The next morning, Ami opened her eyes at exactly 6:30 a.m., without needing an alarm clock or anyone's voice to wake her. Her body woke naturally, gently, like a soft piano melody echoing from the depths of her mind. Her breathing was steady, her heartbeat light and calm. Every muscle followed a perfect biological rhythm that Long had never known in his previous life—the life of a man who used to wake up with a heavy head, exhausted and still burdened by lingering lust after long nights of masturbation or suppression.
Gentle morning sunlight filtered through the thin voile curtains, falling on her delicate face and making her long, jet-black hair shimmer with faint golden threads, as if even the light wanted to caress her flawless, porcelain-smooth skin. Long—now Ami—lay still for a moment on the large bed, blinking several times to gather her thoughts and clearly feeling the heartbreaking difference: her small chest rose and fell gently; her budding breasts felt slightly swollen and tender from sleeping on her side all night; the warm, strangely sensitive cleft between her legs brushed lightly against the cool silk blanket. Her entire body felt delicate and feather-light, no longer the heavy, muscular, vein-bulging frame covered in sweaty, glistening skin from her past life. Every smallest movement carried a soft, smooth sensation, as if this body had been designed to harmonize with the world around it rather than fight against it.
She sat up slowly. Her long black hair cascaded over her snow-white shoulders, lightly brushing against her silk-smooth skin and sending a pleasant shiver from her shoulders down her spine. Ami's memories flooded in clearly and sharply, like a film played in slow motion: today was Monday, the day she had to attend classes at Nonomura Academy. She had to be on time, not allowed to be even a second late, because that was the unbreakable rule of the Nonomura family and of this prestigious school itself.
Long took a deep breath and told herself in her mind, her inner voice still carrying a hint of masculine resolve: "Today is the first real day. I have to adapt. This body will guide the way, but I am the one who decides."
She stepped down from the bed. Her small feet touched the thick, fluffy sheepskin rug, sinking deeply into what felt like a soft white cloud. She then walked straight into the private bathroom inside her room—a luxurious space with cool, creamy marble floors underfoot, a deep oval bathtub that could soak for hours with hot water from the underfloor heating system, a gold-plated showerhead sparkling under the crystal chandelier, and large mirrors covering three walls that vividly reflected every curve of the pubescent girl's body without hiding anything.
Warm water from the shower poured over her smooth skin. Long let Ami's body act on instinct: her hands rubbed the lilac-scented soap evenly over her slender neck, small shoulders, then glided down to her budding breasts, circling the nipples. A faint shiver spread throughout her body, like a warm electric current running down her spine. Her tiny nipples hardened under her wet, slippery fingers. Her hands continued downward, over her flat stomach, her long, smooth thighs, and finally to the small, warm slit of her pussy. Her fingers unconsciously brushed along the pink folds and lightly touched the most sensitive spot, causing Ami's whole body to twitch with a vague, sweet pleasure—not too intense, just enough to make Long bite her lower lip and think silently: "This skin is so sensitive… just a light touch feels so strange. I really am inside a girl's body now. But let it do what it wants. Don't resist. This is my body now."
After showering, she dried herself with a soft silk towel that smelled refreshingly of fresh lilacs. She opened the large, intricately carved ebony wardrobe. The school uniform had already been perfectly ironed by the servants and hung neatly like in a high-end store. Long dressed following Ami's muscle memory—every movement flowing so naturally that she didn't need to think. She buttoned the pristine white shirt with its stiff collar; put on the dark green vest embroidered with the school crest in shining gold thread; pulled up the pleated gray skirt that fell just below the knees and smoothed every fold with her slender hands; slipped on the white thigh-high socks that hugged her smooth skin tightly; and finally put on the shiny black leather shoes. Lastly, she tied her long hair into a neat high ponytail with a pure white ribbon.
Looking into the large mirror, Ami appeared as the perfect noble young lady: beautiful, elegant, and breathtakingly graceful, with her sparkling dark brown eyes and naturally gentle smile. Long thought in amazement: "Every movement flows so naturally, as if this body has done it thousands of times. I've never worn a skirt, never tied my hair like this… but now it feels like a second nature."
She stepped out of the room. Her leather shoes glided lightly across the polished ebony floor as she descended the curved staircase leading to the vast entrance hall. The refined aroma of Japanese breakfast wafted up: steaming, fragrant white rice, golden miso-grilled fish with crispy skin, hot miso soup with tofu dotted with fresh green scallions, sweet rolled omelet, and a plate of crisp white pickled vegetables.
The long ebony dining table had already been set by several servants in neat black uniforms, standing on either side like living statues. For the first time in his life, Long met Ami's parents—Mr. Nonomura Hiroshi Senior, a tall, middle-aged man with silver-streaked hair, a stern face, and sharp eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses, wearing an expensive dark gray suit; and Mrs. Nonomura Akiko, an elegant woman in her forties with her hair neatly tied up, wearing a pale lilac silk kimono, her smile gentle yet radiating aristocratic grace.
"Good morning, Father, Mother," Ami said softly, bowing her head lightly. Her voice rang out clear and sweet, naturally as if she had known it by heart since childhood. Long was astonished to find herself speaking fluent Japanese, with perfect pronunciation in every syllable. The smile on her lips was also perfectly executed—gentle, respectful, without the slightest awkwardness or hesitation.
Ami's memories guided everything: she sat down in her familiar seat on the right side of the table, clasped her hands in front of her chest for a short family prayer, then picked up the ebony chopsticks with perfect form. She picked up pieces of grilled fish and sipped the hot miso soup without spilling a single drop.
Mrs. Akiko smiled softly, her voice warm: "Ami, you look healthier today. Don't push yourself too hard at school, alright? You've just recovered from your illness."
Mr. Hiroshi Senior gave a slight nod, his stern eyes filled with affection: "Study hard, my daughter. Tonight, Father wants to hear you play a new piano piece. I hope you'll play something special for me."
Long thought in silent amazement: "I've never studied music, never lived like this for even a single day… but Ami's body is controlling everything. Like a perfect puppet—every gesture, every word is flawlessly proper. It's almost frightening."
After breakfast, the old butler—Mr. Tanaka, a man in his sixties wearing a neat black suit with silver-white hair—was already waiting by the front door beside the glossy black Rolls-Royce, its engine purring so quietly it seemed almost silent.
"Young Miss Ami, the car is ready to take you to school."
Ami nodded lightly, hugged her genuine leather school bag to her side, and stepped into the car. The journey to school took exactly twenty minutes through the bustling yet elegantly old-fashioned streets of Tokyo in 1980: the car drove past rows of cherry trees that had not yet bloomed, past modern office buildings interspersed with traditional wooden architecture, under the golden morning sunlight.
Nonomura Academy appeared before Long's eyes like a miniature European palace in the heart of Tokyo: the main building was three stories high, made of pristine white granite, with curved red-tiled roofs, a vast garden with a sparkling fountain, clean pebble-paved paths, and especially the separate dormitory buildings scattered throughout the campus—where most noble students ate, studied, and rested entirely within the school grounds without needing to return home. Nearly all the students came from prestigious families—children of major businessmen and politicians' descendants. They lived in this closed environment to be trained as the nobility of the future.
Long—through Ami's memories—knew every rule clearly: no one was allowed to bring outside food in, strict hours from 7 a.m. to 4 p.m., and every activity aimed at perfection in both academics and etiquette.
She blended into the stream of students wearing identical uniforms, her steps light on the school grounds. Ami's knowledge helped Long adapt so quickly that even she was surprised: she went straight to the correct classroom, greeted the teachers with the proper bow and "Sensei, ohayou gozaimasu," and sat in her seat by the window without needing to ask anyone.
The morning passed peacefully, but Long observed every detail with sharp eyes.
In the first advanced mathematics class, the strict teacher in his fifties wrote a complex series of differential equations on the board. Long let Ami's memories guide her. Her slender fingers held the pencil and moved swiftly across the paper, solving the problems with clear logic. When called to the board, her clear voice presented each step coherently, making the whole class fall silent and listen, while some girls whispered in admiration.
In the next classical Japanese literature class, they discussed Basho's haiku. Ami participated naturally, analyzing the natural imagery in the poems with a gentle yet profound voice, leading the class into a lively discussion and accurately citing examples from Basho's other works.
In world history class, the teacher talked about the Industrial Revolution in 18th-century Britain. Ami took meticulous notes in elegant handwriting and answered supplementary questions about economic and social impacts with tight, logical arguments, earning the teacher's satisfied nod and open praise in front of the class.
It was only during music class—the subject Ami was most famous for throughout the school—that Long truly let herself relax completely. The spacious music room had a high ceiling, soft light from stained-glass windows, and a magnificent Steinway piano placed in the center of the stage. The teacher—a renowned pianist who had once performed in Vienna—smiled warmly, his voice deep and kind: "Ami, today let's review Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Would you play it for me?"
Long took a deep breath, stepped forward, and placed her ten slender fingers on the keys. She completely relaxed and let Ami's muscle memory guide every movement. Her fingers glided naturally across the keys, and the first notes rang out melodious and deep. However… it was not quite up to standard. The tempo was slightly slower than the original, some high notes were slightly off, and the emotion lacked sufficient depth, as if the body had not fully recovered from the "illness" Long had used as an excuse. The sound was still beautiful, still pleasant, but it was not the Ami Nonomura—the piano prodigy whom the entire school admired.
Long stopped midway, bowed her head humbly, and apologized: "I'm sorry, Sensei. I've just recovered from my illness, so my hands are still a bit stiff and lack strength. Please forgive me for not playing as well as usual."
The teacher nodded understandingly and gently placed a hand on her shoulder: "It's alright, Ami. You are our prodigy. Just rest a few more days and you'll be back to your best. I believe in you."
Long smiled faintly and sat back down. In her mind, an interesting realization flashed clearly: even though in her previous life Long knew nothing about music and had never touched any instrument except listening to noisy radio in a rented room, Ami's muscle memory was incredibly strong and profound. She quickly calculated with the cold logic of her past life: with diligent practice for about seven days, focusing on finger technique, breathing, and emotion, she could restore 100% of Ami's original skill. Perhaps even surpass it, because Long's soul carried the iron will of someone who had suppressed their desires for twenty-six years.
At lunchtime, Ami went to the school's main dining hall—a grand space like a high-end restaurant with ebony tables and chairs, snow-white tablecloths, and fresh Japanese dishes prepared daily by the chefs: fluffy white rice, fragrant grilled salmon teriyaki, crisp vegetable salad, miso tofu soup, and hot green tea.
As she was holding her food tray, a warm, deep male voice sounded right beside her: "Ami, you look strange today. Your face is a bit red, and your eyes look different. Is something wrong?"
It was Hiroshi—Ami's half-brother from the same father, a 12th-grade student and captain of the music club. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with neatly cut black hair and an angular yet noble face. From Ami's memories, Long knew clearly: Ami had once been madly in love with Hiroshi, secretly watching him during joint practice sessions, her heart pounding every time he praised her piano playing, her cheeks blushing just from his smile.
But now, Long's soul was in complete control. Long had no interest in incest, even if it was only a half-brother. Although Ami's body stirred with a familiar sensation—her cheeks flushing slightly, her heartbeat quickening by one beat, a warm current spreading from her lower abdomen—Long remained fully in control. She smiled faintly, her voice gentle and polite but showing no trace of emotion: "Hello, Brother Hiroshi. I'm fine. I'm just a little tired since I've just recovered. Please don't worry."
The part of Ami inside Long stirred slightly, like a small wave trying to surge with old memories, but Long's soul was far stronger and immediately suppressed it, like extinguishing a weak flame.
Hiroshi frowned with slight concern, his brotherly eyes full of care: "Alright, get some rest, Ami. Tomorrow I'll watch you practice. If you need anything, I'll help guide you." Then he turned and walked toward the 12th-grade table.
Long breathed a quiet sigh of relief and continued eating lunch in silence, chewing each bite of rice slowly according to proper etiquette, leaving not a single grain behind.
The long school day ended at 4 p.m. when the melodious bell rang. Butler Tanaka was already waiting outside the school gate with the glossy black Rolls-Royce. The car took her back to the Nonomura mansion in Shibuya under the Tokyo sunset of 1980—the sky a soft orange-gold, long shadows of cherry trees stretching across the streets, and a cool autumn breeze blowing through the car windows.
When she stepped into the vast mansion hall, the crystal chandeliers had already lit up warmly. Ami whispered to herself, her voice soft but resolute, echoing gently in her heart:
"The first day… is over. Everything followed Ami's instincts, but I am Long. I will continue to live. And I will live in my own way—not Ami's way."
She smiled. Her dark brown eyes sparkled with a new, strong determination. The new life of Nguyễn Hoàng Kim Long inside Ami Nonomura's body had only just begun, and tomorrow would bring even more interesting things.