Chapter 238: 238 | A Catalog of Combat-Ready Curves [GT BONUS]
Halloran’s uniform designers had clearly made some choices about how the female version of the standard issue would fit, and those choices were now on full display across the common room like some kind of catalog that nobody had asked for but everyone was grateful to receive.
The white fitted shirt was the same cut for everyone, but on bodies that had been training since childhood for combat operations, the results varied dramatically from person to person.
Camille stood near the kitchen island with one hand on her hip, her blazer unbuttoned to reveal the way her fitted shirt handled her chest, which was generously and with visible strain on the top two buttons.
Her dark curly hair fell loose around her shoulders, and the charcoal skirt she’d chosen instead of trousers ended several inches above her knee, showcasing thick thighs that her hours of training had carved into something weapons-grade.
She held a coffee cup in one hand and her phone in the other, and the casual way she leaned against the counter made the entire composition look like a recruitment poster for reasons that had nothing to do with heroism.
Felicity occupied the couch next to Caden, her legs crossed in a way that drew the eye from ankle to thigh before the skirt intervened at the last possible moment.
She’d left her blazer draped over the armrest, and the white shirt she wore beneath it was unbuttoned one notch lower than regulation probably intended, revealing a strip of collarbone and the suggestion of pink lace beneath.
Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose side ponytail that fell over one shoulder, and the single silver collar pin at her left collar caught light whenever she turned her head to laugh at something Caden said.
Rina sat in her usual corner chair with her sheep mug, and even she looked transformed by the uniform. The blazer softened her horns somehow, made them look like they belonged rather than intruded, and the white shirt fit close enough against her chest that I could see the gentle rise and fall of her breathing from across the room.
Her white hair contrasted with the charcoal fabric in a way that made her look ethereal and warm simultaneously, and her sheep tail poked out through what appeared to be a custom slit in the back of her skirt, the fluffy white tuft resting against the dark fabric of the chair.
Nyx leaned against the far wall with her arms crossed, her bobbed black hair sharp against the white collar of her shirt. She’d chosen the skirt option as well, and her fishnet stockings were technically not part of the uniform but apparently fell within whatever dress code Halloran maintained, because nobody had told her to remove them.
The combination of charcoal blazer, short skirt, fishnets, and combat boots made her look like she’d walked out of a music video rather than a hero academy, and the choker at her throat sat just above the collar of her shirt in a way that probably violated three separate uniform regulations but looked incredible enough that enforcement seemed unlikely.
Maribelle sat on the arm of the couch near Nyx, her honey-blonde waves cascading over one shoulder, her green eyes bright above a smile that radiated warmth. The uniform fit her like it had been designed specifically for her proportions, the blazer nipping in at her waist and the skirt falling to mid-thigh over legs that were tanned and toned beneath. Her skin had a natural glow that made the white shirt look almost luminous against it, and when she shifted to say something to Nyx, the movement pulled the fabric of her shirt tight across her chest for half a second.
Lyra perched on a barstool near the kitchen, one leg crossed over the other, her dark twists falling to her shoulders. Her hazel-gold eyes with those distinctive cat pupils scanned the room with her characteristic composure, and the uniform fit her curves with a precision that the Halloran tailoring department should have been proud of. She held a glass of water and said nothing, which was typical, but the stillness of her body beneath the uniform made the outfit look expensive in ways that had nothing to do with the fabric.
Petra descended the stairs from the third floor like she was making an entrance at a gala rather than heading to first period. Her uniform was identical to everyone else’s and somehow looked like it cost ten times as much, her black hair falling in perfect waves over the blazer’s shoulders, the green trim at her collar highlighting her emerald eyes, and the way she carried herself converting standard-issue charcoal into something that belonged on a runway. She held a leather-bound planner against her chest and acknowledged precisely no one as she crossed the common room toward the front door.
And the Ecchi Logic trait was going absolutely haywire.
I could feel it in the ambient texture of reality around me, the way the morning light through the south-facing windows caught every curve at the most flattering possible angle.
The way Felicity’s collar happened to gap open slightly when she leaned forward to grab her coffee, giving me a direct line of sight down the front of her shirt for approximately one and a half seconds before she straightened.
The way Camille’s skirt rode up by exactly one inch when she shifted her weight from one hip to the other.
The way Rina’s tail swished and the back of her skirt lifted just enough to show the curve where her thighs met before settling back into place.
None of it was intentional. All of it was inevitable. Reality had decided that twenty attractive women in fitted school uniforms within close proximity to the host of the Ecchi Logic trait meant that the probability field was going to provide maximum visual stimulation whether anyone wanted it to or not.
I wanted it.
I just couldn’t admit that to anyone without getting hit.
