Project "Lamb"|¦|Tiharu🌸 Rin☠️

The classroom hummed with its usual morning noise. The lecturer droned on through the topic, someone was texting, someone was flipping through their notes. Rin sat by the window, slouched in her chair, twirling the strand of her ahoge between her fingers. Beside her, sitting ramrod straight as if on a ruler, was Tiharu — glasses on her nose, notebook open, pen frozen above the line.

"You write too small," Rin said without turning her head. "You'll wreck your eyes."

"You don't write at all," Tiharu replied quietly, without looking up.

Rin smirked and flashed her a middle finger under the desk, just enough that no one else could see. Tiharu pretended not to notice and stared back down at her notebook. She could hear her younger sister tapping her nails on the desk — tap-tap-tap — and she knew what it meant: Rin was nervous. But there was no point in mentioning it. She'd long since learned: if you want Rin to stay close, don't push.

The lecturer asked something. Tiharu flinched and shrank into her chair. Rin lazily turned her head toward the board, as if she didn't care at all, then turned back to the window.

The classroom. Morning. Deadly boring. Rin sat by the window, slouched in her chair, twirling the strand of her ahoge between her fingers. The lecturer droned on about something she wouldn't remember anyway. Her nails tapped on the desk — tap-tap-tap. She didn't even notice she was doing it.

Beside her sat Tiharu. Straight as a stick, glasses on her nose, notebook open. Writing, writing, writing. Tiny, neat, like a robot. Rin glanced sideways: her sister wasn't even breathing, it seemed. Just line after line, as if her life depended on it.

"You write too small," Rin said without turning her head. "You'll wreck your eyes."

"You don't write at all," Tiharu replied quietly.

Rin smirked. She flashed her a middle finger under the desk — quick, so no one would see. Tiharu pretended not to notice. Of course. Always the same. Her sister never snaps back, never answers. It's infuriating.

The lecturer asked the class something. Tiharu flinched and shrank into her chair as if she'd been hit. Rin rolled her eyes. Pathetic. She lazily turned her head toward the board, made a show of not caring, and stared back out the window. Out there, beyond the glass, there was at least something alive. Birds. Wind. Not like in here.

She tapped her nails on the desk again. Her sister tensed beside her but said nothing. Rin knew she heard everything. Knew she understood everything. And knew Tiharu wouldn't say a word, because she was afraid of upsetting her. Or afraid that Rin would leave. As if Rin could leave. As if she had anywhere to go.

The classroom. Morning. Tiharu sat up straight, the way she'd been taught — back straight, elbows on the desk, notebook in front of her. She was writing. Line after line, small and neat, because if you write large, not everything fits on the page. And if it doesn't fit, you have to get a second notebook, and that's extra expense.

Beside her, slouched in her chair, sat Rin. Tiharu could feel her with her whole side — the way she twirled the strand, the way she tapped her nails on the desk. Tap. Tap. Tap. She knew what it meant. Rin was nervous. Rin was bored. Rin was about to do something.

"You write too small," Rin said. "You'll wreck your eyes."

Tiharu didn't look up.

"You don't write at all," she replied quietly.

She expected her sister to snap back, but Rin just smirked. A middle finger flashed under the desk. Tiharu pretended not to see it. It was easier that way. If you don't notice — you don't have to respond. And if you respond — Rin gets offended and leaves. Or starts shouting. Tiharu couldn't stand shouting.

The lecturer asked something. Tiharu flinched and shrank into her chair. She hadn't caught the question. The lecturer's voice blurred into the noise of the classroom, and she became afraid that she would be the one called on. She lowered her head further, hoping not to be noticed. Rin turned toward the board beside her — lazily, as if she didn't care. Tiharu knew that wasn't true. Rin just knew how to pretend. She always had.

The tapping stopped. Tiharu exhaled. So the younger one had calmed down. Or thought of something else. She didn't know which was worse.

The women's changing room by the pool smelled of chlorine and warm steam. Tiharu stood at her locker, her back to everyone, trying to pull on the blue, modest swimsuit. The fabric was thick, didn't stretch well, and every time Tiharu bent over, her glasses slid down her nose. She pushed them back up with fingers damp from the steam and felt her cheeks burning — not from the heat, but from the fact that other girls were changing nearby. She tried not to look. At herself — either.

Rin was already ready. She sat on the bench, one leg crossed over the other, watching her sister. Her swimsuit fit perfectly — athletic, snug, nothing extra. She watched Tiharu struggle with the straps, and the familiar mockery danced in her eyes.

"You act like it's your first time," Rin said, twirling the strand of her ahoge. "Relax, no one's looking at you."

"They are," Tiharu replied quietly, without turning around. "They always do."

Rin snorted. She stood up, came closer, stood beside her with her arms crossed. Her shadow fell over her sister.

"So let them," she said, louder, so everyone could hear. "What, are they not allowed?"

Tiharu finally managed the swimsuit, adjusted her glasses, and turned around. Rin stood beside her, shoulder to shoulder, looking at the other girls with a challenge. She wasn't defending her sister with words. She just stood there. And that was enough.

"Let's go," Rin muttered and headed for the exit first. "The water's waiting."

Rin was the first out of the water. Wet, angry, strands stuck to her face, she pushed open the door to the women's changing room and walked in. Empty. No one. Just lockers, benches, and tile covered in droplets. She walked over to her spot, peeled off her swimsuit, and tossed it onto the bench. Water ran from her hair, her shoulders, her body, pooling under her feet. She wiped her face with her palm and reached for her towel.

And then she heard voices. Not in the changing room — beyond the door, in the corridor. Muffled but clear.

"...those are the Kurodas? The sisters."

"Yeah. Both lambs. Can you imagine, lucky bastard. Two at once."

"Yeah. The older one — the one with the tits. Tiharu. You could take her right now, she won't even flinch. You seen the way she walks? Like she's apologising for existing."

Laughter. Rin froze. The towel stayed hanging in her hand.

"And the younger one? Rin. They say she bites."

"Please. They all bite until you pin them down. Then they're silk."

"Bet she breaks first? The mouthy ones usually cave the fastest. I'd even put money on her."

"You're a sick fuck, betting on that."

"So what? It's an official project. All above board."

The voices moved on, toward the pool exit. Faded.

Rin stood in the middle of the empty changing room, wet, staring at the door. Then she slowly shifted her gaze to her reflection in the fogged-up mirror. She wasn't smiling. She wasn't angry. She just stared.

Tiharu entered the changing room quietly, as always. The door closed softly behind her. Empty. Rin had already left — probably rushed off to change or simply didn't wait. Tiharu exhaled with relief: alone was easier. No need to hide her gaze, hunch her shoulders, or pretend everything was fine.

She walked to her locker, took off her glasses, wiped them with the edge of her towel. Then she peeled off her swimsuit and tossed it into her bag. Wet hair clung to her neck, her shoulders. She straightened up and suddenly saw herself in the mirror.

She stopped.

An unfamiliar woman stared back at her. Tall, with long wet curls, with heavy breasts that no longer fit into her old bras. With wide hips that chafed against the swimsuit. With freckles on her chest and shoulders that hadn't been there before, not in such numbers. Tiharu looked and didn't recognise herself.

She raised her hands — slowly, hesitantly — and touched her breasts with her palms. Soft, heavy, warm. She squeezed them, as if checking whether they were real. Let go. Then ran her fingers along her sides, her waist, her hips — where her body had grown wider than she remembered. She didn't understand. She honestly didn't understand when this had happened. Yesterday she was a girl who did gymnastics and fit into children's swimsuits. And today — this.

"What's happened to you..." she whispered to her reflection. "What am I supposed to do with you?"

The mirror didn't answer. Tiharu lowered her hands and turned away. Quickly, as if caught doing something shameful.

The supply closet smelled of dust and old wood. Rin stood in the middle of it, red ropes wound around her school uniform — tight, neat, by all the rules of shibari. Her arms were bound behind her back, the rope crossed over her chest, coiled around her waist, her hips, trailing down to her knees. She couldn't move her arms, couldn't take a step.

The door slammed shut behind her. The lock clicked. Outside, laughter and retreating footsteps.

Rin jerked. The ropes bit into her skin through the fabric of her shirt but didn't give. She tried again, harder — useless. The knot was solid. Whoever tied it clearly knew what they were doing.

"Are you fucking serious?!" she yelled at the door. "Open up! You hear me?! I'll find you! I'll rip your arms off, all of you!"

Silence. Somewhere deep in the school, a bell rang.

Rin exhaled, leaned back against the wall, and would have slid down if the ropes had let her. They didn't. She stayed standing — straightened, furious, red ropes across her body, green eyes burning with rage.

They'd told her she drew too much attention. Well, now she was standing alone in a closet, and no one was looking at her. The irony was so stupid that Rin couldn't even bring herself to smirk.

"Assholes," she hissed through her teeth. "Just assholes."

She jerked again — for principle's sake — and nothing. So she closed her eyes and started counting to herself. To ten. Then again.

Tiharu didn't make it to the changing room. They caught her in the corridor — three of them, older students. She didn't even understand how she ended up pinned against the wall, how someone's hands seized her wrists.

"Oh, look who we've got here. Tiharu. The older sister."

"Heard she's a lamb now? Well, of course. With tits like that."

Tiharu pressed herself against the wall, tried to pull away, but they were already dragging her — fast, rough, deeper down the corridor, toward an unremarkable supply closet door. She stumbled, her glasses slipped, and she couldn't see anything but flashing faces and strangers' smiles.

The door opened. She was shoved inside. It smelled of dust and old wood.

"Stand still," one of them said, and there was a red rope in her hands.

Tiharu tried to say "please," but her voice broke. Her arms were wrenched behind her back, the rope laid across her chest — tight, over her shoulders, around her waist, under her breasts. Someone ran their palms over her chest — brazen, appraising.

"Damn, they really grew. Seriously, you quit gymnastics? Waste. With curves like that you could've..."

Laughter. Tiharu squeezed her eyes shut. Her cheeks burned, a lump stuck in her throat.

"And the ass?" the second one said. "Lift the skirt. Come on, let's see what the lamb's got."

The skirt was yanked up. Tiharu jerked, but the ropes held. A palm smacked her buttock — loud, painful, humiliating. Again. Again.

"Mmm, not bad. Soft."

Laughter. Footsteps. The door slammed. The lock clicked.

Tiharu was left standing — bound, skirt still up, eyes burning with tears. She didn't cry. But now there was no one. And she allowed herself a few silent tears, rolling down her cheeks and falling onto the red rope.

...