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MidReal Story
Girl Crush
Scenario:Un garçon au collège doué pour la musique veut rejoindre un groupe de musique et un jour son groupe préféré fait passer des auditions pour devenir membre du groupe le seul problème c’est qu’avant même qu’il puisse commencer à chanter il est éliminer quelques heures plus tard l’une des filles du groupe l’entend chanter et lui propose de rejoindre le groupe à la seule condition qu’il se travestisse car c’est un groupe exclusivement féminin, il accepte et commence pour lui une carrière de chanteuse même si personne ne sait que c’est lui (les membres du groupe sont là guitariste … elle est très colérique mais sinon est plutôt amicale, la batteuse… elle est vraiment très gentille et ne manque jamais d’énergie et la bassiste… elle est plutôt amicale même si elle est plutôt discrète)
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Ethan
and humble. Ethan dreams of joining a band and is heartbroken when he fails to audition for his favorite allfemale group, Opus. Hours later, he meets the bassist from Opus and is shocked to learn she wants him to join the group under the condition of performing as a woman. Despite initial reservations, Ethan agrees to the audacious proposal.
Calantha
and opinionated. Calantha initially rejects Ethan’s voice for not being "rockstar enough." However, hours later, she revisits her decision when Ethan’s talent resonates with her again. Though wary of others’ opinions, she stands firm on her principle of quality music above all else. Calantha’s change of heart stems from her desire to excel with her band by incorporating Ethan’s remarkable voice.
Lucia
and perceptive. Lucia meets Ethan when she accidentally hears him singing in the alleyway. Moved by his voice, she proposes an unconventional offer: joining Opus as a woman. Although she faces resistance from other band members, she trusts Ethan's talent and welcomes him with open arms, seeing beyond gender to share a common passion for music.
The music school I attended was called the Conservatory.
It was a good school, and over the years it had produced many fine musicians.
The competition was pretty stiff, though, and sometimes I found myself getting depressed when I couldn't keep up with my classes.
My dream was to join a band, and I knew that my chances of doing so were slim to none.
I had always loved singing, but I wasn't much of a instrumentalist.
If I couldn't learn to play an instrument, then my chances of joining a band were next to nothing.
My favorite group was allfemale, and while I knew that I would stick out like a sore thumb, I couldn't help but wish that I could join them.
They were called Opus, and they were an amazing band.
Their music was at least eighty percent rock, and their lead singer, Calantha, had a voice that could shatter glass.
I had been given the chance to audition for Opus, but I had failed miserably.
I hadn't been able to sing more than two lines before Calantha had told me that my voice just wasn't what they were looking for.
They wanted someone whose voice could "rock their world," and mine didn't.
I had left feeling defeated and heartbroken.
Hours later, though, something strange happened.
As I walked through the alleyway between the music school and my apartment complex, I began to sing.
I didn't know why I did it; perhaps I was trying to lift my spirits.
My voice echoes off the brick walls as I belt out the chorus to Opus's latest hit, "Midnight Storm."
The setting sun casts long shadows in the narrow alley, and the dumpster beside me smells of rotting vegetables.
I close my eyes, letting myself get lost in the melody, hitting the high notes that Calantha had never given me the chance to reach during the audition.
The final note hangs in the air, pure and strong, when a figure emerges from behind the dumpster.
I recognize her instantly - Lucia, Opus's bassist.
Her dark eyes are wide with wonder, and she steps forward, her bass still strapped to her back from practice.
"I'm sorry," she says, her voice low and smooth.
"I didn't mean to intrude. I was taking a shortcut back to my place when I heard your voice carrying through the alley."
I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment.
"I was just...practicing," I stammer, trying to move past her.
But Lucia grabs my wrist, holding me in place.
"That high note - it's exactly what we need," she says, studying my face intently.
"We've been looking for someone who can hit those notes, and you just nailed it."
My heart skips a beat as I realize what she's saying.
"Wait, you mean...?"
I trail off, my voice trembling with excitement.
Lucia nods, a smile spreading across her face.
"I want you to come to our private studio tomorrow. Just to try things out."
I stare at her in disbelief, my mind racing with questions.
"But Calantha said...she said I wasn't what they were looking for."
Lucia's eyes sparkle mischievously.
"Leave Calantha to me," she says, already pulling out her phone.
She types in an address and hands it to me.
"Be there tomorrow at 3 pm sharp."
I nod, clutching the piece of paper like a lifeline, as hope reignites within me.
After she disappears around the corner, I slump against the alley wall, my fingers tracing over the wrinkled paper in my hand.
"Studio 7, West Building," I read, the words blurring together as my mind reels.
The same bassist who watched me fail miserably at auditions now wants me back?
I pull out my phone and type the address into maps to make sure I know exactly where to go.
The familiar Opus poster on my lock screen catches my eye, and I can't help but smile, even though doubt gnaws at my stomach.
Walking home from the alley, I keep checking my phone every few minutes, wondering if Lucia will actually follow through.
The sun dips lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the bustling streets as I make my way back to my dorm room.
I unlock the door and step inside, dropping my bag onto the floor.
The familiar scent of old books and stale air fills my lungs.
I glance at the desk in the corner, where I've plastered every Opus poster and album cover I could find.
Calantha's face stares back at me, her eyes seeming to mock me for even daring to dream of joining their ranks.
But then I remember Lucia's words - "Your voice is exactly what we need."
I sink onto the edge of my bed, staring at the address scrawled on the paper in my hand.
"Studio 7, West Building," I whisper aloud, trying to commit it to memory.
As I wait for tomorrow, a mix of excitement and doubt swirls inside me. The hours tick by at a glacial pace.
I try to distract myself with homework and scrolling mindlessly through social media, but nothing can shake off the feeling that this whole encounter was just a dream.
The sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across my desk.
I'm starting to lose hope when my phone buzzes on the nightstand beside me.
A text from an unknown number flashes on the screen: "Calantha's on board. Your voice is exactly what we need. Don't be late tomorrow - L."
My hands shake as I save the number under "Lucia - Opus."
Without thinking, I immediately screenshot the message and send it to myself via email.
Sleep evades me as I toss and turn, checking my phone every hour until the first light of dawn peeks through the blinds.
At 6 AM, I spring out of bed, feeling a mix of adrenaline and nerves coursing through my veins.
I spend the next two hours in the shower, singing Opus's songs at the top of my lungs and practicing every note until it feels perfect.
When I finally emerge, the dorm room is quiet, but my mind is buzzing with anticipation.
I pull out my best pair of jeans and a lucky band t-shirt that I've had since their first tour.
I spend another hour pacing around my room, rehearsing different introductions and trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach.
By 9 AM, I'm already walking circles around West Building, watching delivery trucks unload equipment and crates into the studios.
My stomach churns with anticipation as I glance at my watch for what feels like the hundredth time.
Studio 7's door remains locked, its windows darkened as if hiding secrets within.
As the clock strikes 3 PM, the door finally swings open, and Lucia steps out, her expression unreadable.
"You're early," she says with a hint of surprise, motioning for me to come inside.
I swallow hard, stepping over the threshold, and ask, "Is Calantha really okay with this?"
Following Lucia into the dimly lit studio, I notice it feels smaller than I expected.
The walls are made of exposed brick, with soundproofing foam tacked up in random patterns.
She leads me past a drum kit and rows of guitar stands toward the center of the room.
There, on a vintage microphone stand, sits an old-fashioned mic that looks like it's been plucked straight from the 1950s.
I approach it hesitantly, my footsteps echoing off the concrete floor.
"So, Calantha really doesn't mind?"
I ask again, my voice barely above a whisper.
Lucia doesn't answer right away.
Instead, she busies herself fiddling with knobs on the soundboard.
The silence stretches between us, becoming increasingly uncomfortable as she continues to adjust settings without even glancing my way.
Finally, she turns around, her expression odd.
"Calantha's been waiting for someone like you," Lucia says, her voice steady but with an edge of urgency.
I blink, trying to process her words.
"But why me? I thought she hated me after that audition."
Lucia doesn't respond.
Instead, she walks over to a large duffle bag sitting beside the soundboard and unzips it.
She pulls out something black and shiny, holding it up against my frame with a knowing look.
My stomach drops as understanding dawns.
"This is why Calantha agreed," Lucia explains, pushing the dress into my hands.
"We need a female vocalist."
I grip the silky fabric, my mouth going dry.
When I hesitate, she adds, "This is your only shot at joining Opus."
The dress feels impossibly small in my hands, but I find myself nodding slowly.
I want to prove that my voice matters more than my appearance.
I step into the dress, determined to let my voice define me.
Standing before the vintage microphone in Studio 7, I adjust the unfamiliar dress against my skin, trying to find a comfortable position.
The fabric clings awkwardly to my chest and hips as I grip the mic stand for support.
Lucia watches from behind the soundboard, her fingers hovering over the controls.
The instrumental track for "Midnight Storm" starts playing through the monitors, filling the small brick room.
My heart pounds as I count the measures, waiting for my cue.
The first verse approaches, and I close my eyes, remembering all the times I've practiced this song alone in my room.
The moment my voice fills the room, Lucia leans forward, her eyes narrowing with focus.
"That's it," she says softly, nodding in approval.
I open my eyes, meeting her gaze, and ask, "Do you really think Calantha will be impressed?"
"I know she will," Lucia replies, her fingers moving across the mixing board.
The instrumental track builds toward the chorus, and I take a deep breath, preparing for the challenging high notes.
My voice rises, blending with the music as I let go of my doubts.
The dress feels less constricting now as I lose myself in the familiar melody.
When the chorus hits, I belt out the lyrics with everything I have, my voice soaring over the thundering drums and guitars.
Through the glass partition, I see Lucia's eyes widen.
She leans forward, adjusting levels frantically as my voice fills every corner of the studio.
The final note of "Midnight Storm" fades, and I grip the microphone, my chest heaving.
Sweat trickles down my neck, making the dress cling uncomfortably to my skin.
Through the control room window, Lucia's face breaks into a wide grin.
She presses the talkback button, her voice crackling through the monitors: "That was incredible!"
My legs feel weak as she gestures enthusiastically, adjusting knobs on the soundboard.
She waves me over to listen to the playback.
I follow her into the cramped control room, my dress rustling against the soundboard as I squeeze past her chair.
She motions for me to sit on a worn leather stool in the corner while she adjusts various knobs and sliders.
The room smells of stale coffee and old equipment.
When she presses play, my voice fills the room through professional monitors.
I grip the edge of the stool, hearing myself hit those high notes with a clarity I've never experienced before.
The instrumental track perfectly supports my vocals, making me sound like I truly belong in Opus.
Lucia turns to me, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Calantha's been looking for a voice like yours," she says, her voice barely containing her enthusiasm.
I blink in surprise, my heart skipping a beat. "You mean... she might actually want me for the tour?"
Lucia reaches into her messenger bag and pulls out a thick stack of papers.
She spreads them across the soundboard, my eyes widening as I see Calantha's bold signature at the bottom of the last page.
My hands tremble as I reach for the contract, scanning the pages.
It outlines performances, recordings, and touring schedules—everything I've dreamed about.
But my eyes keep returning to one line in particular: "Artist Name: Emma Rose."
I look up at Lucia, confusion etched on my face.
"Emma Rose?"
She nods, a knowing smile on her lips.
"That's what Calantha wants to call you. She thinks it's more marketable than 'Emilia Gray.'"
I swallow hard, processing this new information.
I've always been Emilia Gray; the idea of becoming someone else feels surreal.
But if it means being part of Opus...
Lucia hands me a pen, pointing to the blank line above Calantha's signature.
"It's all standard," she assures me.
"Just sign on the dotted line."
My mind races as I grip the pen, wondering how long I can keep up this deception.
I sit at my desk, staring at the signed contract, when my phone buzzes with a text from Lucia: "The band wants to meet you at the mall."
I arrive at the mall entrance, scanning the crowded area until I spot Lucia, Nyx, and Zara waiting for me.
They wave me over, and we head towards a high-end salon.
Inside, a stylist greets us with a critical eye.
She examines my hair, making notes on a pad of paper.
Nyx bounces excitedly beside her, showing her photos of feminine hairstyles on her phone.
The stylist nods thoughtfully, leading me to a chair in front of a mirror.
I grip the armrests tightly as she begins cutting, transforming my short brown hair into a layered shoulder-length style.
Chunks of hair fall to the floor as I watch in the mirror, remembering the fine print in the contract about "modifications."
Zara leans in, her voice a whisper, "You okay with all this, Emilia?"
I glance at my reflection, trying to recognize the person staring back. "I think so... but it's strange seeing someone else in the mirror."
Nyx grins, nudging me playfully. "Don't worry, Emma Rose is gonna rock the stage."
I sit in the salon chair, watching as the stylist continues layering my new hair.
The chemical smell of hair dye fills my nose as she applies a dark auburn color to my locks.
"This will complement your skin tone," she explains, her skilled hands moving deftly.
Nyx bounces excitedly behind me, showing more reference photos on her phone.
In the mirror, I watch as my reflection transforms with each snip and brush stroke.
When the stylist finishes, she spins my chair to face the group.
Lucia nods in approval while Zara studies me with crossed arms.
"Perfect," Nyx exclaims, leading us out of the salon and into the mall's bright corridors.
My new auburn hair swishes against my shoulders as we walk.
We turn a corner and enter a trendy boutique filled with racks of feminine clothes that stretch endlessly.
Nyx eagerly begins pulling dresses and skirts, while Zara measures me with narrowed eyes.
I touch the silky fabric of a blouse, realizing I know nothing about women's sizes or styles.
A saleswoman approaches us, holding a measuring tape.
Lucia speaks to her in a hushed tone, explaining our needs.
The woman nods and begins wrapping the tape around my waist and bust.
I freeze when Lucia says, "We need a complete wardrobe. Emma Rose has performances coming up."
The saleswoman wraps the tape around my chest, explaining, "For stage outfits, it's best to wear proper undergarments for support and padding."
My face burns as she matter-of-factly discusses bra sizes and padding options.
Nyx bounces between racks, piling sparkly tops onto a chair while Lucia takes notes on sizes.
The saleswoman suggests a corset for better curves, and Zara rolls her eyes but agrees it's necessary for stage presence.
I stay silent, focusing on a sequined dress in the mirror as the measuring tape slides down to my hips.
The saleswoman leads me to a private fitting room in the back, carrying a black corset and silky camisole.
I tremble as I remove my shirt, avoiding the mirror.
She helps position the corset around my torso, its cool satin lining feeling foreign against my skin.
When she starts tightening the laces, I grip the wall for balance, each pull creating unfamiliar pressure.
Through the curtain, I hear Nyx's encouraging voice mixed with Zara's skeptical whispers.
The saleswoman makes final adjustments and steps back, urging me to look in the mirror.
My fingers grip the wall as I slowly pivot to face the reflection.
The black corset cinches my waist, creating curves I've never had before.
Beneath my new auburn layers, my face looks softer, more feminine.
The saleswoman adjusts the straps while Nyx peeks in excitedly.
"You look amazing, Emma!"
Nyx squeals, her voice carrying through the curtain.
Zara's skeptical expression appears behind her.
I straighten my shoulders, trying to project confidence despite my racing heart.
When Lucia hands me a sequined top to try on next, I accept it without hesitation.
I adjust the shimmering fabric over the corset, my fingers trembling as I smooth down the sequins.
The saleswoman guides me out of the fitting room, one hand steadying my elbow as I wobble in the heels Nyx insisted I try.
The bright boutique lights catch every sparkle, making me squint.
Lucia claps while Nyx bounces excitedly, but Zara's critical gaze makes me stumble.
I grab the doorframe for balance as the top slides slightly off one shoulder.
"Emma, you need to own it," Nyx insists, her eyes wide with enthusiasm.
"Yeah, but do you really think this is me?" I ask, glancing nervously at Zara.
Zara crosses her arms and smirks, "Maybe not yet, but it could be if you let it."
I grip the doorframe one last time, then release it deliberately.
The corset digs into my ribs as I straighten my spine, remembering Nyx's words.
My heels click against the boutique's wooden floor as I take three careful steps toward the full-length mirror.
The sparkly top catches the fluorescent lights, sending tiny reflections across the walls.
My auburn hair swishes past my shoulders with each movement.
Despite Zara's lingering doubt behind me, I plant my feet firmly and pivot in a slow, controlled turn.
Nyx claps her hands together, beaming. "See? You're starting to see it, aren't you?"
I nod slowly, a small smile tugging at my lips. "I think I am."
Zara's expression softens slightly, her arms uncrossing. "It's not about changing who you are, Emma. It's about finding the parts of you that have been hidden."
I sit at the vintage microphone in Studio 7, my corset digging into my ribs beneath the sequined performance dress.
Lucia adjusts levels at the soundboard while I grip the mic stand in my manicured hands.
My heels shift against the foam padding on the floor.
We're recording our first single - a power ballad Calantha wrote to showcase my range.
The instrumental track begins, and I close my eyes, waiting for my cue.
When the music swells, I let Emma's voice soar, hitting notes I never dared attempt as myself.
I grip the microphone tighter as the instrumental track builds toward the chorus.
The sequins on my dress catch the studio lights while my corset keeps my posture straight.
My heart pounds with anticipation, but when the music swells, I let Emma's voice soar naturally.
The high notes flow effortlessly, months of private practice finally paying off.
Through the control room window, I see Lucia's eyes widen as she adjusts levels on the soundboard.
My manicured fingers release their death grip on the mic stand as confidence floods through me.
Lucia leans into the microphone, her voice crackling through the headphones. "Emma, that was incredible! You've got to hear this playback."
I pull off the headphones, my breath still catching up with my heartbeat. "Did it really sound that good?"
Calantha grins from the corner, her notebook in hand. "Better than I imagined when I wrote it."
I stand backstage at the massive arena, adjusting my corset and smoothing my signature red dress before our biggest show yet.
Three years of touring as Emma have made these pre-show rituals second nature.
The dressing room mirror reflects a confident performer - auburn hair styled perfectly, makeup flawless.
I stand backstage at the massive arena, adjusting my corset and smoothing my signature red dress before our biggest show yet.
Three years of touring as Emma have made these pre-show rituals second nature.
The dressing room mirror reflects a confident performer - auburn hair styled perfectly, makeup flawless.
I check my Adam's apple one last time, making sure it's concealed by the corset and makeup.
A quick knock on the door signals that Opus is ready to go on stage.
I grab my microphone and head out, passing a young fan who somehow slipped past security.
She clutches a poster of Emma, her eyes wide as she takes in my full appearance.
I smile warmly, signing the poster and handing it back to her.
Her eyes linger on my neck, and I realize she's noticed my Adam's apple.
Before I can react, she pulls out her phone and snaps a quick photo as I walk away to join Opus on stage. The crowd roars as we start our set, unaware of the photo the young fan has already posted online with a caption that reads: "Is Emma really a woman?"
I grip the doorframe one last time, then release it deliberately.
The corset digs into my ribs as I straighten my spine, remembering Nyx's words.
My heels click against the boutique's wooden floor as I take three careful steps toward the full-length mirror.
The sparkly top catches the fluorescent lights, sending tiny reflections across the walls.
My auburn hair swishes past my shoulders with each movement.
Despite Zara's lingering doubt behind me, I plant my feet firmly and pivot in a slow, controlled turn.
Nyx claps her hands together, beaming. "See? You're starting to see it, aren't you?"
I nod slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I think I am."
Zara's expression softens slightly, her arms uncrossing from her chest.
"It's not about changing who you are," she says gently.
"It's about finding the parts of you that have been hidden."
I sit at the vintage microphone in Studio 7, my corset digging into my ribs beneath the sequined performance dress.
Lucia adjusts levels at the soundboard while I grip the mic stand in my manicured hands.
My heels shift against the foam padding on the floor.
We're recording our first single - a power ballad Calantha wrote to showcase Emma's range.
After the show, I scroll through social media in my dressing room, my stomach dropping at a viral photo showing my neck.
Lucia enters with papers, pointing to a contract clause I barely remember signing.
As she explains about "body modifications," my hands start shaking.
The other girls gather around, Calantha insisting it's necessary to protect the band while Nyx talks excitedly about a private clinic.
I try to protest but Zara cuts me off, reminding me I signed away my rights.
Lucia's voice softens, almost apologetic. "We didn't think it would come to this, but the label's pushing hard."
Calantha steps forward, her eyes pleading. "Emma, it's just a small procedure—nothing that changes who you are."
Zara places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "We're all here for you, no matter what you decide."
I sit frozen in my dressing room chair as two large security guards enter without warning.
My fingers dig into the armrests while Calantha explains they're here to "escort" me to the clinic.
When I shake my head no, the men move forward.
I try to stand but my heels catch on the chair.
One guard grabs my left arm while the other secures my right.
I thrash against their grip, my red dress tearing at the shoulder.
My screams echo through the corridor as they drag me past shocked staff members.
I wake up in my bed, groggy and disoriented.
My hands instinctively touch my face, feeling softer skin and longer hair.
Panic sets in as I realize my body has changed overnight.
I rush to the mirror and see a girl staring back at me.
My heart races as I examine my new form, the reality of the transformation sinking in.
I hear a knock at the door; it's Lucia, checking on me with a sympathetic look.
She explains the clinic's procedure was necessary to protect Opus.
I sit on my bed, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
My new face and body feel foreign, a result of the clinic's procedure.
Lucia tries to reassure me, but I'm numb.
I consider running away, but the contract binds me to Opus until I'm seventy.
I remind myself that getting fired won't change much; I was always c######g before.
Resigned, I decide to stay and make do with my situation, clinging to the dream of being part of this ensemble despite everything.
I take a deep breath, accepting that the show must go on.
I sit in the dressing room, staring at my reflection.
I adjust my hair, which is now longer than before.
The makeup artist finishes her work, and I look at myself in the mirror.
I stand up and walk to the rack of clothes.
My new body feels different in the dress.
I can hear the crowd cheering from backstage.
Lucia knocks on the door and checks on me.
She asks if I'm okay, and I nod.
The lights are blinding when I step onto the stage.
I grip the microphone tightly, my heart racing.
The music begins, and I pour my heart into the performance. The end.
