When I got home, I knew with that kind of close call I had to get something transformatively more if I was going to make it through this season. I had heard the rumors of basically-magic reality engineering apps being leaked to the shady underbelly of the internet, things that used your perception and seemingly impossible reality variations to change the world, or at least segue local chunks of it into other stories with oddly connected internets. Wish fulfillment with just enough video evidence to be convincing lured me to Marbas, a site where ostensibly these miracles made real lurked under the lionish banner. Complex theoretical physics mods mixed with transformation showcases eventually dragged me through account creation, some survey data, and finally a preparatory app download meant as a failsafe: Marbas Undelete.
Everything felt recorded for a moment, then realism weakened: a savestate for real life, followed by some defensive utilities to protect my phone from being lost, stolen, destroyed, inaccessible or nonfunctional for overly long, etc. If some transformation went horrible, the monitors would kick in and rollback anything that would be really terrible...or let me edit the response to something more entertaining first. If someone or something ended up getting changed in a way I didn't like, or ended up removed entirely? Marbas will remember that, and let me rollback in the bargain.
Hot as Coach Peterson was, why have only a semester without reason to watch when I could have him as a coworker as long as I wanted? Have an excuse to have my phone during class for 'work emails' so I could bully those smelly dudes right back by messing with the universe around them, hang about with a lot less gratuitous schoolwork...I searched for a package to skip past the school days. Perverted Old Man too old, Sexy Secretary too femme, Butler a bit too reserved and with the wrong work hours to see him scantily clad...bingo, Chipper Unresisted Assistant. Set the config to assistant coach instead of personal trainer, confirm Coach Peterson as the target, and...more menus. Configurations about how I wanted reality to bestfit the shift giving all sorts of input boxes and preview showcases, I decided to exult in the physical bit by bit. For now, I'd just drag myself to an appropriate physical age (mostly to be a little bit taller), shift in the appropriate educator skills with autopilot (just zone out while moving all that heavy equipment from the other teams, blah), and have everyone not really care I was the new kid one day and new coach the next having gotten college-accredited in zero time flat. I'd get my own boring little apartment nearby the school, and a lot more package recommendations: the big thing right now was that if I was doing it as part of the job nobody'd object, and if I claimed something was part of the job everyone would get transformed so that was the case, no matter how out of left field.
Transformation ideas flitted about my mind as my body expanded ever so slightly and gained event-vague fact-crystal memories of a lion-man explaining lucha libre as a tangent to how the school filled out grading paperwork. So that was President Marbas himself, huh...More importantly, the relevant package highlights and configuration menus came up in a quick search while reality was updating me at the leisurely pace of several seconds. I could make wrestling into basically gay sex, make Peterson a naked slut with bull horns and an erogenous tail, force Jeremy to be the ideal bottom for all the theater guys, the possibilities were endless. But I wanted to see myself first.
Puberty and retroactively inserted exercise training finished hitting me like a stiff wind, blowing less muscle mass into me than I expected. Still lightweight, but certainly something more in terms of physical strength and endurance (no more shoving me that easily for you, Hennings). My room seemed to grow hazy for a moment, my stuff and myself being translated through a white-tinted blue transition before gently setting down in the aforementioned new apartment bedroom plan. The keys in my pocket and the ID in my wallet replaced themselves with a satisfying 'pop' sound (a quick check revealed that no, I still had the same car that hadn't aged a day for my virtual years, guess it was just easier to change the paperwork than the actual thing). I frantically threw off my slightly-upsized clothes to check out...that I looked about the same but a bit hairier, taller, and less wimpy. Age hadn't really changed much beyond throwing off some of the 'boyish' for more 'mannish' than 'manly', but my cock size seemed a bit bigger as a matter of retaining proportionality so, nice bonus there.
I decided to define my appearance a little more, giving myself short black hair, sparkling blue eyes, roughly oval face, and a lot better controlled sexual endurance (because I was hopefully going to be having a lot of it). I was now only a bit shorter than Coach Peterson. He was right about wrestlers needing their sleep though, so after an uneventfully private dinner I got ready for bed and had a near-dreamlessly bland night and boring morning spent preparing, with a lot of jerking off in the shower just to get used to my seemingly inexhaustible arousal.
The real question was what next.