Liam's breathing quickened as the odd tingling coursed through his body like lightning wrapped in silk. It began at his feet, which suddenly felt tight inside his sneakers. He gasped as he watched his thin ankles thicken, the bones cracking and adjusting as his feet lengthened and broadened. His size 8s wouldn’t hold for long — the fabric split open as loafers, polished and expensive-looking, shimmered into being around them.
His legs followed next, stretching upward with a sickening crack that nearly made him faint. They thickened, bulking with firm muscle first, then softening slightly as a layer of comfortable middle-aged pudge took shape. His skinny jeans constricted, then flickered away in glitchy static before being replaced by tailored charcoal dress pants — the kind that hugged a thicker waist and flared gently at the ankle. His calves and thighs were thick now, meaty, muscular, but no longer youthful. No longer 18.
"Very good," Evelyn murmured, her eyes glowing faintly as she watched the change unfold like a sculptor admiring her work. "You’re progressing faster than expected."
Liam wanted to scream, but he could barely focus. His hips snapped wider, torso inflating like a balloon with every breath. His wiry, flat chest ballooned into a rounder, heavier one — not just fat, but powerfully built like a man who had both a gym membership and an addiction to steak dinners. His pale, freckled skin deepened several shades into a tan olive hue, thick chest hair curling out from beneath the growing collar of a pressed white shirt. It looked like it had been ironed that morning by someone who wasn’t him.
The fabric materialized out of nowhere, wrapping around his swelling arms — which were quickly thickening with solid muscle and soft fat. His shoulders ballooned outward, and his hands grew into broad, square palms with thick fingers and neatly trimmed nails. A wedding band shimmered into being on his left ring finger.
Liam's voice cracked out a desperate, “Jeremy! Make it stop!” but it sounded strange — deeper, rougher. His throat bulged, his Adam’s apple pushing outward, and his neck thickened to support a head that was now broadening at the jaw and forehead.
Jeremy only smiled and leaned against the wall, arms folded as he observed. “You’re almost there. Just breathe. Let it happen.”
Liam couldn’t breathe. His flat stomach surged outward into a rounded belly that strained against the buttons of his shirt. A gray vest stitched itself over his chest, hugging his barrel torso, and a gold watch slid over his thick wrist.
Then came his face. His cheekbones broadened, his jaw square and commanding. His chin doubled slightly, but the effect was commanding rather than sloppy — like a CEO who didn’t have time to count calories. His nose widened. His eyebrows grew fuller, darker, as his brown hair receded just slightly — his youthful swoop giving way to a clean, older businessman’s part. A sprinkle of silver near the temples gave him a distinguished touch. His eyes remained brown, but with deeper crow’s feet and a sharpness that came only with years of boardroom battles.
A deep, satisfied grunt escaped his lips. But it wasn’t Liam’s anymore — it sounded like the sigh of a man relaxing after closing a multi-million-dollar deal.
With a final pulse, the transformation ended.
Silence fell over the room.
Liam — or whoever he was now — blinked slowly. His feet shifted in his loafers, legs wide, arms naturally positioned like he’d always been this size. He looked down at himself in awe. The belly. The suit. The muscles. The age.
“How… how old am I?” he muttered, clutching his round stomach.
Evelyn answered smoothly. “Forty-two. Tony Zetticci, to be exact. Vice President of Zetticci-Graham Investments. You live in Midtown. You run a division of one of the largest private equity firms in Manhattan.”
“I… I live in Midtown?” Liam repeated, his voice still heavy and unfamiliar.
“You have a beautiful apartment, two dogs, and an ex-husband named Harold who still calls too often,” Evelyn added with a smirk.
Jeremy stepped forward and placed a firm hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Welcome to your new life, Tony. You’re not Liam anymore. You’re successful. Powerful. Respected. You’ve always been this man — you just didn’t know it until tonight.”
“I… I don’t understand.” Tony staggered back a step, feeling the weight of his gut shift with him. “What about school? My dreams? I was going to be a director—”
“You direct investments now,” Evelyn cut in. “You lead people. Mentor young men. You’ve done well for yourself, Mr. Zetticci. Haven’t you always wanted to be confident? Mature? Admired?”
Tony opened his mouth — but nothing came out. Something inside him was clicking into place. He tried to think about his NYU dorm room, but all that came to mind was his penthouse, his Italian coffee machine, the scent of mahogany and leather, and the sound of his assistant confirming his morning meetings.
He stepped toward a mirror that Evelyn wheeled out. What he saw wasn't a stranger anymore. It was him. He adjusted his vest. Smoothed his hair. Tucked his gold watch under his sleeve with practiced ease.
“Now then,” Evelyn said cheerfully, closing her laptop. “Shall we introduce you to your Monday morning calendar?”
Tony Zetticci nodded slowly, a strange but satisfied smile creeping across his lips.
“Yes,” he said in that deep, worldly voice. “Yes… let’s do that.”