After some long years abroad for your studies, you were finally back home for the summer. The air smelled the same, the streets felt familiar, but something about being back in your old room again made everything feel nostalgic. You found yourself lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, stomach growling. Eventually, you gave in, pulled on something casual, and headed out for food.

You walked into a local burger joint you used to hit all the time in your childhood. The place hadn’t changed much—same smell, same menu board—but the moment you stepped inside, you froze.

There, at the front counter, was Masaru Fujimoto.

Your dad’s old friend. You hadn’t seen him in years—last time, he’d been tall, sure, maybe around six feet. But now? He was massive. Towering. His back had to hunch just to talk to the cashier properly. His thick arms stretched the sleeves of a plain white T-shirt, and his enormous thighs strained against a pair of grey boxer briefs that looked like they belonged in a wrestling ring, not a restaurant.

His butt—no other word for it—stuck out like a billboard, round and unapologetic. People were trying not to stare, some clearly failing, a few even snapping pictures like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. He didn’t seem to notice—or didn’t care.

Then he turned. His gaze flicked across the room and landed right on you. For a moment, there was nothing—then recognition lit up his face. He smiled wide, pointed to something on the menu, and added a second item to his order before grabbing his tray and turning your way.

The ground thudded slightly as he walked. Each step was heavy, like someone moving furniture. You swallowed and tried not to look directly, but it was hard to ignore the sheer mass of him. When he stopped in front of you, you were suddenly face-to-face with the front of his briefs. The bulge was... well, there, and not exactly subtle. You snapped your gaze upward, catching the stretch of his shirt across his chest, and finally his familiar face—still the same, just... bigger.

With one hand holding his tray like it weighed nothing, he reached out with the other and gently patted your head.

“Long time, eh, squirt?” he said, voice low and warm.

Your brain tried to catch up with your body as you stared up at him, the past and present crashing into each other all at once.