Beth

I sat in the cozy café, watching her step inside. She was petite, barely 1.50 meters tall, with a delicate frame. Her shy smile was disarming as she offered her hand. A hug felt too forward, so I stuck with the handshake. I could sense her nerves—she was a first-year student, new to the city, straight from the countryside. We ordered breakfast, and I wolfed mine down, my appetite unusually voracious. Her eyes sparkling with a mix of shyness and mischief.

Beth: "So, um, you’re giving off some serious Saitama vibes right now, just plowing through that breakfast like it’s a low-level monster!"

Me: "Saitama? Uh, is that, like, a chef or something?"

Beth: giggles, covering her mouth "Oh my gosh, no! He’s from One Punch Man! You know, the guy who beats everyone with one punch? You’re, like, demolishing that croissant like it’s a villain from the Hero Association!"

Me: "Oh, right, uh, I guess I’m just… really hungry? So, I’m a hero for eating fast?"

Beth: twirling a strand of hair, smirking "Mmm, maybe a hero in training. But you’ve gotta work on your shonen energy. Like, where’s your dramatic pose? Your big speech before the final blow?"

Me: My… speech? You mean, like, “This croissant never stood a chance!”? mimes a dramatic point

Beth: bursts out laughing, then lowers her voice "Okay, okay, that’s a start! But you need more tsundere flair. Like, act all tough but secretly care about the croissant’s feelings."

Me: scratching my head "Wait, what’s a tsundere? Is that, like, a French pastry or something?"

Beth: eyes widening "Oh no, you did not just say that! A tsundere is, like, when someone’s all “I’m not interested, b-baka!” but deep down they’re totally smitten. Like Asuka from Evangelion!" leans closer, whispering "Kinda like how I’m pretending I’m not nervous right now…"

Me: "Uh, so you’re saying the croissant’s mad at me but secretly loves me? Man, I’m bad at this."

Beth: giggling, nudging my arm "You’re hopeless! Okay, new plan: you’re Naruto, I’m Hinata, and this café is our hidden spark—er, I mean, Hidden Leaf Village! You gotta promise to protect the ramen… I mean, the coffee!"

Me: "Protect the coffee? Alright, I’m in, but only if I get a cool headband or something."

Beth: _beaming, playfully tapping my hand _Deal! But don’t go all Sasuke on me and run off to be moody. Stick around for the festival later, okay? bats her eyes

Me: "Nah, I’m more of a… coffee-protecting ninja. Let’s hit that festival, Hinata."

Beth: blushing, hiding a smile "You’re learning. Kinda."

I excused myself to the restroom. Not because I needed to go, but because I needed to deal with an awkward situation. My erection was straining against my jeans, impossible to ignore.

The restrooms were downstairs, and as I descended, I passed two girls climbing up. Their chatter stopped dead when they saw me. I knew why, but there was little I could do. Covering it with my hand would’ve been pointless. I slipped into a stall, tugged my jeans down, and tried to take care of it. How had I managed this before? Wasn’t it normal to be a bit larger? I couldn’t finish—only a heavy drop of precum hit the toilet with a faint splash. God, what was I doing? She was genuinely sweet, and I didn’t want to bail on the date out of embarrassment. Unlike most of my dates, she seemed to be enjoying herself. I wrestled my 30-centimeter erection back into my jeans, tucking it along my waistband to keep it discreet. I pulled my shirt over it, and it was mostly hidden. The pressure was still intense, but I pushed it aside—though I couldn’t recall it ever being this bad.

When I returned, she was scrolling on her phone, startled when she noticed me. She fumbled it, quickly shoving it into her pocket.

“There you are!” she teased, her smile radiant. “I thought you’d run off!”

Soon, we were strolling hand in hand through a park—a total victory. I felt like a king. We chatted about anime and cosplay, her passions. I listened, asked questions, and she seemed to appreciate the attention. On a park bench, she leaned her head on my shoulder, a quiet moment that felt perfect.

“Hey, Beth, there’s that lantern festival this afternoon. Heard about it?”

“Oh, yeah!” she exclaimed, sitting up. “That’s today? I saw posters everywhere!”

“Want to go together?”

“Absolutely, that sounds amazing!”

We popped into a few comic shops. I wasn’t into them, but her excitement was contagious. She’d fling her arms wide, practically bouncing when she spotted a favorite manga. “Check this out!” she’d say, thrilled not because she needed it—she already owned it—but because the shop was “awesome” for stocking it.

As autumn’s early darkness settled in, the air turned crisp and chilly, biting at any exposed skin. Beth, clearly not expecting our date to stretch into the evening, was shivering at the lantern festival’s entrance. She stood close to me in line at the ticket booth, her tiny frame bundled in an outfit that screamed her obsession with those Japanese cartoons or comics—I wasn’t sure what to call them, since I barely knew anything about that stuff. Her black crop top was tight, with some big, blocky logo on it that looked like a sword or something, maybe from one of those shows she kept mentioning. I didn’t get the reference, but it seemed important to her. Over it, she wore a faded denim jacket, sleeves rolled up, covered in little metal pins with cartoonish faces—some spiky-haired guy with a scarf, a girl with a weird wand, and others I couldn’t place. They jingled faintly as she moved. Her dark green pants were loose, almost like cargo pants, with a belt pulling them tight at her waist, and they tucked into a pair of beat-up white sneakers with random doodles all over them—maybe she drew them herself? A small bag hung across her body, with a yellow stuffed animal keychain dangling from it, some kind of mouse with red cheeks. Her dark hair was messily tied up in a bun, a few loose strands catching the lantern light as they swayed around her face.

She hugged herself tightly against the cold, her arms crossed over her chest, trying to keep warm. The thin fabric of her crop top wasn’t doing her any favors in the chilly air, and as she shivered, I couldn’t help but notice how her body stood out under it. Her nipples, or rather the puffy area around them—what I later learned was called the areola—were strikingly prominent, pressing against the snug material. The fabric clung to the soft, raised mounds, outlining their exaggerated shape clearly, even in the dim glow of the lanterns. They weren’t just the nipples themselves but the full, swollen area around them, creating distinct, rounded contours under the tight top. The effect was bold, almost startling, given her small, nearly flat chest, and the way the fabric stretched over them made it impossible to look away. She seemed oblivious, her attention fixed on the glowing lanterns ahead, bouncing lightly on her toes to fight the cold.