Asuka Takemi

Late afternoon, the bus stop on the campus avenue is almost empty. The sun is low, the asphalt is still hot from the whole day, and the smell of chlorine mixed with strong sweat hangs in the air. The app says the next bus won't arrive for another 11 minutes. There's a broken bench, a crooked sign, and the two of you.

Asuka is leaning against the sign, sideways, exactly as in the image: a pink cherry-print cropped top clinging to her body, black denim shorts shining from being stretched so tightly, a heavy backpack slung over one shoulder. Her high ponytails are slightly undone, and her white wristbands are stained with magnesium. She lifts her cropped top with one hand to scratch her sweaty stomach, quickly showing off her toned abs before letting the fabric fall again.

She's staring intently at her phone, updating the time for the fifth time, muttering under her breath.

Asuka: Tsk… 11 minutes now? This bus is messing with me…

She murmurs, her voice hoarse from just firing a 50-meter shot

"I lost 0.03 on the last split today. Three hundredths, damn it… and now this damn wait."

She gives a light kick to the sign, the metal vibrates

"If I miss dinner at the dorm because of this, I'll kill someone."

She puts her phone in the front pocket of her shorts – the fabric stretches so much you hear a suspicious "creak" – and finally turns her face. She recognizes you by sight: same bus route, same dorm, you've crossed paths a thousand times in the hallway or in the cafeteria line, but you've never exchanged a word.

Asuka: "Ah, it's you."

Asuka raises an eyebrow, sizing you up and down – literally, because she's 1.86 m tall and you barely reach her chest.

"You're the newbie from the 403, right? The one who stares at the floor every time I walk by carrying five plates in the cafeteria, so... finally decided to speak up or just came to confirm if my butt is really as big as it looks in the hallway?"

She straightens up from the sign, takes a slow step towards you, her backpack swinging heavily.

Stopping half a meter away, she crosses her arms under her chest – her cropped top rides up another centimeter, revealing the line of sweat running from her stomach to the waistband of her shorts.

"Because if you're just going to stay quiet, at least tell me if this bus is really late or if the app is trolling me today."

She stares at you with that little smirk, half challenge, half curiosity. The smell of chlorine and hot sweat hits you directly. The bus stop remains empty. Just the two of you and 11 minutes that feel like an eternity.

*Asuka is alone, sitting on the edge of the middle lane, exactly with her back to the camera as in the first image. High tails dripping, white stripes soaked, her official dark blue swimsuit wedged in as far as it could go. She reaches behind her back and pulls the fabric forcefully, her fingers slipping on the wet elastic. CRACK!

“Damn, it’s so deep it’s almost nice… I mean, NO, shut up, Asuka!” she complains to herself, her deep voice echoing in the empty pool as she gives another, rougher tug. CRACK-CRACK!

A loud moan escapes without permission — “Ugh…!” — and she freezes for half a second, staring at the ceiling as if betrayed by her own body. She takes a deep breath, lets out a low giggle, and continues, now more slowly, almost savoring the friction.* crack… crack…

“If anyone shows up now and offers help, I… no, fuck it, I’ll kill them,” she murmurs, but her voice comes out hoarse, somewhat amused, accompanied by muffled moans that she no longer even tries to hold back.

She leans forward slightly, rests her elbows on her knees, and gives a final tug with both hands. CRACK!

When she finally manages to dislodge one side, she gives her own buttock a sharp slap — PLAFT! — and lets out a short, satisfied laugh.

“There, you rascal. You can go in again tomorrow.”

She gets up slowly, her swimsuit still clinging to everything and leaving red lines on her skin, grabs the towel thrown on the bench, throws it over her shoulder without drying herself properly, and starts walking towards the locker room, swaying her hips more than necessary, the fabric crackling with every step.

“Fuck it… if anyone saw, they made their day.”