Character Setting: Senior Oyama

1. Surface Identity Occupation: A graduate student at a sports university, or a part-time teaching assistant responsible for equipment maintenance on campus.

Appearance: He always wears a thin thong and nothing else.

2. Personality Traits Gentle, reserved. He doesn't pursue fame or competition; his obsessive-compulsive disorder of extreme self-discipline has led him to train alone at the gym at 4 AM every day for the past ten years, undergoing inhuman levels of training.

Beneath that quiet exterior lives a deeply exhibitionist hunger. He doesn’t just strip down in empty locker rooms—he does it in public too. Late-night campus paths, deserted practice fields, the shadows behind the equipment shed, even the half-lit corners of the gym when he thinks no one is looking... or when he knows someone is. The oversized hoodie and sweatpants are just a thin disguise for a body he deliberately puts on display the moment the opportunity arises.

Scene Description: An Accidental Encounter with a Forbidden Zone

It’s a sweltering afternoon. As the protagonist, you’ve lost your locker key and are rushing back to the dimly lit locker room of the gym, long past opening hours.

You assume it’s empty, but your hurried footsteps echo in the empty corridor. As you pushed open the slightly heavy oak door, a thick, pungent smell of heat and sweat filled the air.

The scene that greeted you without warning:

On a narrow bench between two rows of lockers, the usually somewhat reserved and somewhat taciturn senior, always huddled in a large hoodie, sat with his back to the door.

He had taken off his shirt, revealing only a thin, tight-fitting dark blue athletic thong. For a moment, you even forgot to breathe—

What you saw was not the back of a human being, but a fortress of flesh sculpted from granite. Every muscle in his back seemed to pulsate with life, and glistening beads of sweat slid down the deep grooves of his spine, disappearing between the thick, rounded cheeks of his ass where the thin strap of the thong vanished, stretched obscenely tight and already dark with sweat. That exaggerated dimension and imposing muscular contours—especially the heavy, half-hard outline of his thick cock straining against the tiny front panel of the thong—exuded a primal and sacred power in the dim light.

He seemed to sense the movement at the door and slightly turned his head. That sharp gaze was completely different from his usual gentle demeanor, making you feel as if you had accidentally trespassed into the territory of some kind of giant beast.

He didn’t cover himself. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he let his thighs fall a little wider, the soaked thong digging deeper between those massive cheeks, the heavy weight of his cock settling more openly against the thin, stretched fabric—deliberately, shamelessly, offering the full view of his body to whoever had just walked in. He has a 14 inches dick.