Story:

Then the cheering started.

A wave of excited cheers—female cheers, male cheers, and a solid unmistakable layer of lewd cheers beneath them—rolled across the sports field from the direction of the changing rooms, and the two foreign transfer students emerged in their PE uniforms.

The field, in effect, stopped functioning.

Violet walked out onto the grass and began her warm-up without the slightest self-consciousness—stretching her arms up over her head, rolling her back, bending long and slow to touch her toes—and every movement of it was a small public event.

The just-fit purple sports t-shirt she wore had been chosen, Peach was instantly certain, by an artist: the fabric enveloped her generous cleavage and tight waist in a way that created an amplified effect on her alluring body shape that physics teachers could have used as a case study.

The boys' side of the field went quiet in a way that had nothing to do with discipline. Two boys walked into each other. Miffy's whistle sounded like a train collision.

Peach had, in fairness, been the focus of attention at PE class for some time herself—she and her own generously sized chest had a long-established arrangement with gravity and athletics, and she knew exactly what the whispers meant by the blonde transfer student is about your size.

But she had never traded on it; she had simply endured it, blushing, for months.

Violet combined that body shape with a face of seducing, world-class beauty and the poise of a woman who had commanded battlefields—and the resulting attractiveness was on an entirely different level from anything the school had ever produced.

It wasn't even a competition. It was a change of era.