The moment of truth...

Her door is surprisingly nondescript, bearing only a special placard announcing her status underneath her name.You try the door and, sure enough, the lock disengages with a soft click. The door swings open—silently, you notice with relief—and you enter the Champion’s bedroom.

It’s difficult to see anything in the dark, but the room looks fairly Spartan overall, with the only personalization you notice being some sort of collage pinned up to a corkboard on the wall—newspaper clippings? Posters? It’s hard to tell.

As you continue to look around the room, your vision adjusts to the dark in time for your eyes to fall on the bed. Fast asleep and wrapped up in a surprisingly fuzzy blanket is the Champion herself.

Only her head pokes out from under the covers, and her long red hair—brightly colored enough to be visible even in this darkness—is splayed out across her pillow. Her full lips are slightly parted as she breathes deeply in her sleep.

Another glance finally shows you what you’re looking for—her dresser. You hurry over to it, being careful to step quietly, and slowly pull open the top drawer.

Jackpot. Inside are about a dozen pairs of panties, ranging from simple, utilitarian cotton to sultry lace. You grab a particularly skimpy one—perhaps a spare match outfit?—and start making your way to the door.

But the real question is...