Answer honestly.

“I was at the fighters’ party,” you explain. “Some of us were playing Truth or Dare and I got dared to sneak in here and steal, well, these.” You nod at the skimpy underwear in your hand.

To your surprise, the Champion just lets out a sigh and releases you. “Yeah, I thought it might’ve been something like that.”

She doesn’t sound mad, which seems a little odd, but you’re not planning to look a gift horse in the mouth. “All right then, I’ll just leave these here and, uh...” You start edging towards the door.

“Wait.” The Champion doesn’t raise her voice or snap at you, but the command stops you cold all the same. “I’ve got a bit of advice for you before you go.”

You’re starting to go from relief to confusion—you tried to steal her panties; why is she offering you free advice?—but you don’t dare leave if she wants you to stay here.

She stretches and yawns, which happens to thrust out her breasts right in your direction. They’re almost falling out of her robe now, and if you look closely you can catch a glimpse of—

—oh, she’s saying something.

“...got to stop letting these girls lead you around by the nose. They can be friendly when they want to, but remember that they’re your competitors too.” She sits down on her bed and leans back against the headboard with her legs propped slightly apart.

Her very long, smooth, firm legs. Which she’s wearing in a robe. If your angle was just a little better you’d be able to—

—right, advice.

“...looking for chances to make it easier for them to beat you,” she continues, seemingly not noticing that anything is amiss with your attentions. “Stuff like sending you in here. They probably hoped I’d put a tiny bit of hurt on you or do something naughty, so you’d have a bit of a crack in your confidence when you came up against them in the ring.”

You’re still trying very hard not to look anywhere but her eyes, but somehow you have the presence of mind to ask a question. “If that’s true, why give me advice at all?”

The Champ regards you briefly with an expression that might be approval, but it’s hard to tell in the dim light. “Because I’m bored.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “I...don’t see the connection.”

“Have you been watching my matches?” she asks you. “A lot of fighters do.”

“I’ve been keeping up,” you confirm. They make great jerkoff material, but you’ll die before admitting that to her face (even if it’s sort of expected).

“Good,” she says. “Now, think: when was the last time you saw one where my opponent was someone who could actually give me a challenge?”

You...actually can’t answer that. Squash matches have been her bread and butter for a long time now. You can’t even think of anyone actually challenging her for her title—most of the roster is too afraid of her to even try, and those that aren’t don’t seem to want the pressure of the number one spot.

Understanding begins to dawn on you. “You want to really throw down with someone for a change.”

The Champion nods emphatically. “I want to fight in a match where something is really on the line, and that means finding an opponent who can match me. And I’ll be honest, you show a lot of promise. You’re not there yet, but you could be someday.”

Blinking in stunned surprise, you simply say, “Thank you.”

“Thank me by fighting to win,” she says firmly. “When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting to see what you’ve got. Oh, and one more thing,” she calls as you’re about to head out the door.

“Yes?”

“Give me my fucking panties back.”