomi chewed her lip thoughtfully. “That’s… kind of weird. But also kind of cool?.”

Kekyll smiled. “Then shall we?”

She gave a theatrical thumbs up. “Hit me, Doc.”

Kekyll pressed the button.

Again, the flicker—quieter this time, like a ripple through a still pond.

Tomi sat still for a moment, blinking.

Then she reached up and absently tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. Her features had subtly shifted: cheekbones just a touch higher, eyelids slightly reshaped, skin tone adjusted by mere degrees. Her nose was narrower, and her eyes now carried a faint monolid—minor, almost imperceptible tweaks that bespoke entirely different ancestry.

“Oh shit, sorry,” she said suddenly, “didn’t mean to move. I was just thinking—I promised my halmeoni I’d call her after class today. I always forget when she’s on Seoul time.”

Kekyll’s breath caught.

“Your grandmother?”

“Yeah, my dad’s mom. She still lives in Jeju. Super traditional, but she’s great. Sends me these care packages with yaksik and honey candies.” She giggled. “Total sugar bombs.”

Kekyll could hardly keep from trembling with excitement.

“And you speak Korean?” he asked casually.

“Only a little,” she replied, then paused. “But enough. Um… gwenchana, komawo, jal jinae? I used to watch dramas with my mom growing up, so I picked up a bunch.”

The RAC pulsed faintly in his hand. The screen read:

[PARAM: CULTURAL BACKGROUND ADJUSTMENT | KOREAN-AMERICAN | STATUS: COMPLETE]
[NAME: TOMI MCFIRTH —> TOMI JEONG]
[LANGUAGE FLUENCY SYNCED: 84.6%]
[FAMILY HISTORY INDEX UPDATED | SOCIOCULTURAL MEMORY INTEGRATED]
[MEMETIC STABILITY: HIGH]

Kekyll leaned back slowly, eyes wide.

“Unbelievable,” he whispered. “I didn’t just shift her self-perception. I rewrote her entire story.”

And she had no idea.