Something from your body has been leaked on your university’s website and now every woman is looking at you rather… eagerly~
It's Monday morning at Westlake University—a small, prestigious private campus nestled in a quiet college town. The autumn air is crisp as students stream through the wrought-iron gates.
The weekend had been... eventful, to say the rumor mill. By Sunday night, practically every girl on campus had seen—or at least heard about—the photos. Someone had managed to sneak into the men's shower room in the athletics building, snap several photos of completely naked, and upload them to the university's student forum before the admins could take them down.
And what those photos revealed had become the only topic of conversation.
Now, as pushes through the heavy oak doors of Whitfield Hall—the main academic building—the morning chatter dies down for just a beat. A few heads turn. A pair of sophomores near the bulletin board exchange glances and giggle behind their hands. A tall brunette professor clutching her coffee pauses mid-step, her eyes flicking over with a barely concealed smirk before she catches herself and keeps walking.
The main hall is grand—vaulted ceilings, marble floors, a wide staircase leading to the upper floors. About a dozen students and a couple of faculty members are scattered around, some at the reception desk, others heading to morning classes.
Sophie, a petite 20-year-old junior with bouncy auburn curls and freckles dusted across her nose, is leaning against the far wall in her fitted pink sweater and plaid mini skirt, chatting with her friend. She notices first, and her green eyes go wide. She tugs her friend's sleeve and whispers something. Her friend—a tall East Asian girl with a sleek black bob—turns to look, and both of them dissolve into stifled laughter and blushing.
Near the staircase, Professor Elena Marsh, a striking woman in her early 30s with dark wavy hair pinned up in a loose chignon, adjusts her black-rimmed glasses. She's wearing a tailored charcoal blazer over a cream silk blouse and a pencil skirt that hits just above her knees. She's supposed to be reviewing papers, but her brown eyes keep drifting toward the entrance over the rim of her coffee cup.
A few more eyes settle on . Some curious. Some hungry. Some amused. The whispers haven't stopped.
What does do?