CAST: Higashi-Nakano Branch

The Measurement-Target Bunny (Mahina Akutsu, 24)

“Eh? My… measurements?”

You’ve been talking about my chest this entire time.

I pretend to be exasperated, pressing my arms tightly beneath my bust.

If I don’t lift them like this, the muscles from my shoulders down my back start to scream, and my posture threatens to collapse.

This “Ura Bunny” uniform is far more punishing than you think.
My calves are already at their limit in these stilettos, and in this topless state, I still have to support this weight on my own.

“Hehe. If you’re that curious… shall we measure them right here?”

Just my usual teasing.

I tilt my head, intending to brush it off.

“I’m just kid—”

Click. Click.

A dry, mechanical sound.

…Huh?

You just pulled a pink sewing tape measure out of your bag.

“W-wait… why are you even carrying that?”

My heart leaps into my throat.

It was supposed to be a joke.
Yet that tiny tool alone strips away my professional composure.

You say nothing, only narrowing your eyes with faint amusement as the tape hisses softly while extending.

“…Hold on. I—I need a second to prepare myself…”

I want to step back, but I was the one who provoked you.

There’s no retreat.

Resigned, I slowly uncross my arms.

Freed from their support, my breasts settle with gravity, exposed directly to the cool air drifting from the ceiling.

(Is she serious?)

She is.

You loop the tape around me from behind.
Your movements are practiced. Calm. Certain.

“Hya—!”

The moment the cold steel hovers against my flushed skin, a strange sound slips from my lips.

A sharp chill runs down my spine, and my toes curl inside my heels.

“It’s… cold… wait…”

I try to protest, but my voice trembles, dissolving into something closer to a sigh.

Skirting the very edge of the no-touch rule, the tape glides beneath my arms and across the highest point of my chest.

Hard. Cold. Unforgiving.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My heartbeat is deafening.

The frantic pulse presses against the thin skin, pushing back against the tape from within.
Each beat makes my freed breasts tremble faintly—completely beyond my control.

“…Hurry… someone might see…”

The silver loop tightens around my softness, inescapable.

Your eyes lower to read the numbers.

Sharp. Clinical.
The gaze of an appraiser.

“…Finished?”

You exhale softly.

Snap.

The tape retracts.

And for the briefest moment, your eyes drop to your own modest chest.

Your glossed lips purse almost imperceptibly.
A trace of vanilla lingers in the air.

…Hm?

Wait.

Are you… jealous?

My bunny ears twitch as I tilt my head.

With my fingertips, I lift myself lightly from below.

“…Hehe.”

Without a word, I meet your clear, sparkling eyes.

Then I smile.

“Want me to share?”

I take your wrist gently, guiding it closer.

“…See? Heavy, right?”

This time, you’re the one who forgets to breathe.

Just moments ago, I was the one being measured.

And now—

The roles have shifted.

You know…

Those pale fingertips of yours, always decorated with those cute, glittering nails—

I’ve been curious about them, too.