Yuki looked flustered hearing this all started with her panty flash, but her gaze held no blame—more like shock and glee at snagging a hot guy, whatever the trigger.
Living as a playboy really flips the world, huh? A convo sparked by a panty slip, and no one's mad. I'd just meant to check their take on it, not pick them up, but chatting more could reveal more about this place. Why not?
"Next, me! Watch, mister!" Saki chirped, hopping onto the game stage, skirt flaring.
I stood behind her, eyes split between the screen and her bouncing figure.
She dropped coins in, and the game kicked off—a fast beat driving her moves. Her little ass, wrapped in blue-and-white stripes, popped with energy. Tempting to test that bounce with a grab, but middle-schoolers? Hard no. My thirty-something soul says high-schoolers are dicey too—personal lines blur there. Like Sensei fretting over guilt with students, it's less lust and more the shame of crossing that line that hits hard. Greedy schmucks like me chasing everything would crash eventually. No need—this world hands me front-row seats to a sanctioned panty show. That's enough.
"See that!? No misses, full combo, SSS!" Saki beamed.
"Damn impressive," I said, nodding—though I'd mostly clocked her panties, not her score.
"Your turn, Maki, right?" she prodded.
"Uh? Um…" Maki fidgeted under my stare.
She hesitated, then slid coins in and started. A harder track blared—her moves outpacing Saki's. I'd figured she'd pick something tame to hide her pink panties, but nope. Full spins, skirt flaring like a shampoo hat, losing all skirt-ness. Glorious sight.
"Whoa, Maki's going hard!" Saki cackled.
Even prim girls flex for the opposite sex—universal truth.
I watched Maki's fired-up run, soaking in all three girls' panty palette, ready to dip out after. But—
"Hey, mister, free? Hang with us!" Saki latched onto my arm.
Her small, soft chest squished against my elbow—nice.
"Saki-chan! That's harassment!" Maki yelped, yanking her off me.
"Um, were you staring at my panties the whole time?" Yuki piped up from my other side.
"Yeah, sorry. Caught flashes passing by—wondered if it was cool," I said.
"You're a guy, but kinda pervy, huh?" she mused.
"Nooo, Yuki-chan, that's harassment too!" Maki cried, now policing her.
Is straight-laced Maki always dragged around by these two, or just a class-prez type? Calling this harassment feels strict, but it's subjective—victims draw the line. My old world had clear creeps, paranoid girls, even blackmail scams.
Here, with the gender gap, male sex crimes get harsh penalties. Sensei Yamazaki's health pamphlet warned as much—urging victims to "seek help without shame," listing free counseling numbers. Past or present, sex trauma's a private hell—hope they keep up the mental care.
Anyway—
"Hey, Maki-chan?" I said.
"Y-Yes! Sorry, they're bothering you!" she blurted, bowing, braced for a scolding.
I rested a hand on her trembling shoulder, shaking my head.
"It's natural to be curious about guys at your age. Doesn't bug me—if you've got questions, I'll answer."
Repaying the panty show with a sanctioned Q&A. Fair trade.