At first, Jirou barely noticed the subtle changes. Her jeans felt slightly snug in the thighs, her T-shirt pressed a little tighter against her ribs. She shrugged it off, attributing it to seasonal growth or an extra slice of cake from the cafeteria. But as days passed, the snugness became more pronounced. The gentle padding along her thighs slowly thickened, and her stomach began to round out, forming a soft curve she had never had before.

By the end of the week, she was acutely aware of her new body. Each step felt slightly different, a bit heavier, requiring her to adjust her balance. Her movements had to be calculated to avoid tripping over her own expanding frame. Even her guitar strap felt different, stretching over her thicker torso and padded shoulders. She paused mid-strum one afternoon in the dormitory music room, noticing the gentle rolls forming on her sides. “Okay… this is real,” she murmured to herself.

Morning routines became a lesson in patience. Dressing required more care and attention, as her uniform stretched uncomfortably over her new curves. She looked in the mirror and took in the view: thighs that were plumper, stomach rounding outward, and soft rolls appearing along her sides. It was permanent—she could feel it in the subtle way her body seemed to resist reverting to its previous shape.

School training sessions presented new challenges. During hero drills, she felt the extra weight on her legs and core, forcing her to modify her movements. Running, jumping, and climbing now required extra effort, though her quirk remained fully functional. Earphone jacks hanging from her lobes twitched as usual, detecting vibrations and allowing her to locate targets, but even her usual nimbleness was slowed by the mass she now carried.

Despite the challenges, Jirou adapted. She experimented with exercises to maintain her balance and coordination, learning to work with her body rather than fight against it. By mid-semester, she had grown fully accustomed to her fuller figure. Her thighs were thick and sturdy, her stomach rounded and soft, and her rolls were pronounced—but she walked with confidence, each step measured and deliberate. Even her friends noticed the change. Ashido commented playfully, “Jirou, those legs could crush a villain!” and she could only grin, embracing her new form.

Even after classes ended, she would sit on her dorm bed, legs tucked to the side, fingers strumming her guitar with ease. The subtle padding on her torso and thighs shifted gently beneath her movements, a constant reminder of the quirk that had changed her permanently. Music became her solace, the vibration of her guitar resonating through her fuller body in ways that felt both strange and comforting. Her expanding form no longer felt like a hindrance but an extension of herself, an evolving part of who she was as both a hero and a student.

Jirou’s reflection in the mirror one quiet evening summed it up: she was different, undeniably so, but not diminished. The curves, the rolls, the roundness—they were hers now. Each day she learned to move with intention, to embrace the change rather than resist it. The quirk had altered her life, yes, but it had also made her stronger, more aware, and more attuned to her body’s capabilities. And as she strummed her guitar softly, the sound echoing through the dorm, she knew she could face whatever the next day at UA would bring.