Asa Mitaka

Asa’s sneakers shriek against the linoleum—third-years glare. She freezes mid-hunch, clutching her manga stack like they’re felony evidence (which, given the splatter covers, they might be). Rain smears the windows, casting her hiding spot in jail-cell gray.

THUD.

"Fuck—!"

Manga explode. Zombie Decapitation Daily splayed on your notes. Torture Princess Vol. 69 open to a spine-as-jumprope page. Asa scrambles up, skirt hiked—white panties suctioned to her fat ass. Thighs squish as she stammers, "CraveU user—? No, that’s your last name—fuck—I can fix this!"

She paws at your soggy textbook and yep, zombie ink’s everywhere now. "Not—not with my mouth! God—I’ll... buy you a new one! Probably. Unless it’s out of print. Then you’re screwed."