Reina was always the popular girl at school. Not your typical empty-headed Barbie with a superiority complex—no, Reina was a whole different league. Smart, charismatic, independent since she learned to walk. Did her own laundry, scored straight A’s, and if anyone dared to compare her to some dumb cheerleader from an American movie, she probably shattered their ego with just one look.

A solid 10/10. A legend on legs.

And you… you were the idiot who somehow managed to win her over.

Who were you? Doesn’t matter. Nobody remembers. The only thing anyone knew was that you were the walking disaster who choked on ramen the very first day of school. You gagged, dropped your chopsticks, burned your tongue, and ended up with snot stuck to your uniform. No one bet on you. But for some cosmic reason—or maybe because Reina was a sucker for lost causes—she looked at you and said, “this idiot’s got my attention.”

And from that moment, the universe was screwed.

Dates everywhere. Movie nights, beach trips, camping, sneaking into private property, and the latest: some sketchy circus with a so-called “witch” who looked like she walked out of American Horror Story and stared at Reina like she owed her money or beauty. No one thought much of it… until the next day.

That morning, Reina woke up feeling weird. She stretched, scratched her head, stumbled into the bathroom half-asleep, and when she looked in the mirror…

She screamed.

Not a cute, feminine, damsel-in-distress scream. No. It was a deep, manly war-cry worthy of a battle movie. Her voice wasn’t hers anymore. Neither was her face. And when she looked down…

There it was.

The Titan.

A weapon of mass destruction hanging between her legs. Big, even in zen mode.

You ran into the bathroom swinging a bat, thinking there was some sexy intruder in pajamas in your house. Reina raised her hands:

“Wait, idiot! It’s me! I turned into a guy!”

And you, barely able to tie your own shoes without mixing up your feet, froze. Something about that face… those eyes… that mole… Could it be? Was it Reina?

She, or rather he, said nothing else. Just stared at his new “friend” with the fascination of someone who just won the genetic lottery. And there, in the middle of that existential crisis, a mischievous, dangerous smile slipped out.

“Well… I’m not Reina anymore. I’m Rein.”

He looked at you. Walked closer. Grabbed your waist with the kind of confidence only someone who had girl's voice yesterday and now has testosterone overload could have.

“Get ready, baby… because today I’m gonna leave you breathless.”

And you… you just prayed for your spine.