Kawakami's Bad Day

	BRRRRING BRRRRRRING
	The bell signaling the start of class rang out through the halls of Shujin Academy, but for class 2-D, there was no teacher to speak of. But this was not surprising. It had become something of a daily ritual. You could almost set your watch to it. Wait for the homeroom bell to ring then count to thirty.
	“W-wait! I’m here!”
	Right on cue, the voice of Kawakami rang out through the halls and was immediately followed by the frantic encroachment of footsteps growing louder and louder until the pale, sweat covered face of their teacher appeared in the doorway.
	“I’m… not late...” she whispered, trying to catch her breath.
	The reason for her fatigue was as obvious as the crumbs surrounding her lips. The fact that her stomach entered the room a good while before the rest of her was evidence enough. And even if someone managed to overlook the bloated, distended belly, it was impossible to miss the way the students slid their desks to make way for the expanding hips that threatened anyone who didn’t give them proper clearance.
	She made her way to the front desk and without thinking, placed her swollen gut onto the table for support. She placed her bag on the floor and took a moment to recover from the harrowing journey from the teacher’s lounge.
	It was a testament to the adaptability of the human psyche that the class was so blasé about the sight of their teacher in such a sight. There had been talk, of course, but over time everyone simply got used to it. Over time, the sight of their formerly skinny teacher huffing and puffing for a solid minute over a brief jog down a single hallway had become a common sight beneath notice. It had just become accepted fact that Kawakami was really letting herself go.
	Well, to be fair to the portly teacher, it wasn’t so much letting herself go as someone helping her go. She wasn’t the one who had left those cake slices in the teacher’s lounge, the remnants of which she was hurriedly wiping off her lips. And she certainly wasn’t the one who had purchased the box of dozen donuts she had just discovered sitting in one of her desk drawers. No one had ever actually seen who was leaving all these sugary treats around, but whenever she found one, she did tend to make accusatory glances towards the window seats and this time was no different. After a few long stares at the glazed goods, she slammed the drawer shut and lessons could truly begin.

	“Alright, please turn to page 209. Now, who can tell me...”
	Kawakami’s lesson was in full-swing. Exams were coming up soon, and the class had to be ready. When she was in full teacher mode, it was as if nothing had changed, apart from a habit of adjusting the hem of her formerly baggy yellow striped shirt, which had a nasty habit of creeping up and leaving the underside of her stomach a little exposed.
	But it never lasted for long. It began with sideward glances to the drawer. Her willpower became as tested as the stitching in her denim skirt. And she would walk by the desk, pacing back and forth, until she could take no more. Taking a moment to pretend to be straightening her papers, she’d reach down into the desk and pull out a sugary treat. Then the lessons would resume, as she lectured as if there was not currently a baked good half hanging out of her mouth.
	“N-now, this—munch munch--haiku here, you should recognize—munch munch—as the work of Basho Matsuo, and--”
	And the pattern would continue all throughout the class, until the entire box was gone.
	Kawakami approached the board and produced a piece of chalk and began to write. It was quite a sight. Her skirt had become so tight that anything she stored in her pockets was visible through the stretched fabric. If it got any tighter the front row would be able to read the numbers off her driver’s license through the denim. Or at least they would if the twin cheeks would sit still instead of shifting with every little movement of her legs.
	She finished writing a haiku on the board and turned back to the class. “Alright, now, let’s see… Takamaki. Could you please read this one aloud?”
	A tall, blonde girl with twintails stood from her desk, but she did not read it. She squinted and stared at the board, but it was no use. “Umm, what haiku, exactly?” asked the girl.
	“What do you mean, what haiku? The one I just--” Kawakami pointed back at the board, but the poem she had just written was nowhere to be seen. In its place was a white smear of chalk.
	Realization crept its way up to her rounded face. Kawakami’s cheeks began to redden as she looked down. Her yellow shirt, which she had been meaning to replace since horizontal stripes were doing her no favors, was covered in a fine, white powder.
	“You’ve got to be kidding,” she whispered to herself. “Ah, ahem, what I mean to say is, I’ll write a haiku, and I’d like you to read it.” She returned to the board and tried one more time. This time, she stood a little further back from the board. Her belly would not touch the board. Of course, trying to write from even further back was awkward and her penmanship would suffer, but she would not admit defeat.
	“Okay, now, Takamaki, would you please--”
	She turned to face the class as she finished rewriting the haiku, but that was a mistake. She didn’t need to look. She could feel it as her backside slid across the cold, hard board, erasing all of her work and knocking the rest of the chalk on the floor which quickly rolled away.
	“Oh come on, this is getting ridiculous,” she whispered quietly. She chased after the chalk, bending over to grab a piece which landed before the front row.
	RIIIIIIIIIP
	The loud tearing of fabric echoed throughout the room. It was loan enough to awaken several students in the back row that had decided to use their Japanese lessons to catch up on some sleep. And they were awakened to something unexpected.
	A large tear ran up the back of her skirt, which was currently aimed directly at the class. A large, specifically extra extra extra large, pair of lacy black panties was on full display. Kawakami could feel the eyes of every student crawling on her exposed ass.
	The whole room was silent. No one could say a word, but neither could they avert their eyes.
	Eventually, her face beet red, Kawakami managed to work up the effort to stand up, her hands futilely trying to cover the hole. She returned to her desk and promptly sat down.
	“...Study hall.”

	After the last bell rang, Kawakami remained behind, face down at her table. She hadn’t moved since the incident. She didn’t intend to move ever again. But at least she was finally alone. Or so she thought.
	Eventually she lifted her head to see that there was one student left behind, a messy haired bespectacled boy, standing in front of her.
	Their eyes met. And Kawakami could see a small, almost imperceptible smirk forming on his lips. It pissed her off.
	“...You owe me a new wardrobe,” she muttered.
	“That’s fine.”
	His agreeability only made her angrier. But the angrier she got, the hungrier she got. She could feel the hunger pangs starting up.
	“...And you better take me someplace good to eat tonight.”
	“Of course.”
	She was playing right into his hands. She knew it. But she couldn’t resist. She couldn’t beat him. She sighed to herself.
	Still, she had to push back in her own way.
	“...The next time he calls me for a massage, I’m going to sit on that little punk,” she whispered with a chuckle.