Raifu Suitchi 07

Chapter 7: Doppelganger

When Sofia picked up the phone that evening, she was met with a barrage of jumbled words from an evidently distressed Allen. His voice trembled with the prospect of quitting, lamenting how the show had mutilated his appearance. She attempted to pacify him, assuring him that he was overreacting. However, her conviction wavered when she opened the selfie he sent; the transformation was indeed jarring.

Seeking to ease his anxiety, Sofia validated his feelings. "The show's taken it too far this time. I think they're trying to push us to our limits, hoping we'll quit. They've probably noticed our progress and feel threatened."

"Do you really think that's their game?" Allen's voice quivered with indignation.

"Absolutely. I did some digging on the internet. Did you know that in the past five years, only one couple has ever secured the prize? Most teams either quit prematurely or falter in the final hurdle."

"Those cheap bastards!" Allen spat, his tone sharp. "I wish there was a way to make them pay."

Sofia, warming to a plan, proposed, "What if we play them at their own game? Instead of giving them the explosive reactions they crave, we stay stoic. We complete every challenge with a poker face, making their footage yawn-inducing."

A fire ignited in Allen's voice. "Yes, they’ll regret messing with us! Looking like this, I’ve got nothing more to lose. Fuck it. I'll take their money and do it by being the most boring contestant ever."

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Allen awoke the next morning with an unwavering resolve, fuelled by his conversation with Sofia. Staring at his distinctly feminine reflection, his previous reservations melted away, replaced by an unyielding desire to make the TV show rue their decisions. He meticulously attended to every detail of his appearance. Opting for an outfit that would flatter Sofia, and by extension himself, he paid extra attention to his makeup.

His once troublesome nails now seemed less challenging after a day of adjustment. He managed to slip on a pair of semi-opaque tights without snagging them and even fastened the delicate buckles of his wedge sandals with finesse.

Seated behind the reception desk, legs elegantly crossed, he took a file to his nails as his colleagues began to trickle in. Their initial astonishment was palpable, quickly turning to admiration as they gushed over his transformation. Compliments on his exquisite makeup, lashes, and sartorial choices flowed. Adorned in a black satin pencil skirt with a hint of ruffle, paired with a lustrous red blouse featuring a prominent bow, Allen cut a striking figure. The radiant glow of his plump lips contrasted with his demure doll-like eyes, framed by long, feathery lashes accentuated by sleek eyeliner.

Graciously, Allen accepted their praise, reciprocating with his own compliments. Beneath the composed exterior, a storm of emotions raged within. Each feminine descriptor intensified the embarrassment festering inside him. Yet, amidst the whirlwind of feelings, he felt a burgeoning sense of calm and acceptance. With steely determination, he thought, "What else can they possibly throw at me?"

At precisely 5:30, a car arrived, signalling the beginning of yet another chapter in Allen's transformative journey. He was informed that they were headed to a hair salon for a styling session. Given the barrage of treatments he'd undergone the previous day, a haircut seemed almost mundane. It was a bit surprising that it had taken them so long to address his hair, especially since Sofia had been rocking a short, boyish hairstyle for the past week.

Arriving at the salon, he knew what to do: introduce himself as Sofia, consent to a beautifying procedure he wasn’t particularly keen on, and then endure what felt like endless hours of treatment before finally being confronted with a startling result.

Following his check-in, Allen was instructed to undress, shed his makeup and wig, and don a minuscule thong-like piece of elastic underwear. Although puzzled at first, the purpose of the skimpy undergarment soon became apparent. He was led into a room designated for spray tanning. With the robe discarded, an elastic cap securing his hair and goggles shielding his eyes, he stood self-consciously in a glass booth, feeling vulnerable and exposed. A stunning technician signalled him to widen his stance before she methodically sprayed his entire body with a fine, tanning mist.

As he stood drying, the ever-present camera panned his slender silhouette, capturing every nuance for the eagerly awaiting audience.

Fifteen minutes later, Allen found himself enveloped in the plush cushioning of a salon chair, his hair freshly washed. He could detect the pungent aroma of hair dye, a scent he'd previously associated with dyeing the wig. Curiosity bubbled within him – what shade had they chosen? He mentally wagered on black, trying to match the image of Sofia.

Distracted by a contemporary fashion magazine handed to him, he skimmed through the glossy pages, noting the prominence of animal prints in the current fashion trends. Before long, he was ushered towards a sink where the dye was rinsed out. Upon inspection, his assumption proved correct: he now sported a mane of jet-black hair. Combined with his new bronzed tan, a stark contrast to his naturally pale skin, Allen's transformation was becoming increasingly pronounced.

The salon personnel informed him that the next procedure involved hair extensions, a process that would take a while. Reaching for Sofia's phone nestled inside her handbag, Allen searched for a distraction, finally landing on an engaging puzzle game, tasking players to align coloured shapes. The game, as trivial as it seemed, was captivating.

His newly acquired long nails proved to be an initial impediment, but he soon devised a technique. By bending his fingers back to their maximum, he could utilize the tips to navigate the touchscreen with relative ease. The game absorbed him so thoroughly that he lost track of time, unaware of the incremental weight being added to his head strand by strand.

Snapping out of his digital trance upon passing level 63, a gentle tap on his shoulder announced the completion of the procedure. "Miss, you're all set. You can get dressed now, but please keep the towel wrapped around your hair," the stylist advised. Glancing at the mirror, Allen noted the voluminous towel turban enveloping his head, making his facial features seem minuscule in comparison. Rising from the chair, he was momentarily thrown off-balance, having underestimated the weight of his augmented tresses.

Allen navigated his way to the changing room, slipping back into his chic office ensemble. He marvelled at how swiftly he had acclimatized to the extended nails. Though they added a flamboyant flair to his gestures, he had begun to operate with them effortlessly. It was just as Sofia had predicted.

Stepping back into the salon, a twinge of unease shot through him upon spotting Aiko. Past encounters with her typically hinted at unforeseen complications.

"Hello, Allen," Aiko began, her voice all business, "Take a seat. Today, I'm here not only for the grand unveiling but also to capture your reactions for our audience."

Greeting her with a cautious nod, Allen sighed. "Sure, let's just get it over with."

She motioned him to the styling chair. "In due time. But first, we've a surprise for you: It’s time for ‘Eyes SU-ITCHI’." She screamed out as she playfully jiggled a box of coloured contact lenses, causing Allen's heart to drop.

He countered defiantly, "I won't wear them."

Taken aback by his resistance, Aiko discreetly signalled to the cameraman. "Yamato, go take a smoke break?" Obliging, Yamato set down his gear and exited.

Facing Allen with intensity, Aiko clarified, "Allen, declining a SU-IT-CHI means automatic elimination. Remember the contract you signed?"

Allen blinked, racking his brain. "Contract? I don't remember any contract."

"It was handed to you on day one. It was part of the papers containing the form of personal questions you filled out," she reminded.

A faint memory surfaced: skimming through a lengthy document and hastily scribbling his signature on the final page without delving into its finer details. Panic welled up as he pondered the implications of what he might have inadvertently agreed to.

Aiko, now slightly exasperated, pressed, "So, what will it be?"

Feeling cornered, Allen gestured helplessly at his dramatic nails, "But how will I remove them?"

Aiko showcased her own elegantly long nails, albeit shorter than Allen's, "I'll guide you. I manage mine daily. It's just a matter of being careful."

After a quick twenty-minute makeup application, Allen stood impatiently before an obscured mirror, wishing to be anywhere else but there with a camera thrust in his face. The sensation of the black circle lenses, a new experience for Allen, was disconcerting. Each blink brought the strange feeling of the lenses pressing against his eyes, leading his voluminous lashes to flutter wildly. Once his extended hair was released, it was meticulously brushed and styled. While he was told to keep his eyes closed to preserve the surprise, he could deduce from its sheer weight that his hair was substantially longer.

He shifted his weight from one foot to another, trying to alleviate the throbbing ache brought on by his wedge heels. As salon staff formed a semicircle around the covered mirror, Allen could sense the anticipation building. Aiko, ensuring the camera was rolling with a nod from Yamato, dramatically unveiled the mirror. Struggling to maintain his composure, Allen stared at his metamorphosed reflection, astounded by the latest transformation.

"You look stunning," Aiko cooed, admiration evident in her voice. "Like a picture-perfect porcelain doll. Pull that gorgeous hair forward to show our audience."

(See image 22)

Gingerly, Allen reached behind, his nails sinking into the thick mane of jet-black hair, and gently cascaded it over his shoulders, the weight pulling subtly at his scalp.

"So, Sofia, how does it feel to be reunited with your hair?" Aiko inquired. Allen blinked in confusion, processing her words. Since when did she start calling him Sofia? She had always addressed him as Allen before.

Seeing that she wasn't getting a response, Aiko shifted her focus to the camera. "Bear with us, folks. I think our new Sofia here is a bit overwhelmed. The hair you see on him is, in fact, the very hair we snipped from his girlfriend a week ago. We've repurposed it into extensions which have now been meticulously woven and bonded into his own locks, marking the completion of the hair 'SU-IT-CHI'."

Allen felt a strange mix of revulsion and disbelief, the sensation of Sofia's once-grown hair now part of him was unnerving. He barely registered Aiko's words after the revelation and just nodded mechanically in response. Every brush of the long strands against his back was a stark reminder of the bizarre ordeal.

Exiting the salon, he caught several lingering stares from bystanders. But he held his head high, reminding himself that he had a mission to complete, regardless of how grotesque the circumstances were. He was not going to let them win by bowing down to the humiliation.

Upon reaching Sofia's apartment, he bolted the door behind him and sank to the floor. Alone in the dim light, he allowed himself a moment of vulnerability, letting his fingers run through Sofia’s hair, now attached to his scalp. But as he looked down at his feminised form, a resolve strengthened within him. He refused to let the show's twisted mind games break him. With every strand of Sofia's hair that brushed against his skin, he was reminded of his commitment to them both. Despite the disgust, there was a fire growing within him, a determination to see this challenge through and emerge victorious. He wouldn't give the producers the satisfaction of a breakdown, not now, not ever.

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Last day, Allen repeated to himself as he made his way into the office building's lobby around 8:40 a.m. He was dressed to impress in a short zig-zag patterned dress complemented by a sleek leather jacket and sky-high heels. The outfit had certainly drawn attention during his morning commute, especially as he tried to stave off the cold.

The previous day, one of his colleagues had extended an invitation for drinks after work. He had hoped to decline discreetly, but Miss Hitori wasn't one to let things slide. As he tottered into the elevator, memories of the prior day's conversation in her office, when he'd delivered her morning coffee, came rushing back.

"Thank you, Sofia" Miss Hitori began, taking a sip from the cup Allen had just handed her. "I hear you're not coming with us on our usual Friday night outing. Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Allen replied, fervently hoping she'd let the topic slide. "It's just been a very tiring week. I think I’ll just take it easy and get an early night."

Miss Hitori's brow arched sceptically. " Nonsense, a pretty young girl like you, at home alone on a Friday evening! I won’t have it. Plus, it’s tradition. You always join us on our Friday night's out. Do I need to mention this in the report for your TV show?"

Panic crept in at the mention of a potentially damaging report. "There's no need for that," Allen quickly responded, envisioning his journey on the show ending prematurely after everything he'd endured. "You know what? I’m being silly. Of course, I’ll go. It’s tradition after all."

Smiling in satisfaction, Miss Hitori added, "Wonderful. Inform Evelyn of your decision. We'll head out directly after work. And don't forget, the club we frequent enforces a stringent dress code. Choose a fitting outfit.”

Back in the present moment, Allen found himself adjusting his skirt that kept riding up his sleek pantyhosed thighs. As he did so, Miss Hitori stepped into the lift, greeting him warmly.

“Good morning, Sofia! I love the hair. It's so nice to see you return to your former style," she said, her eyes appreciating his new look.

Allen cast a glance over Miss Hitori's outfit, a tad surprised. He'd expected her to be dressed as glamorously as he was, not in her regular business attire. "Morning, Miss Hitori. I like your dress today. But, has the evening outing been called off?”

Miss Hitori blinked in confusion before catching on. “Oh! My attire? No, the night hasn't been cancelled. I'll change later," she smirked.

Allen was momentarily lost for words, but Miss Hitori continued, "Your outfit is quite the head-turner, but I wonder if it's workplace-appropriate. Weren't you planning to change with the rest of the girls later?”

Caught off guard, Allen peered into the lift mirror. His short dress rode high on his nylon-clad thighs, and the leather jacket barely concealed the thin material beneath. As he felt an unsettling wobble in his ankle, he avoided looking down, well aware of the treacherous suede platforms strapped firmly to his feet.

"Well, just for today, I'll let it slide. But I can't imagine spending the entire day in those killer heels – that's a challenge I'll leave to you!" She chuckled, stepping out of the lift, while Allen was left reflecting on his oversight of not planning an outfit change post-work.

(See image 23)

After enduring an arduous day navigating the office in towering six-inch stilettos, Allen found himself in his usual weekend hangout spot but feeling anything but usual. City bars like the one he stood in had always been his playground, a place where he enjoyed the company of attractive women and the rush of pursuit. But this evening, the roles had been reversed. He felt more like the prey, being acutely conscious of his scantily-clad body. He couldn’t help but feel vulnerable and exposed, especially when he noticed a guy giving him the all-too-familiar once-over. 'Was I that blatant when I used to look at girls?' he wondered.

Evelyn, his colleague, was his saving grace that night. Being British and a fellow expat, they naturally gravitated towards each other, and their camaraderie was palpable. It didn't hurt that Evelyn, with her blonde hair, large brown eyes, and figure-hugging white dress, was a sight for sore eyes.

“Okay, we need a new name for you,” Evelyn said with a grin, taking a sip of her drink. “I mean, Allen doesn’t suit you looking this sexy.”

Laughing, Allen replied, “Got any bright ideas?”

“How about ‘Alena’? It's like your name but a bit spiced up, just like you tonight,” she suggested, mischief in her eyes.

Allen pondered for a moment, before agreeing, "Alright, for tonight, I'm Alena."

They clinked their glasses together. “Cheers Alena!” Evelyn announced before leaning in closer, "So, how's life on 'Raifu Suitchi'? Sounds like a rollercoaster."

He rolled his eyes, "Oh, you have no idea. They've changed... well... everything about me. And everywhere I look I see a cameraman – he's probably lurking around here. They have me on my toes 24/7. It's completely nuts!"

“Honestly, that doesn't seem like my kind of gig,” Evelyn began, her gaze softening. “But, for what it's worth, I think you look stunning.” She locked eyes with him, leaving Allen questioning whether there was a deeper hint in her words. She held his gaze for a few breaths before taking a sip of her drink. “If it's so tough, why not just quit?”

“I almost did, a week back. But if I bail, it means Sofia loses her shot at winning too.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So, you're telling me you've put yourself through all this for someone you barely know?”

Allen hesitated. “It’s not just that. Frankly, I'm pissed. Pissed at myself for diving in blind, and even more pissed at the show for these forced makeovers. I want them to pay for what they've done. I'm going to win, and then sue them for all they’re worth.” His voice rose with conviction, each word drawing Evelyn in more.

She looked at him with a mix of surprise and admiration. “I have to say, I’m impressed. You’ve got spirit.” She trailed her nails lightly down his arm, making him shiver.

Allen leaned in, his voice dripping with playful confidence. “Look, I might appear feminine now, but trust me, I’m all man where it counts.”

A few hours and perhaps one too many drinks later, Allen found himself in a bustling Tokyo nightclub with Evelyn and a couple of their colleagues. He'd visited this place before, yet the ambience felt different tonight, maybe because he was teetering on sky-high heels with his legs on full display.

The club’s expansive dance floor was alive with movement, bordered by balconies filled with onlookers. Emerging from the ladies' room - a choice he deemed most fitting given his current attire - he spotted Evelyn waving him over. As he manoeuvred past a raised platform full of people drinking and flirting, he couldn't help but find it odd that his heels were taller than any of the women who stood there.

"Alena! We're hitting the floor. But first, let's pose for a quick snap!" Before he could react, a flash momentarily blinded him, signalling the capture of another memory.

(See image 24)

Navigating the dance floor was yet another new challenge for the feminized man. How did one dance gracefully in such a restrictive dress and towering heels? Before he could figure it out, an unexpected sensation caused him to startle; a man was grinding against him, smirking as he winked. Allen instinctively shifted closer to the protective circle of his group.

Evelyn leaned in, her voice barely audible above the music's pulsating rhythm. "Come on! You've got to move a little!"

"I've no clue how to dance in this getup!" Allen protested.

"Just feel the rhythm and go with it. Here, watch me." Evelyn’s dance was sultry and confident. Mimicking her, Allen started to find the beat, the music guiding his movements.

He soon lost himself in the rhythm, the proximity to Evelyn intensifying his experience. The sensation of their bodies brushing against each other and her fingers occasionally grazing his exposed skin was electrifying.

Their lips met, and Allen was taken aback by the unfamiliar sensation of the gloss on his lips melding with hers. This kiss was unlike any he'd known before – more tender and delicate.

Breaking away, Evelyn whispered into his ear, "You know! I think I prefer you over the real Sofia." With a cheeky wink and playful pat, she made her way to the restroom, leaving Allen flustered and turned on.

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On Saturday afternoon, Allen, still recovering from the previous night's alcohol consumption, found himself back at the TV studio. Freshly styled with hair and makeup, he stood transfixed before a mirror, grappling with the unfamiliar reflection. The dramatic lashes and plump, pink lips juxtaposed eerily with the familiar features he once knew. The studio-chosen outfit, a pristine white layered dress, lent him an almost childlike innocence. Despite having worn similar attire throughout the week, the combined transformation and the prospect of facing a large audience intensified his trepidation.

Ripping his gaze from the mirror, Allen noticed Sofia across the spacious room. Her anxiety seemed to mirror his own as her short fingernails incessantly tapped the armrest of her chair. This week had been a whirlwind of transformation for them both, and seeing Sofia in person today was a poignant reminder. Allen remembered Sofia's teary-eyed farewell to her long hair, now remarkably grafted onto his head, becoming an ever-present reminder of their peculiar circumstances. Yet, Sofia's newest changes were startling. Her previously jet-black hair now sported a blonde shade, eerily reminiscent of how Allen used to style his. The tan that once adorned her skin had vanished, and Allen could only speculate on the intricacies of its removal. The once slender arch of her eyebrows was now replaced with bushier ones framing vivid blue eyes.

Surveying Sofia, styled uncannily like himself, Allen's eyes trailed down to her form-fitting shirt, devoid of any feminine contours, and jeans with an unmistakable, albeit slight, prominence.

For Allen, standing in a TV studio dressed in Sofia's feminine attire felt like an out-of-body experience, an uncharted realm of his masculinity. But for Sofia, it was downright eerie. Witnessing the cocky young man who had chatted her up and taken her home from a nightclub just over a month ago, now fussing over his appearance in a gorgeous white dress she had once worn to a friend’s wedding, was both baffling and surreal.

His bronzed skin was a stark contrast to her own newly bleached complexion. His long acrylic nails, gleaming under the studio lights, reminded her of the day she'd chosen that exact style, never envisioning it would end up on Allen's fingers. The makeup was an echo of her own style, yet it had distinctive touches that magnified his features differently. Those dramatic, feathery eyelash extensions, which she had once deemed too troublesome, amplified the allure of his eyes. In contrast, her new blue contact lenses seemed to leave her gaze muted, especially against Allen's entrancing dark circle lenses.

The lips, however, were the ultimate curveball. Voluptuous, shimmering in pink, they bore no resemblance to her naturally slender lips. It was a bitter irony. The very feature she'd felt insecure about, and had often thought of augmenting, was now exaggerated on Allen's face. Was this a deliberate dig by the showrunners?

As Sofia assessed Allen, her emotions ranged from disbelief to a strange sort of envy. The man before her, standing in that pristine white dress and feathered pink jacket, looked every bit the diva she'd felt like in that outfit. His towering white platforms, which she'd recently bought but never worn, completed his transformation. His appearance, from the dress to the hair, mimicked a version of herself dressed up for an extravagant event.

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From his vantage point in the control room high above the studio floor, Jin Watanabe intently monitored the live show. The camera panned to capture Allen's uncertain steps onto the stage in a playful mini dress, followed closely by a visibly altered Sofia, appearing frail and uncharacteristically subdued.

Enzo, the show's vibrant host, couldn't help but make light of their recent transformations. A quick flashback gave the eager audience a glimpse into the duo's week. Their trials, tribulations, and humorous moments played out on screen. By the end of the reel, the cheers and applause signalled the pair's evident popularity, reflected in their impressive score of 87. Watching from his perch, Jin's face tightened with undisguised irritation.

The massive screen then transitioned to a poignant moment: a still of an earlier, more authentic Allen and Sofia from their debut on the show. The transformation they had undergone in such a short span was undeniably astonishing, eliciting gasps from the audience. Enzo then regaled the spectators with choice anecdotes from Miss Hitori and Sofia's weekly supervisor, amplifying the humorous undertones for maximum effect. Scores were unveiled: Allen with 29 out of 50 and Sofia with 42, resulting in a commendable accumulative score.

(See image 25)

As the show transitioned to the quiz section, Jin's emotions simmered beneath his stoic exterior. His revenge plot had started so seamlessly. The private investigator shadowing Allen and the orchestrated meal at the restaurant had cost him both money and Favours, but it was a price he was willing to pay for justice. He'd envisioned Allen, this overconfident foreigner, having his pride stripped away - giving him a taste of vulnerability akin to the anguish his dear Riku felt, leading to her tragic choice.

Yet the expected despair was absent from Allen's face. Instead, he wore a disconcerting smile. The sight triggered Jin's fury. With a loud thud, his fist met the table, startling everyone. "Why is he still smiling?" he bellowed, the room's temperature dropping several degrees as his colleagues shuffled nervously. His thoughts raced, "Is he enjoying this?" As he saw a few colleagues edging away, his mind became resolute. "Well if that's the case, let’s take things up a notch! Yes! By the time I'm done with you, fairy boy, I doubt even your own mother will recognize you."