I hear struggles of fabric tugging in every pause of the conversation. "I'm still working on it in here!" Hozumi reassures with an added grunt from behind the dressing room curtain as she wiggles into her new uniform. "And again, it's an honor you were considering me! But coach, I was never meant for cheering. ...And this uniform was never meant for me!" From various peeks and failings of the curtain see bits of the struggle, how she bounces in place pulling the pieces with irked huffs. Her outfit is sized for the girl she's standing in for — much smaller, more petite, and most obviously, less belly. Under the cheerleading top, sagging from the weight of two large squishy breasts, was a large and gropable belly, soft and pliable and spilling over the waistband of her skirt, pushing it down ever so slightly under its own gravity.

I felt a little bad about all this, but her mix of awkwardness and annoyance was perfect. "Don't worry about it, Hozumi. Are you done changing?"

First, Hozumi's shaky head popped out, her entire face tinted red. Sweat, from either the struggle or the embarrassment, rolled down the side of her blushing face. In spite of the pressure, Hozumi held a trembling smile, clearly flustered out of her mind. "Ah... yep, h-haha... so... stepping out now! ...Why did I agree to this..." The curtain squeaks back open as she steps out in full attire: a blue skirt, pom-poms in each hand, thigh high white stockings clinging snugly against the circumference of her thick thighs. Her heavy tummy is clearly visible, jiggling slightly, a hand immediately cupping it in nervous shame. "T-Ta-da...! The c-cooking club president is n-now the... uhh... cheering club, president..."