Chapter 1 | The Beginning of Change
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With a weary twist of the key, Zoe Carter stepped into her rented flat in Hamilton. It was January 18th.

As a freelancer, Zoe enjoyed the flexibility of extending her stay in her hometown, but now it was time to return to routine. After a restful holiday in the countryside, she had flown back to Hamilton and finally reached her apartment around ten in the evening, following a subway ride.

Still feeling bloated from extended two-week long New Year’s indulgences, she caught a faint, stale odor lingering in the air—a reminder of the flat’s month-long vacancy. Sighing, she dropped her luggage and glanced at the poster on the wall that read, “Yeah, a tomboy, rock baby!” Removing her glasses, she tried to clear her mind.

Without her mother’s meticulous touch, the task of cleaning fell to Zoe. Exhausted from the day’s travel, she still tackled the musty bed linen, tossing it into the washing machine. The chore took over ten minutes, draining the last of her energy.

Weighed down by fatigue, Zoe gave in to her exhaustion. Her eyelids drooped, her body weakened, and before she could organize her thoughts, the world blurred into darkness as she collapsed onto the bare mattress.

...

Morning sunlight crept through the curtains, warming Zoe’s face. She stirred, her eyelids fluttering open. The window was ajar, a cool breeze ruffling the curtains. Blinking, she realized her bed was still stripped of its sheets. Confusion gnawed at her as she gazed at the sky. Hues of blue shifted to purple, then melted into shades of red and gold—a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow.

Yet, it wasn’t the beauty of the sky that caught her attention. It was the sight of a solitary bird gliding beneath the glowing horizon, its wings moving with deliberate grace. Zoe paused, bewildered. Her eyesight, unassisted by glasses, had always been poor. And yet, she could now see every detail clearly.

A chill ran through her. Something was wrong.

Reaching for her phone amidst the heap of clothes on the floor, she turned it on, ignoring the low battery warning. The time confirmed her suspicions—it was the afternoon of January 19th.

Had she really slept for nearly a full day? A fog of confusion clouded her thoughts.

Still disoriented, she stumbled to the bathroom, searching for answers in her reflection. Her face looked normal, though the tension etched upon it betrayed her unease.

"Am I sick?" she muttered, the question hanging heavily in the air.

Opening her phone again, she searched for symptoms that matched hallucinations or unusual vision changes. Anxiety crept in; could this be a sign of a bizarre illness?

After some deliberation, Zoe decided to visit the nearby clinic. As dusk began to settle, she made her way to the small medical center near her flat.

...

Half an hour later, Zoe stood in the lift clutching a bag of moisturizing eye drops and a few groceries from the local market. The doctor’s words echoed in her mind:

“Prolonged fatigue can result in extended sleep, sometimes lasting up to twenty hours. As for your vision, there’s no sign of illness. It’s possible your ciliary muscles relaxed during your deep rest, temporarily improving your eyesight.”

The doctor’s reassurance had been somewhat calming. She was advised to limit screen time and use Tropicamide eye drops at night for a few days.

Still, Zoe couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper was at play. A strange, persistent unease gripped her—a sense that her body was undergoing a transformation she couldn’t yet comprehend.

As she absentmindedly massaged her chest, her thoughts drifted to the possibility of more changes. Startled from her musings by the ding of the elevator, she looked up as the doors opened on the fifth floor.

Standing there was Benny, her upstairs neighbor. Slightly rotund and middle-aged, he carried a bottle of red wine and wore a snug shirt paired with an English-style hat—an odd ensemble, yet distinctly Benny. Known for his habit of stopping on the fifth floor before heading to his own, Benny was something of an eccentric. Their exchanges, often light-hearted, ranged from trading vegetables to swapping famous quotes.

Today, however, Zoe remained silent, lost in her thoughts. As the lift resumed its ascent, Benny broke the silence.

“Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels once said, ‘From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs,’” he announced theatrically, tipping his hat. “Zoe, back from the New Year celebrations! It's been two weeks and you’re looking rather sprightly. Discipline, my dear, I tip my hat to you!”

Zoe’s hand moved instinctively to her midriff. The belly fat she had carried just last night—evidence of weeks of feasting—was gone. Her sagging breasts, too, had firmed. Beneath her clothes, her arms and thighs felt stronger, her body toned.

She froze, a mix of shock and disbelief coursing through her. When had this happened?

The clinic visit had distracted her, but now the changes were undeniable. Her extended sleep and improved vision could be explained away, but this sudden physical transformation defied logic.

Taking a steadying breath, she replied with a calm smile, “One workout at a time, one day at a time, one meal at a time.”

It was a safe response, one that implied effort and discipline. To admit an overnight change would sound absurd.

“Ah, Charlene Johnson!” Benny exclaimed, laughing. “You’ve inspired me to take up exercise too.” He tipped his hat once more.

Zoe nodded politely and exited the lift, her thoughts racing. She needed time alone to process what was happening.

Behind her, Benny glanced at the wine bottle in his hand and chuckled. “No sense in wasting good wine. A warm shotgun and a cold beer... Tomorrow, perhaps, I’ll exercise.”

Smirking, he unlocked his door and disappeared inside.

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