Beat of the City (Korean, mid-30s, music exec)

The RAC spun like roulette on the precipice of decision.

Joana’s fingers trembled above the device's core button, heart pounding with that blend of curiosity and surrender she knew too well by now.

AGE: 33
OCCUPATION: Music Executive
LOCATION: New York City
SOCIAL CONTEXT: Socialite bachelorette with a social media following
APPEARANCE: 5’2”, Korean, lithe, cute face, sultry, spunky edge
IDENTITY: Joona Kim

She blinked as the bright white faded. No pain, no flashbang, just a smooth slide between identities. A perfect merge, like stepping through silk and emerging soaked in rhythm.

She steadied herself on the marble sink. Cold. Real.

The woman staring back in the mirror was her…but new. Sharper. Shorter. Smoldering.

5’2”. Korean. Cute, but commanding. Sultry, spunky. A Seoul-born music executive with a TikTok following and hips that could bankrupt a man.

Jet-black hair framed her face in a tousled wolf cut: edgy, effortless, the kind of style that plainly stated I don’t need your approval, but you’ll give it anyway. Thick silver hoops swung beside her cheeks as she tilted her head with a knowing smirk.

Her makeup was tight: dewy highlighter catching the soft light, smoky liner giving her almond eyes a devastating tilt. Glossy lips pursed in delight as she took herself in.

“Holy fuck,” she murmured. Her voice? Straight velvet. Just husky enough to sound like a hasty decision at 3 a.m. Likely several bad decisions.

Her dress was simple but cut to kill: a backless, halter-style slip of black silk that clung to her curves like it worshipped them. Each breath made her perky breasts rise subtly beneath the fabric, teasing fullness and freedom beneath the smooth drape. Her waist pulled tight, hips flaring, ass perched and swaying as if sculpted from rhythm itself. A flicker of ink peeked from her upper arm: a fine-line treble clef, just barely visible.

She turned slightly. The mirror captured the ripple of her silhouette, the sway of her hips. A full three-sixty revealed another tattoo on her ankle - a sleek eighth note - as a stiletto heel lifted off the tile with a soft click.

On the countertop beside her, sleek and matte-black, the RAC rested in a velvet-lined clutch, as elegant and out-of-place as a grenade in a jewelry box. It had followed her through the transition. Of course it had. Her anchor. Her escape hatch. Or her leash.

She ran a fingertip along its cool edge, smirking. “Guess you’re still here.”

“Joons?” came a voice from outside. Muffled by distance. Friendly. Familiar. Flirty.

“I’m good,” she called back smoothly. Then softer, to herself: “Better than good.”

Memories bloomed in waves. Champagne toasts. Viral after-parties. That one night with the DJ from Berlin. Clients. Lovers. Power lunches with execs who smiled too wide and stared too long. And Joona? She ran the room without even trying.

Her life wasn’t just built, it flowed. Like a beat drop before the chorus. She leaned in, adjusting her hoops, her reflection biting her lip. She knew this body. Knew how it moved. How it pulsed with danger and charm. How she could weaponize a glance, a laugh, a deliberate brush of hip against hip.

And that’s when the warmth bloomed.

A subtle rush between her thighs. Not raw. Not needy. Just there, an electric hum in the background of her existence. A reminder that her body didn’t just look good, it felt incredible. The way the dress hugged her ass, the sensation of bare skin brushing against silk, the undercurrent of heat from being admired, desired, envied.

She smiled. This wasn’t cosplay. This wasn’t just a test. This was Joona’s life now.

She stepped into the hall beyond the bathroom, music pulsing low and seductive through the walls of the luxury wedding venue. Gold sconces and velvet drapes blurred past as she moved with confidence born of familiarity, her heels clicking in syncopated rhythm, hips swinging with that impossible mix of casual and calculated.

Two girls looked up from the bar as she passed. One leaned to the other and whispered something. The second giggled, eyes still tracking Joona’s stride.

Joona tossed a glance over her shoulder and winked.

Both girls blushed.

Goddamn, she thought. This body’s a public service.

Her phone buzzed. She pulled it from her clutch, tapping a fingernail against the screen. Group chat: LABEL RATS.

| hey queen ur track is at 4. come thru or i swear we’ll spin that remix u hate

Joona grinned. She didn’t even need to ask what track. Her brain already buzzed with the chorus. The chorus she found from that girl out in the boonies. A summer banger with a filthy bassline and a TikTok dance trend she’d kicked off on a dare.

She slid her phone back into her clutch and rounded the corner, toward the pulsing bass and candlelit chaos of the reception-turned-party.

A life was waiting. Not one she borrowed. Not one she stole. One she became.

And every inch of Joona Kim, from smirking lips to ink-kissed thighs, owned every second of it.

Quantum Anchor: Dr. Joana Kekyll (Primary User)
Quantum Target: Joona Kim / Timeline Sub-Variant: Strand-SQ2E
Duration: 17 days remaining
Subject Origin: Alternate-life fork (Not inhabited / No replacement)