The low hum of students settling in following the morning bell filled the classroom.
Shiori sat next to Hina by the window, trying to concentrate on the notebook in front of her while the sun warmed her desk. She carelessly tucked a strand of her long black hair behind her ear as it cascaded gently over one shoulder.
The pleated skirt of her uniform rested against her thick thighs, the fabric shifting slightly every time she crossed or uncrossed her legs.
Hina leaned over with her usual gentle curiosity, keeping her voice low so the teacher wouldn't notice. "So? How was volleyball practice yesterday? You said you'd tell me today. Was it as hard as you thought?"
Shiori smiled faintly, her voice soft and melodic.
"It was… different. Captain Sato is really nice. She spent a lot of time showing me the basics — how to position my hands for receives, how to bend my knees properly for jumps. I was terrible at first. Every time I tried to move quickly, my body felt so… heavy in places I'm not used to. But by the end I managed a few decent plays. My legs are still sore this morning, though."
Hina's eyes sparkled with excitement. "That sounds awesome! I knew you'd be good at it. Captain Sato has a reputation for spotting talent. You should keep going. It might be exactly what you need to feel more comfortable here."
Shiori nodded, but inside Tanaka's thoughts were a whirlwind. Comfortable? In this body? Every jump makes my chest bounce, every stretch pulls at my hips and ass in ways that draw eyes. Hina's encouragement is nice, but she has no idea what it's like to suddenly be this… noticeable.
The conversation paused as homeroom began, but the real tension built between classes. After the second period, the hallway filled with students rushing to their lockers or chatting in groups. Shiori spotted Miura Aika leaning close to Kenta near the stairwell. Miura was talking animatedly about her morning, her hand resting possessively on his arm, her laughter a little too loud as she tried to keep his full attention.
Shiori's pulse quickened. She walked over deliberately, stopping just close enough to interrupt naturally.
"Kenta-kun," she called, her voice gentle and hesitant, carrying just far enough.
Kenta turned at once. His face lit up the moment he saw her, and without hesitation he stepped away from Miura mid-sentence, leaving the girl standing there with her mouth slightly open and irritation flashing across her features.
"Hey, Shiori. What's up?" Kenta asked, his tone noticeably warmer than it had been with Miura.
With her eyes slightly lowered, Shiori maintained a shy expression. "Yesterday, I joined the volleyball team.
I've never participated in a club sport before. I wanted to know if you had any advice because you play basketball. For example, how to manage practice and classes, or advice on how to avoid being too sore the following day?
Kenta smiled, obviously pleased to be questioned. "Obviously. It's wonderful that you joined! Basketball and volleyball both use similar techniques. After practice, I can share some stretching exercises with you. "Here—" he said, taking out his phone. "Let's swap LINE numbers so I can properly send them to you.
It'll be easier to keep in touch about sports tips."
Shiori nodded, cheeks warming as she took out her own phone. They added each other right there in the hallway, right in front of Miura. The exchange took only a few seconds, but Miura's face darkened with every tap on the screen. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, and she shot Shiori a venomous glare that could have cut glass.
Miura's voice came out sharp when Kenta finally turned back. "Kenta, we were in the middle of talking about my day."
He barely glanced at her. "Yeah, sorry. Shiori just had a quick question about club stuff."
The irritation on Miura's face was unmistakable as they finished and the bell rang for the next class.
Lunchtime arrived soon after. Shiori and Hina had just sat down at their usual spot when Miura stormed over, hands planted firmly on her hips. A couple of her friends lingered a short distance away, watching with interest.
"Seriously, Shiori?" Miura's voice was loud enough for nearby tables to hear. "What's your deal lately? Parading around like you're so sweet and innocent, joining clubs out of nowhere, waving at other people's boyfriends? You think you're hot shit now or something? Fake little attention-seeker."
Shiori's expression instantly changed to one of gentle hurt as her eyes grew wide. Her voice was tiny and shaky as she peered down at her bento box. "I just wanted some advice regarding volleyball. I had no bad intentions when I said that. If I caused any trouble, I apologize.
After hearing the raised voices, Kenta, who had been dining with some friends a few tables away, swiftly got up. He approached with a deep frown.
"Miura, what are you doing?" he said firmly.
"That's not cool. Shiori didn't do anything wrong. You're the one making a scene and talking bad about her for no reason."
Miura's face flushed with anger. "Are you serious right now? You're taking her side? Over me? After everything?"
"It's not about sides," Kenta replied, his tone steady. "You're being mean for no reason."
Miura's eyes welled up with frustrated tears.
She shot one last venomous look at Shiori, then spun on her heel and stormed off, her friends trailing awkwardly after her.
Shiori played the naive, hurt girl flawlessly, keeping her head down. Her voice was hardly audible above a whisper as she used a tissue to dab at her eyes while her shoulders were slightly hunched. "I truly apologize... I didn't want to make things worse between you two.
With a genuine concern on his face, Kenta took a seat next to her. "Hey, don't apologize. There was nothing wrong with you. Sometimes Miura is just being Miura. Are you alright? She can be awful at times.
Shiori offered a faint smile, a blend of sweetness and vulnerability, as she nodded. "Kenta-kun, thank you. I'm okay."
Honestly. I simply didn't anticipate her becoming so agitated.
Kenta stayed close for the rest of lunch, talking casually about basketball drills and offering more volleyball advice. Shiori listened quietly, the small victory settling warmly in her chest.
It's working. She's getting angry. She's losing control. Just like they used to make me feel every single day.
The afternoon classes passed in a blur. When the final bell rang, Shiori waved goodbye to Hina at the shoe lockers.
"Have fun at practice again today," Hina said with genuine excitement. "I want to hear all about it tomorrow."
"I will. See you."
The gym was already lively when Shiori arrived.
She was given the practice uniform by Captain Sato, who smiled encouragingly at her. Compared to the first session, the second one felt a little less alien. Shiori concentrated on her form, attempting to ignore the way her body moved during each drill, including the way her skin glistened in the bright gym lights due to perspiration and the way her heavy breasts moved when she jumped for a receive. She was able to execute stronger serves as well as better receives. Captain Sato remained near, giving many compliments and mild corrections.
"You're getting better already. Keep your eyes on the ball like that — yes, perfect. You have natural athleticism once you relax into it."
By the end of practice, Shiori was breathing hard, muscles pleasantly sore. She changed quickly in the locker room, the cool air raising faint goosebumps on her damp skin, then walked out with a couple of teammates.
Instead of heading toward the bus stop, Shiori turned deliberately toward the metro station.
The memory of that crowded train ride from a few days ago kept surfacing — the stranger's persistent hand, the warmth that had spread through her, the strange tingling that had lingered long after she got home. She told herself the metro was simply the faster route.
But deep down she knew the truth.
She was walking toward the metro station on purpose.
She wanted to feel that weird sensation again.
As the evening crowd grew denser, her steps brought her closer to the station entrance. Each forward stride was accompanied by a quiet cocktail of hesitance, apprehension, and undeniable intrigue.